Nor be forgot a Tribe, who minded Nought
(Old Inmates of the Place) but State-Affairs:
They look'd, perdie, as if they deeply thought;
And on their Brow sat every Nation's Cares.
The World by them is parcel'd out in Shares,
When in the  they Congress hold,
And the sage Berry sun-burnt  bears
Has clear'd their inward Eye: then, smoak-enroll'd,
Their Oracles break forth mysterious as of old.