Not for love of revenge, but for harm that they do;
On this common maxim my pleadings I found,
And th’ affair of the book must soon fall to the ground.
There was never a book, I’ll be bound to engage,
Above all, in our day, but might well spare a page,
And mankind, as well as e’en authors, might look
With smiles on a monkey devouring a book.
’Tis as well for a volume, I’ll hazard an oath,
To be chew’d by a monkey, as by critic or moth:
And then, as to reading, all wits have confest it,