'Tis not such _Lines_ as almost crack the _Stage_,
When _Bajazet_ begins to rage;
Not a tall _Metaphor_ in th' _bombast Way_,
Nor the dry Chips of short-lung'd _Seneca_.
Nor upon all Things to obtrude,
And force some odd _Similitude_.
What is it then, which like the _Pow'r Divine_,
We only can by _Negatives_ define?