III.
Tell me no more that Nature is severe, Thou great philosopher! Lo! she has laid her vast exchequer here. Tell me no more that she has sent So much already, she is spent; Here is a vast America behind Which none but the great Silurist could find. Nature her last edition was the best, As big, as rich as all the rest: So will we here admit Another world of wit. No rude or savage fancy here shall stay The travelling reader in his way, But every coast is clear: go where he will, Virtue's the road Thalia leads him still. Long may she live, and wreath thy sacred head For this her happy resurrection from the dead.
N. W., Jes. Coll., Oxon.
[63] The original has flight In raine; alas! we grope.