Nature to these without profusion kind,
The proper organs, proper pow'rs assign'd,
Each seeming want compensated of course,
Here, with degrees of Swiftness, there, of Force;
All in exact proportion to the state,
Nothing to add, and nothing to abate.
Each Beast, each Insect, happy in its own,
Is Heav'n unkind to Man, and Man alone?
Shall he alone, whom rational we call,
Be pleas'd with nothing, if not bless'd with all?