And thus thro' Mists we see the Sun,
Which else we durst not gaze upon.

These silver drops, like morning dew,
Foretell the fervor of the day :
So from one cloud soft show'rs we view,
And blasting lightnings burst away.
The Stars that fall from Celia's eye,
Declare our doom is drawing nigh.

The Baby in those sunny Spheres
So like a Phaeton appears,

That Heav'n, the threaten'd world to spare,
Thought fit to drown him in her Tears:

Else might th' ambitious Nymph aspire,
To set, like him, Heav'n too on fire.

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