Whose fruit is fiction; whose foundation wind.
3
FUIMUS FUMUS.
Where, where are now the great reports
Of those huge haughty earthborn giants?
Where are the lofty towers and forts
Of those proud kings bade Heaven defiance?
When these I to my mind revoke, 5
Methinks I see a mighty smoke
Thick mounting from quick-burning matter,
Which in an instant winds do scatter.