No knave but boldly will pretend
The requisities that form a friend,

A real and a found one,
Nor any fool he would deceive,
But prove as ready to believe,

And dream that he had found one.

In vain the talkative unite
In hopes of permanent delight

The secret juft committed
Forgetting its important weight,
They drop through mere defire to prate,

And by themselves outwitted.

A friendship, that in frequent fits
Of controversial rage emits

The sparks of difputation,
Like hand in hand insurance plates,
Moft unavoidably creates

The thought of conflagration.