‘No one can tell, what no one can disclose.’
As for John’s part, whether ’twere False, or True,
He freely told the trifle that he knew;
It was a littleness he did despise,
The poor conceit of being suspected Wise;
But with the World he saw, that was the rule,
The resource, and refuge, of each Fool.
’Twas now the middle of the Month of May,
When o’er the Hills the Warlike Hosts display—
The Colours waving in the flitting Wind,