You never can profit, unless you digest it;
And monkeys and men, from the north to the south,
Can only digest what they put in their mouth.
Much more might be said, if I chose to enlarge,
But I’d rather proceed to the rest of my charge.
To accuse me of mischief, and tax me with stealing,
Is really a want of all sense and all feeling,
Since Nature, who ripens the figs and the grapes,
Is no nearer kindred to man than to apes;
And the fair teeming Earth, our bountiful mother,