909
I make His Crescent fill or lack—
His Nature is at Full
Or Quarter—as I signify—
His Tides—do I control—
He holds superior in the Sky
Or gropes, at my Command
Behind inferior Clouds—or round
A Mist’s slow Colonnade—
But since We hold a Mutual Disc—
And front a Mutual Day—
Which is the Despot, neither knows—
Nor Whose—the Tyranny—
