O fair undress, best dress! it checks no vein, But every flowing limb in pleasure drowns, And heightens ease with grace. - James Thomson

Who stemm'd the torrent of a downward age.

I care not, Fortune, what you me deny; You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace,
You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shows her brightening face; You cannot bar my constant feet to trace
The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve.
Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace,
And I their toys to the great children leave:
Of fancy, reason, virtue, naught can me bereave.

But who can paint
Like Nature? Can imagination boast,
Amid its gay creation, hues like hers?