The poem
If there be nothing new, but that which is Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled, Which, labouring for invention bear amis The second burthen of a former child! O, that record could with a backward look, Even of five hundred courses of the sun, Show me your image in some antique book, Since mind at first in character was done. That I might see what the old world could say To this composèd wonder of your frame; Whether we are mended, or whe'er better they, Or whether revolution be the same. O, sure I am the wits of former days To subjects worse have given admiring praise.