S
Ee here’s a Book set forth with such things in’t,
As former Ages never saw in Print;
Something I’de write in praise on’t, but the Pen,
Of Famous Cleaveland, or renowned Ben,
If unintomb’d might give this Book its due,
By their high strains, and keep it always new.
But I whose ruder Stile could never clime,
Or step beyond a home-bred Country Rhime,
Must not attempt it: only this I’le say,