'Tis Merlin bids thee, at whose awful wand
The pale ghost quivers, and the grim fiend gasps.
Phil. An airy shape, the tenderest of my kind,
The last seduced, and least deformed, of hell;
Half-white, and shuffled in the crowd, I fell,
Desirous to repent, and loth to sin;
Awkward in mischief, piteous of mankind.
My name is Philidel, my lot in air,
Where, next beneath the moon, and nearest heaven,
I soar, and have a glimpse to be received,