Unto whose use the pregnant suns are poised, With idiot moons and stars retracting stars? Creep thou between -- thy coming′s all unnoised. Heaven hath her high, as Earth her baser, wars. Heir to these tumults, this affright, that fray (By Adam′s, fathers′, own, sin bound alway); Peer up, draw out thy horoscope and say Which planet mends thy threadbare fate, or mars.
© e-libr.com
feedback