Such labour'd nothings, in so strange a style, Amaze th' unlearn'd and make the learned smile.
Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows; But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar. When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, The line too labours, and the words move slow: Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain, Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the main.
The hog that ploughs not, not obeys thy call, Lives on the labours of this lord of all.
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