Now lend me, Origen! a little wit
This sturdy stroke right fairly to avoid,
Lest that my rasher rymes, while they ill fit
With Moses pen, men justly may deride
And well accuse of ignorance or pride.
But thou, O holy Sage! with piercing sight
Who readst those sacred rolls, and hast well tride
With searching eye thereto what fitteth right
Thy self of former Worlds right learnedly dost write: