Here, like a trumpet, loud and strong, _Thy_ thunder shakes our coast; While the red lightnings wave along, The banners of _thy host_. A second objection to your answer is, it is extremely uncomfortable. For if things really be as you affirm, if all these afflictive incidents, entirely depend on the fortuitous concourse and agency of blind, material causes; what hope, what help, what resource is left, for the poor sufferers by them? Should the murrain among the cattle continue a few years longer, and consequently produce scarcity or famine; what will there be left for many of the poor to do, but to lie down and die? If tainted air spread a pestilence over our land, where shall they fly for succour? They cannot resist either the one or other. They cannot escape from them. And can they hope to appease _Illacrymabilem Plutona?_ “Inexorable _Pluto_, king of shades?” Shall they intreat the famine or the pestilence to shew mercy? Alas, they are as senseless as you suppose God to be. However, you who are men of fortune can shift tolerably well, in spite of these difficulties. Your money will undoubtedly procure you food as long as there is any in the kingdom. And if your physicians cannot secure you from the epidemic disease, your coaches can carry you from the place of infection. Be it so: but you are not out of all danger yet; unless you can drive faster than the wind. Are you sure of this? And are your horses literally swifter than the lightning? Can they leave the panting storm behind? If not, what will you do when it overtakes you? Try your eloquence on the whirlwind? Will it hear your voice? Will it regard either your money, or prayers, or tears? Call upon the lightning. Cry aloud. See whether _your_ voice will _divide the flames of fire_? O no! It hath no ears to hear. It devoureth and sheweth no pity.