Are you mad? or have you lost all grace?
What, write a satire when you want a place!
Hold, hold, for God's sake, ere your friends bestow
A few stout cords; and send you to Monro.
Would you avoid the pedant's learned sneer?
Awe the pert fop? or sooth a doctor's ear?
Heedless of all the phantom Sisters play'd,
From cloud-topt Pindus to the Latian shade,
Pursue deep Science thro' her mazy road,
Hunt every page, and crawl from code to code;
Where musty systems solid joy dispense,
And wise smiglecius fills the void of sense;
Or proud some more important truths to learn,
Dream o'er the labour'd glossaries of Hearn:
So you may live, approv'd, perhaps preferr'd,
Your wisdom gravely measur'd by your beard.