Friend, says the Needle, cease to blame;
I follow real worth and fame.
Know'st thou the loadstone's power and art,
That virtue virtues can impart?
Of all his talents I partake.
Who then can such a friend forsake?
'Tis I direct the pilot's hand
To shun the rocks and treach'rous sand;
By me the distant world is known,
And either  is our own.
Had I with milliners been bred,
What had I been? the guide of thread,
And drudg'd as vulgar needles do,
Of no more consequence than you.