Though with those streams he no resemblance hold, Whose foam is amber and their gravel gold; His genuine and less guilty wealth t' explore, Search not his bottom, but survey his shore.

Who fears not to do ill fears the name, And free from conscience, is a slave to fame.

Search not to find things too deeply hid; Nor try to know things whose knowledge is forbid.

Though with those streams he no resemblance hold, Whose foam is amber and their gravel gold; His genuine and less guilty wealth t' explore, Search not his bottom, but survey his shore.

Youth, what man's age is like to be, doth show; We may our ends by our beginnings know.

Nor ought a genius less than his that writ attempt translation.

Tis the most certain sign, the world's accurst That the best things corrupted, are the worst; 'Twas the corrupted Light of knowledge, hurl'd Sin, Death, and Ignorance o'er all the world; That Sun like this (from which our sight we have) Gaz'd on too long, resumes the light he gave.