His words, like so many nimble and airy servitors, trip about him at command. Ibid.
My heart contains of good, wise, just, the perfect shape.
God is thy law, thou mine.
For what is glory but the blaze of fame?
Confusion heard his voice, and wild uproar Stood ruled, stood vast infinitude confined; Till at his second bidding darkness fled, Light shone, and order from disorder sprung.
And the earth self-balanced on her centre hung.