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 For thus his genius takes a different face From every different genius of a place. The soul too varies; and the bard may find A thousand diff'rent motions in his mind. New gleams of light will ev'ry moment rise, While from each part the scatt'ring darkness flies. And, as he alters what appears amiss, He adds new flow'rs to beautifiebeautify [sic] the piece. But here, ev'n here, avoid th' extreme of such, Who with excess of care correct too much; Whose barb'rous hands no calls of pity bound, While with th' infected parts they cut the sound, And make the cure more dang'rous than the wound. 'Till, all the blood and spirits drain'd away, The body sickens, and the parts decay; The native beauties die; the limbs appear Seam'd and deform'd with one continu'd scar. No fix't determin'd number will I set; But when some years the labour shall compleat; Reflect on life; and, mindful of thy span, Whose scanty limit bounds the days of man,