Come hither to the hedge, and see
The Walks that are assigned to thee:
All the bounds of Virtue shine,
All the plain of Wisdom's thine,
All the flowers of harmless Wit
Thou mayest pull, if thou think'st fit,
In the fair field of History.
All the plants of Piety
Thou mayest freely thence transplant:
But have a care of whining Cant.