Adam Posed

Could our first father, at his toilsome plow,

Thorns in his path, and labor 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 guessed from what new element she came;

T’have hit the wav’ring form, or giv’n this thing a name.

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