“ ‘The cubs of bears a living lump appear, When whelp’d, and no determined figure wear. Their mother licks them into shape, and gives As much of form, as she herself receives.

“ ‘The grubs from their sexangular abode Crawl out unfinish’d, like the maggot’s brood: Trunks without limbs; till time at leisure brings, The thighs they wanted, and their tardy wings.

“ ‘The bird, that draws the car of Juno, vain Of her crown’d head, and of her starry train; And he that bears the artillery of Jove, The strong-pounced eagle, and the billing dove; And all the feather’d kind, who could suppose (But that for sight, the surest sense, he knows) They from the included yolk, not ambient white, arose?

“ ‘There are, who think the marrow of a man, Which in the spine, while he was living, ran, When dead, the pith corrupted will become A snake, and hiss within the hollow tomb.