THEY lie, dear Ned, who say thy brain is barren,

When deep conceits, like maggots, breed in carrion.

Thy stumbling foundered jade can trot as high

As any other Pegasus can fly.

So the dull eel moves nimbler in the mud

Than all the swift-finned racers of the flood.

As skilful divers to the bottom fall

Sooner than those who cannot swim at all,

So in this way of writing, without thinking,

Thou hast a strange alacrity in sinking.