Like Cato, Give His Little Senate Laws,

What Woeful Stuff This Madrigal Would Be, In Some Starved Hackney Sonneteer, Or Me! But Let A Lord Once Own The Happy Lines, How The Wit Brightens! How The Style Refines!

Fly, Dotard, Fly! With Thy Wise Dreams And Fables Of The Sky.

See Skulking Truth To Her Old Cavern Fled, Mountains Of Casuistry Heap'd O'er Her Head! Philosophy, That Lean'd On Heav'n Before, Shrinks To Her Second Cause, And Is No More. Physic Of Metaphysic Begs Defence, And Metaphysic Calls For Aid On Sense! See Mystery To Mathematics Fly!

And All Who Told It Added Something New, And All Who Heard It, Made Enlargements Too.

The Sound Must Seem An Echo To The Sense.