Chapter VII

'Tis not such _Lines_ as almost crack the _Stage_, When _Bajazet_ begins to rage; Not a tall _Metaphor_ in th' _bombast Way_, Nor the dry Chips of short-lung'd _Seneca_. Nor upon all Things to obtrude, And force some odd _Similitude_. What is it then, which like the _Pow'r Divine_, We only can by _Negatives_ define?