We frolic while 'tis May.

The applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes.

England, so long mistress of the sea, Where winds and waves confess her sovereignty, Her ancient triumphs yet on high shall bear And reign the sovereign of the conquered air.

Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.

Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.

Any fool may write a most valuable book by chance, if he will only tell us what he heard and saw with veracity.

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, A youth to fortune and to fame unknown: Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.