To John, Lord Eldon

ike as the Lights, that on the globed Sphere With fine Discernment to our Senses play, And Night, and the divided Season sway, With Glory, and Adornment of the Year; Making what is, since making to appear What God has planted, our Abode t' allay With Pleasance and with Use, which else were Prey, But for that Grace, to Sorrow and to Fear; So shine the Wise to our o'er-darken'd Sense, That great Orion in just Thought is pale, And Phosphor dim; so thy bright Excellence Against the Clouds of Evil doth avail; And, from thy pure and unhurt Eminence, Above Them all, doth make th' ill-minded quail!