Unless he have the knack of conjuring too;
For ’tis beyond all natural Sense to guess
How their strange Miracles are brought to pass.
Your Presto Jack be gone, and come again,
With all the Hocus Art of Legerdemain;
Your dancing Tester, Nut-meg, and your Cups,
Out-does your Heroes and your amorous Fops.
And if this chance to please you, by that rule,
He that writes Wit is much the greater Fool.