On which the happy man, whom fate ordains,
May write his name, and take her for his pains.
One instance more, and only one I'll bring;
'Tis the great man who scorns a little thing,
Whose thoughts, whose deeds, whose maxims are his own,
Form'd on the feelings of his heart alone:
True genuine royal-paper is his breast;
Of all the kinds most precious, purest, best.
FOOTNOTE:
[196] We have been told, that this poem is not Franklin's, and the name of some other person was at the time mentioned to us as the author; but as we have forgotten both the name and the authority, and as the poem has been ascribed to Dr. Franklin in the American Museum, we think it not right to omit it. Editor.