“NOT all, that sit beneath a golden roof,

In rooms of cedar, O Renowned Lord!

Wise though they be, and put to highest proof,

To the sweet Muses do their grace afford;

Which, if they did, the like would them accord,

The mighty Poets to eternity,

And their wise acts in living verse record,

And build them up, great heirs of Memory;

Which else shall in oblivion fall and die.

But thou-that like the Sun, with heav'nly beams

Shining on all, dost cheer abundantly

The learned heads, that drink Castalian streams-

Transcendant Lord, accept this verse from me,

Made for all time… but yet unfit for theb.”