I br br But our Great Turks in wit must reign alone br And ill can bear a Brother on the Throne. br br br II br br Wit is like faith by such warm Fools profest br Who to be saved by one, must damn the rest. br br br III br br Some who grow dull religious strait commence br And gain in morals what they lose in sence. br br br IV br br Wits starve as useless to a Common weal br While Fools have places purely for their Zea. br br V br br Now wits gain praise by copying other wits br As one Hog lives on what another sh---. br br br VI br br Wou'd you your writings to some Palates fit br Purged all you verses from the sin of wit br For authors now are so conceited grown br They praise no works but what are like their own.