Poets that lasting marble seek, Must come in Latin or in Greek.
All human things Of dearest value hang on slender strings.
So must the writer, whose productions should Take with the vulgar, be of vulgar mould.
The chain that's fixed to the throne of Jove, On which the fabric of our world depends, One link dissolved, the whole creation ends.
Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse, And every conqueror creates a muse.
Fade, flowers, fade! Nature will have it so; 'tis but what we in our autumn do.