But see, the shepherds shun the noonday heat, The lowing herds to murmuring brooks retreat, To closer shades the panting flocks remove; Ye gods! and is there no relief for love?

Where'er you walk cool gales shall fan the glade, Trees where you sit shall crowd into a shade. Where'er you tread the blushing flowers shall rise, And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.

All labours draw hame at even, And can to others say, "Thanks to the gracious God of heaven, Whilk sent this summer day."

Order is heaven's first law.

The world forgetting, by the world forgot.

Genius creates, and taste preserves. Taste is the good sense of genius; without taste, genius is only sublime folly.