Where moisten'd Cliffs are all with Herbs o'ergrown,
And the rank Stalks lie matted on the Stone,
The  will the leafy Covert praise,
And here the  spends his easy Days.
Here  dwell, nam'd from their dusky Hue,
And tim'rous  the blind Haunts pursue.
Here  feed, the only Kinds that dare
To form shrill Sounds, and strike the trembling Air.
To pensive Silence doom'd no other Fish
Can speak his Wants, or tell his secret Wish.
Twice o'er their Food the wanton  eat,
With Pleasure the luxurious Toil repeat.
Like Sheep in grassy Meads, or fat'ning Kine
They chew the Cud, and on the Tast refine.