Their Arts, their Sciences, were learn'd in Schools,
And all their Precepts were confin'd to Rules.
The swelling Tree, as it unpolish'd grew
Undecorated, Native Graces shew;
From thence the Column, in its purer Dress,
The Work of Nature, must the Form confess:
The wreath'd, the fluted, or th' encumb'ring Vine,
With plenteous Branches round the Pillar twine;
Yet still its pure Simplicity you see;
The Shaft of Art, resembles still a Tree.