I sing. Say ye, her instruments, the great,

Call'd to this Work by Dulness, Jove, and Fate;

You by whose care, in vain decry'd, and curst,

Still Dunce the second reigns like Dunce the first;

Say, how the Goddess bade Britannia sleep,

And pour'd her spirit o'er the land and deep."

Pope's Dunciad.—

[2]

"Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutor'd mind

Sees God in Clouds, and hears him in the wind;