Around him various insects came,
Of diff’rent colour, different name;
And, ting’d with every gorgeous dye,
Among the rest a Butterfly;
His wings are spread with wanton pride,
And beauty fades from all beside.
The Beau beholds, with envious eyes,
The living radiance as it flies:
“And shall,” said he, “this worthless thing.
That lives but on a summer’s wing,