All are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body Nature is, and God the soul.

Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows; But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar. When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, The line too labours, and the words move slow: Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain, Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the main.

Such labour'd nothings, in so strange a style, Amaze th' unlearn'd and make the learned smile.

And die of nothing but a rage to live.

One science only will one genius fit; so vast is art, so narrow human wit.

The light of Heaven restore; Give me to see, and Ajax asks no more.

Some praise at morning what they blame at night, but always think the last opinion right.