For this is being a Friend just in the nick,
Not when he’s well, but waiting till he’s sick ;
He calls you to his help ; be you not mov’d
Until, by being sick, his wants are prov’d.
You see him spend his Soul in Prophecy:
Do you believe it a confounded lie,
Till some Bookseller, & the Public Fame,
Prove there is truth in his extravagant claim.
For ’tis atrocious in a Friend you love
To tell you anything that he can’t prove,
And ’tis most wicked in a Christian Nation
For any man to pretend to Inspiration.