Rush to the head, and poison where they please:
Like idle flies, a busy, buzzing train,
They drop their maggots in the trifler's brain;
That genial soil receives the fruitful store,
And there they grow, and breed a thousand more.
Now be their arts display'd, how first they choose
A cause and party, as the bard his muse;
Inspired by these, with clamorous zeal they cry,
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And through the town their dreams and omens fly: