exemplified in Prose.  Every Line in it is a Riddle, and the Reader must be forced to consider it twice or thrice, before he will know that the Cynick’s Tenement is a Tub, and Bacchus his Cast-coat a Hogs-head, &c.

’ ’Twas Night, and Heav’n, a_ Cyclops, all the Day, An Argus now did countless Eyes display; In ev’ry Window Rome her Joy declares, All bright, and studded with terrestrial Stars.  A blazing Chain of Lights her Roofs entwines.  And round her Neck the mingled Lustre shines, The Cynick’s rowling Tenement conspires, With Bacchus his Cast-coat, to feed the Fires.

    The Pile, still big with undiscover’d Shows,
    The Tuscan Pile did last its Freight disclose,
    Where the proud Tops of Rome’s new AEtna rise,
    Whence Giants sally, and invade the Skies.

    Whilst now the Multitude expect the Time,
    And their tir’d Eyes the lofty Mountain climb,
    A thousand Iron Mouths their Voices try,
    And thunder out a dreadful Harmony;
    In treble Notes the small Artill’ry plays,
    The deep-mouth’d Cannon bellows in the Bass. 
    The lab’ring Pile now heaves; and having giv’n
    Proofs of its Travail sighs in Flames to Heav’n.

    The Clouds invelop’d Heav’n from Human Sight,
    Quench’d every Star, and put out ev’ry Light;
    Now Real Thunder grumbles in the Skies,
    And in disdainful Murmurs_ Rome defies;
    Nor doth its answer’d Challenge Rome decline;
    But whilst both Parties in full Consort join,
    While Heav’n and Earth in Rival Peals resound,
    The doubtful Cracks the Hearer’s Sense confound;
    Whether the Claps of Thunderbolts they hear,
    Or else the Burst of Canon wounds their Ear;
    Whether Clouds raged by struggling Metals rent,
    Or struggling Clouds in Roman Metals pent. 
    But O, my Muse, the whole Adventure tell,
    As ev’ry Accident in order fell.

    Tall Groves of Trees the_ Hadrian Tow’r surround,
    Fictitious Trees with Paper Garlands crown’d,
    These know no Spring, but when their Bodies sprout
    In Fire, and shoot their gilded Blossoms out;
    When blazing Leaves appear above their Head,
    And into branching Flames their Bodies spread. 
    Whilst real Thunder splits the Firmament,
    And Heav’n’s whole Roof in one vast Cleft is rent,
    The three-fork’d Tongue amidst the Rupture lolls,
    Then drops and on the Airy Turret falls. 
    The Trees now kindle, and the Garland burns,
    And thousand Thunderbolts for one returns. 
    Brigades of burning Archers upward fly,
    Bright Spears and shining Spear-men mount on high,
    Flash in the Clouds, and glitter in the Sky. 
    A Seven-fold Shield of Spheres doth Heav’n defend,
    And back again the blunted Weapons send;
    Unwillingly they fall, and dropping down,
    Pour out their Souls, their sulph’rous Souls, and groan.