A  (nor let the honest, and the brave,
The true, Old Noble, with the Fool and Knave
Here mix his fame; curs'd be that thought of mine,
Which with a B— and F— should GRAFTON join)
A  (nor here let Censure rashly call
My just contempt of some, abuse of all,
And, as of  when SODOM was my theme,
Slander my purpose, and my Muse blaspheme,
Because she stops not, rapid in her song,
To make exceptions as She goes along,
Tho' well She hopes to find, another year,
A whole MINORITY exceptions here)
A mere, mere  with nothing but the name,
Wealth all his Worth, and Title all his Fame,
Lives on another man, himself a blank,
Thankless he lives, or must some Grandsire thank,
For smuggled Honours, and ill-gotten pelf;
A  owes all to Nature, and Himself.