What a surprise it must be to the sun,
Rising, to find the vanish'd world away.
What less can be the wretched wife's surprise
When, stretching out her arms to fold thee fast,
She found her useless bolster in her arms.
Think, think, on that.—Oh! think, think well on that![174]
I do remember also to have read
In Dryden's Ovid's Metamorphoses,[175]
That Jove in form inanimate did lie
With beauteous Danaë: and, trust me, love,