Maxioms by Mark Akenside
At last the Muses rose, . . . And scattered, . . . as they flew,
Their blooming wreaths read more
At last the Muses rose, . . . And scattered, . . . as they flew,
Their blooming wreaths from fair Valclusa's bowers
To Arno's myrtle border.
This was Shakespeare's form;
Who walked in every path of human life,
Felt every passion; and to read more
This was Shakespeare's form;
Who walked in every path of human life,
Felt every passion; and to all mankind
Doth now, will ever, that experience yield
Which his own genius only could acquire.
This was Shakespeare's form; who walked in every path of human life, felt every passion; and to all mankind doth read more
This was Shakespeare's form; who walked in every path of human life, felt every passion; and to all mankind doth now, will ever, that experience yield which his own genius only could acquire.
And the veil
Spun from the cobweb fashion of the times,
TO hid the feeling heart?
And the veil
Spun from the cobweb fashion of the times,
TO hid the feeling heart?
The man forget not, though in rags he lies, and know the mortal through a crown's disguise.
The man forget not, though in rags he lies, and know the mortal through a crown's disguise.
