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Next o'er his books his eyes began to roll, In pleasing memory of all he stole; How here he sipp'd, how there he plunder'd snug, And suck'd all o'er like an industrious bug.

With him most authors steal their works, or buy; Garth did not write his own Dispensary.

The seed ye sow, another reaps; The wealth ye find, another keeps; The robes ye weave, another wears; The arms ye forge, another bears.

Steal!--to be sure they may; and egad, serve your best thoughts as gypsies do stolen children, disfigure them to make 'em pass for their own.

Fine words! I wonder where you stole 'em.