Classic Poem

Behold the Worlde , how it is whirled round ,
And for it is so whirl'd, is named so;
In whose large volume many rules are found
Of this new Art, which it doth fairly show;
For your quick eyes in wandring too and fro
From East to West, on no one thing can glaunce
But if you marke it well, it seemes to daunce.

First you see fixt in this huge mirrour blew
Of trembling lights, a number numberless:
Fixt they are nam'd, but with a name untrue,
For they all moove and in a Daunce expresse
That great long yeare , that doth containe no lesse
Then threescore hundreds of those yeares in all,
Which the sunne makes with his course naturall.

What if to you these sparks disordered seeme
As if by chaunce they had been scattered there?
The gods a solemne measure doe it deeme,
And see a just proportion every where,
And know the points whence first their movings were;
To which first points when all returne againe,
The axel-tree of Heav'n shall breake in twaine.

Under that spanggled skye, five wandring flames
Besides the King of Day, and Queene of Night,
Are wheel'd around, all in their sundry frames,
And all in sundry measures doe delight,
Yet altogether keepe no measure right;
For by it selfe each doth it selfe advance,
And by it selfe each doth a galliard daunce ...