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Si te fortè moæ gravis uret sarcina charte,
Hor. Lib. I. Epist. 13.
A. You told me, I remember, glory, built
B. I grant that, men continuing what they are,
Let laurels, drench'd in pure Parnassian dews,
But let, eternal infamy pursue
Then view him self-proclaim'd in a gazette
man; Kings do but reason on the selfsame plan: Maintaining yours, you cannot theirs condemn, Who think, or seem to think, man made for them.
B. Seldom, alas! the pow'r of logic reigns With much sufficiency in royal brains ; Such reas’ning falls like an inverted cone, Wanting it's proper base to stand upon. Man made for kings! those optics are but dim, That tell you so-say, rather, they for him. That were indeed a king-ennobling thought, Could they, or would they, reason as they ought.
The diadem, with mighty projects lin'd
Oh! bright occasions of dispensing good,