To all, proportioned terms he must dispense, And make the sound a picture of the sense.
Nor would I scruple, with a due regard, To read sometimes a rude unpolished bard, Among whose labours I may find a line Which from unsightly rust I may refine, And, with a better grace, adopt it into mine.
Be sure from nature never to depart; To copy nature is the task of art. The noblest poets own her sovereign sway, And ever follow where she leads the way.