Could our First Father, at his toilsome Plough,
Thorns in his Path, and Labour on his Brow,
Clothed only in a rude, unpolished Skin,
Could he a vain Fantastic Nymph have seen,
In all her Airs, in all her antic Graces,
Her various Fashions, and more various Faces;
How had it posed that Skill, which late assigned
Just Appellations to Each several Kind!
A right Idea of the Sight to frame;
T'have guest from what New Element she came;
T'have hit the wavering Form, or given this Thing a Name.