}
{ The beaux may think this nothing but vain praise;
{ They'll find it something, the testator says;
{ For half their love is made from scraps of plays.
To his worst foes, he leaves his honesty,
That they may thrive upon't as much as he.
He leaves his manners to the roaring boys,
Who come in drunk, and fill the house with noise.
He leaves to the dire critics of his wit,
His silence and contempt of all they writ.