Thus he, for then a ray of reason stole Half through the solid darkness of his soul; But soon the cloud return'd--and thus the sire: 'See now, what Dulness and her sons admire! See what the charms that smite the simple heart Not touch'd by Nature, and not reach'd by art.' 230 His never-blushing head he turn'd aside, (Not half so pleased when Goodman prophesied), And looked, and saw a sable sorcerer[367] rise, Swift to whose hand a winged volume flies: All sudden, Gorgons hiss, and dragons glare, And ten-horn'd fiends and giants rush to war. Hell rises, heaven descends, and dance on earth:[368] Gods, imps, and monsters, music, rage, and mirth, A fire, a jig, a battle, and a ball, Till one wide conflagration swallows all. 240 Thence a new world to Nature's laws unknown Breaks out refulgent, with a heaven its own: Another Cynthia her new journey runs, And other planets circle other suns. The forests dance, the rivers upward rise, Whales sport in woods, and dolphins in the skies; And last, to give the whole creation grace, Lo! one vast egg produces human race.[369] Joy fills his soul, joy innocent of thought: 249 'What power,' he cries, 'what power these wonders wrought?' 'Son, what thou seek'st is in thee! Look, and find Each monster meets his likeness in thy mind. Yet would'st thou more? In yonder cloud behold, Whose sarsenet skirts are edged with flamy gold, A matchless youth! his nod these worlds controls, Wings the red lightning, and the thunder rolls. Angel of Dulness, sent to scatter round Her magic charms o'er all unclassic ground Yon stars, yon suns, he rears at pleasure higher, Illumes their light, and sets their flames on fire. 260 Immortal Rich![370] how calm he sits at ease 'Mid snows of paper, and fierce hail of pease; And proud his mistress' orders to perform, Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm. 'But, lo! to dark encounter in mid air, New wizards rise; I see my Cibber there! Booth[371] in his cloudy tabernacle shrined, On grinning dragons thou shalt mount the wind. Dire is the conflict, dismal is the din, Here shouts all Drury, there all Lincoln's inn; 270 Contending theatres our empire raise, Alike their labours, and alike their praise.