So apt are we to play the fool,
We serve for our own ridicule:
And when sly Fortune's pleas'd to vary
Our progress with some strange vagary,
We oft become such merry elves
To burst with laughter at ourselves.
Thus as Quæ Genus pac'd the room,
Reflecting on the time to come,
And all the heap of promis'd good
By Anodyne to be bestow'd;