Authors:
  • When the Sun sets, shadows, that shew'd at Noon
    But small, appear most long and terrible;
    So, when we think Fate hovers o'er our Heads,
    Our apprehensions shoot beyond all bounds,
    Owls, Ravens, Crickets seem the watch of death,
    Nature's worst Vermine scare her God-like Sons.
    Ecchoes the very leavings of a Voice,
    Grow babling Ghosts, and call us to our Graves:
    Each Mole-hill thought swells to a huge Olympus,
    While we fantastick Dreamers heave and puff,
    And sweat with an Imagination's weight.

    "Dramatik Works".