On
MITES
.
To
a
LADY
.
'Tis
but
by
way
of
Simile
.
PRIOR
.
DEAR
Madam
,
did
you
never
gaze
,
Thro'
Optic-glass
,
on
rotten
Cheese
?
There
,
Madam
,
did
you
ne'er
perceive
A
Crowd
of
dwarfish
Creatures
live
?
The
little
Things
,
elate
with
Pride
,
Strut
to
and
fro
,
from
Side
to
Side
:
In
tiny
Pomp
,
and
pertly
vain
,
Lords
of
their
pleasing
Orb
,
they
reign
;
And
,
fill'd
with
harden'd
Curds
and
Cream
,
Think
the
whole
Dairy
made
for
them
.
SO
Men
,
conceited
Lords
of
all
,
Walk
proudly
o'er
this
pendent
Ball
,
Fond
of
their
little
Spot
below
,
Nor
greater
Beings
care
to
know
;
But
think
,
those
Worlds
,
which
deck
the
Skies
,
Were
only
form'd
to
please
their
Eyes
.