For thee his counsel were not safe,
Who of sound teeth have scarce a pair.
If thou the glass or me believe,
Shun mirth, as foplings do the wind;
At Cibber’s face affect to grieve,
And let thy eyes alone be kind.
If thou art wise see dismal plays,
And to sad stories lend thy ear;
With the afflicted spend thy days,
And laugh not above once a year.