Fool that I was so much to prizeThose simple virtues you despise,Fool that with such dull Arrows strove,Or hop'd to reach a flying Dove;For you that are in motion stillDecline our force, and mock our skill.Who like Don Quixot do advanceAgainst a Wind-mill our vain Launce.Now will I wander through the Air,Mount, make a stoop at every fair,And with a Fancy unconfin'd(As lawless as the Sea or Wind)Pursue you wheresoe'r you fly,And with your various thoughts comply.The formal Stars do travel so,As we their names and courses know,And he that on their changes looks,Would think them govern'd by our Books.0