In Every Work Regard The Writer's End,

All Are But Parts Of One Stupendous Whole, Whose Body Nature Is, And God The Soul.

In A Sadly Pleasing Strain, Let The Warbling Lute Complain.

Choose A Firm Cloud Before It Fall, And In It Catch, Ere She Change, The Cynthia Of This Minute.

Beauty That Shocks You, Parts That None Will Trust, Wit That Can Creep, And Pride That Licks The Dust.

Our Plenteous Streams A Various Race Supply, The Bright-eyed Perch With Fins Of Tyrian Dye, The Silver Eel, In Shining Volumes Roll'd, The Yellow Carp, In Scales Bedropp'd With Gold, Swift Trouts, Diversified With Crimson Stains, And Pikes, The Tyrants Of The Wat'ry Plains.