The flowers of eloquence, profusely pour’d
O’er spotted vice, fill half the letter’d world. 50
Can powers of genius exorcise their page,
And consecrate enormities with song?
But let not these inexpiable strains
Condemn the Muse that knows her dignity;
Nor meanly stops at time, but holds the world 55
As ’tis, in nature’s ample field, a point,
A point in her esteem; from whence to start,
And run the round of universal space,