Now, for the peace of God and men, advise
(Thou that hast where-withal to make us wise)
Thine own rich studies, and deep Harriots mine[68],
In which there is no dross, but all refine:
O tell us what to trust to, lest we wax
All stiff and stupid with his parallax:
Say, shall the old philosophy be true?
Or doth he ride above the moon, think you?
Is he a meteor forced by the sun?
Or a first body from creation?