Our country is where ever we are well off.
Equally inured by moderation either state to bear, prosperous or adverse.
So scented the grim Feature, and upturn'd His nostril wide into the murky air, Sagacious of his quarry from so far.
Our cure, to be no more; sad cure!
Beauty is nature's brag, and must be shown in courts, at feasts, and high solemnities, where most may wonder at the workmanship.
Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit/Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste/Brought death into the world, and all our woe,/With loss of Eden, till one greater Man/Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,/Sing heavenly muse