Excerpt from The Translation: A Poem
U C H is our Pride, our Folly, or our Fate, That few, but fuch as cannot write, Tranllate. So denham fung, who well the labour knew; And an age paf'c has left the maxim true. Wit as of old, a proud imperious Lord, 5 Difdains the plenty of ... another's board And haughty Genius fecks, like Philip's fon, Paths never trod before, and worlds unknown.
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