University of Virginia Library

How soon the boy, from Heaven's rigging,
Had cast his eye on earth's low bigging,
He trembl'd, and, which was a token
Of a dirt-fear, look'd dun as docken;
Down from his eyes the tears did trickle,
O, but he was in a sad pickle!
Ne'er was young lad in bader plight,
His eyes turn'd dim, he lost his sight:
In this perplexing firie-farie,
And inexpressible quandarie,
Had he possess'd an hundred pound
He'd giv'n it all for soal o'ground.
Oft did he wish he'd had a pox,
When sirk he mounted the coach-box:
Were he on earth again, he'd rather
Content himself with any father,
Or chuse out one by odds or even,
Rather than gallop thus through Heaven,
To prove his genealogy
By dangerous astrology.
Curgloft, confounded and bumbaz'd,
On east and west, by turns, he gaz'd;
As ship that's tost with stormy weather,
Drives on, the pilot knows not whither,
At mercy of the winds and tides,
Just so our hackney coach-man rides.
The more the coach-wheels reel'd and tumbl'd,
The more his judgment still was jumbl'd.
The slacken'd reins he held not fast,
Nor dropt them quite, but all agast,
And at his wits end, like a sot,
His horses names he had forgot.
Much tost with jolting and with hobblings,
And terrify'd with strange hobgoblins,
Which, up and down, dispersed lye
Through the wild regions of the sky,
At last his fingers dropt the reins;
The steeds perceiv'd them on their manes,
Rambling and ranging, out they fly

Through dens and desarts of the sky,
With lawless force and divelish din,
They drive the coach through thick and thin:
Their fury all before them mars,
They dash the sun against the stars:
And now they turn their tails, and down
They drive the sun below the moon.
Quoth Luna, in a great surprize,
‘Can I believe now my own eyes?
‘Yes, 'tis my brother, that is clear,
‘But then, what does he riding here?
‘I know not what to say; sure this is
‘A thing portends no good, (God bless us.)
‘All nature topsy turvie turns,
‘The clouds he into ashes burns,
‘Which sends us up such stinking smoke,
‘God help me, I am like to choak.”

And now the earth begins to fry,
The rivers, great and small, run dry;

The woods and heaths do make but one fire,
And every mountain is a bonfire.
The frozen zone begins to thaw,
And all the corn-fields do glow,
Small loss of woods, of fields and hills,
When they're compar'd with greater ills:
Whole cities and whole peopl'd nations
Make but continu'd conflagrations:

Nilus, to fly the scorching sun,
With all his speed did backward run,
And hide his head so under ground,
To this good day it is not found.
The solid ground even splits asunder,
The sun-beams fill all with hell with wonder.

Old Nick, and his goodwife, benighted,
Till they were with the flash affrighted.
With heat the ocean boils and bubbles,
Neptune was in a peck of troubles:
Thrice 'bove the floods his head he rear'd,
The flame thrice sing'd his grisly beard.