"Then from the teeming Filth, and putrid Heap, Like Summer Grubs, the little Slime-Fish creep. Devour'd by All the passive Curse they own, Opprest by ev'ry Kind, but injure none. Harmless they live, nor murd'rous Hunger know, But to themselves their mutual Pleasures owe; Each other lick, and the close Kiss repeat; Thus loving thrive, and praise the luscious Treat. When they in Throngs a safe Retirement seek, Where pointed Rocks the rising Surges break, Or where calm Waters in their Bason sleep, While chalky Cliffs o’erlook the shaded Deep, The Seas all gilded o’er the Shoal betray, And shining Tracks inform their wand’ring Way. As when soft Snows, brought down by Western Gales, Silent descend and spread on all the Vales; Add to the Plains, and on the Mountains shine, While in chang’d Fields the starving Cattle pine; Nature bears all one Face, looks coldly bright, And mourns her lost Variety in White, Unlike themselves the Objects glare around, And with false Rays the dazzled Sight confound: So, where the Shoal appears, the changing Streams Lose their Sky-blew, and shine with silver Gleams."