So when fierce Rains wash down the lessen'd Hills,
And redden'd Floods increase the swelling Rills;
The swift united Streams haste to the Plain,
And swampy Meads the gathering Waters drain:
Each neighb'ring Hill, and ev'ry rising Mound
Barrens itself t'enrich the lower Ground.
No Moisture can suffice th'insatiate Weeds,
Cresses, and filmy Rush, and flaggy Reeds.
Sunk in their Slime the marshy Vales below
Scorn those, to whom their Herbs such Rankness owe;
Their subject State they confident deny,
And lowest Fens will call themselves the High;
Cease, ye unthinking Hills, and strive no more
To swell th'ungrateful Bogs with a too lavish Store.