So The False Spider, When

Satire Among The Romans, But Not Among The Greeks, Was A Bitter Invective Poem.

Damn'd Neuters, In Their Middle Way Of Steering, Are Neither Fish, Nor Flesh, Nor Good Red Herring.

Three Poets, In Three Distant Ages Born, Greece, Italy, And England Did Adorn. The First In Loftiness Of Thought Surpass'd; The Next, In Majesty; In Both The Last. The Force Of Nature Could No Further Go; To Make A Third, She Join'd The Former Two.

Roused By The Lash Of His Own Stubborn Tail Our Lion Now Will Foreign Foes Assail.

I Strongly Wish For What I Faintly Hope; Like The Daydreams Of Melancholy Men, I Think And Think In Things Impossible, Yet Love To Wander In That Golden Maze.