The Matter shall be grave, the Numbers loose and free;
It shall not keep one settled Pace to Time,
In the same Tune it shall not always Chime,
Nor shall each Day just to his Neighbour rhyme.
A thousand Liberties it shall dispense,
And yet shall manage all without Offence,
Or to the Sweetness of the Sound, or Greatness of the Sense,
Nor shall it ever from one Subject start,
Nor seek Transitions to depart;
Nor its set Way o'er Stiles and Bridges make,