When First I Find Those Numbers Thou Dost Write, To Be Most Soft, Terse, Sweet, And Perpolite: Next, When I See Thee Tow'Ring In The Sky, In An Expansion No Less Large Than High; Then, In That Compass, Sailing Here And There, And With Circumgyration Everywhere; Following With Love And Active Heat Thy Game, And Then At Last To Truss The Epigram; I Must Confess, Distinction None I See Between Domitian'S Martial Then, And Thee. But This I Know, Should Jupiter Again Descend From Heaven To Reconverse With Men; The Roman Language Full, And Superfine, If Jove Would Speak, He Would Accept Of Thine.