The skies, whose spreading volumes scarce have room,
Spun thin, and wove in nature's finest loom,
The new-born world in their soft lap embrac'd,
And all around their starry mantle cast[1].
If he looks upon a tempest, he shall have an image of a tumbled bed, and describe a succeeding calm in this manner;
The ocean, joyed to see the tempest fled,
New lays his waves, and smooths his ruffled bed[3].
The triumphs and acclamations of the angels at the creation of the universe present to his imagination "the rejoicings on the lord mayor's day;" and he beholds those glorious beings celebrating their creator, by huzzaing, making illuminations, and flinging squibs, crackers, and sky-rockets.
Glorious illuminations, made on high
By all the stars and planets of the sky,
In just degrees, and shining order placed,
Spectators charm'd, and the blest dwellings graced.
Through all the enlighten'd air swift fire-works flew,
Which with repeated shouts glad cherubs threw.
Comets ascended with their sweeping train,
Then fell in starry showers and glittering rain.
In air ten thousand meteors blazing hung,
Which from th' eternal battlements were flung[4].[2]
If a man, who is violently fond of wit, will sacrifice to that passion his friend or his God, would it not be a shame, if he who is smit with the love of
