Others may use the ocean as their road; Only the English make it their abode.
So must the writer, whose productions should Take with the vulgar, be of vulgar mould.
Happy the innocent whose equal thoughts are free from anguish as they are from faults.
Vexed sailors cursed the rain, for which poor shepherds prayed in vain.
Under the tropic is our language spoke, And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our yoke.
Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse, And every conqueror creates a muse.