from The Enquiry
How near one species to the next is join'd,
The due Gradations please a thinking Mind;
And there are Creatures which no eye can see,
That for a Moment live and breathe like me:
Whom a small Fly in bulk as far exceeds,
As yon tall Cedar does the waving Reeds:
These we can reach - and may we not suppose
There still are creatures more minute than those.
Woul'd Heav'n permit, and might our Organs bear
To pierce where Comets wave their blazing Hair:
Where other Suns alternate set and rise,
And other Moons light up the chearful Skies:
The ravish'd Soul might still her search pursue,
Still find new Wonders op'ning on her view:
From thence to Worlds in Miniature descend,
And still press forward, but shou'd find no End:
Where little Forests on a Leaf appear,
And Drops of Dew are mighty oceans there:
These may have Whales that in their Waters play,
And wanton out their Age of half a Day:
In those small Groves the smaller Birds may sing,
And share like us their Winter and their Spring.
Pluck off yon Acorn from its Parent Bough,
Divide that Acorn in the midst - and now
In its firm Kernel a fair Oak is seen
With spreading branches of a sprightly Green:
From this young Tree a Kernel might we rend,
There wou'd another its small Boughs extend.
All Matter lives , and shews its Maker's Power;
There's not a seed but what contains a Flower:
Tho' unobserv'd its secret beauty lies,
Till we are blest with Microscopick Eyes,
When for blue Plumbs our longing Palate calls,
Or scarlet Cherries that adorn the Walls;
With each plump Fruit we swallow down a Tree,
And so destroy whole Groves that else wou'd be
As large and perfect as those Shades we see,
Behold yon Monster that unweildy laves
Beneath the Surface of the briny Waves:
Still as he turns, the troubl'd Sea divides;
And rolls in Eddies from his slimy Sides.
Less huge the Dolphin to the Sun displays
His Scales, and in the smoother Ocean plays:
Still less the Herring and round Mackrel sweep
The shallow Tide, nor trust the roaring Deep:
How far by gradual numberless Degrees,
The senseless Oyster is remov'd from these.
Who follows Nature through her mazy Way,
From the mute insect to the Fount of Day,
(where now she rises, now her Steps decline)
Has need of Judgement better taught than mine:
But on this subject we have talk'd too long,
Where grave-fac'd Wisdom may itself be wrong
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