Such an one is that which mortall men call Night,
A little shred of that unbounded shade.
And such a Globe is that which Earth is hight;
By witlesse Wizzards the sole centre made
Of all the world, and on strong pillars staid.
And such a lamp or light is this our Sun,
Whose firie beams the scortched Earth invade.
But infinite such as he, in heaven won,
And more then infinite Earths about those Suns do run;