These Earth-born Fumes , which here arise,
And trouble with their Clouds , the Skies ,
Show, how the basest things aspire
To reach, the noble Seat of Fire.
Though mounting Sparkles , and the Flame ,
That Countrey seek, from whence they came ;
Yet Streams so foul , as these are seen,
Must have a baser Origine .
However they in mounting shew.
They challenge Heaven , as their due:
Yet, such is the High-flyers fate,
In Air , their Pride does terminate.
The Lot of all things, that rise high ,
Which soaring, vanish still, and dye .

The Smoak of War , and Smoak of Trade ,
Do both alike , the Skies invade;
The Clouds , in which they do ascend ,
As undistinguish't , as their End .
What can vain Man , to both provoke?
When all his Hopes , end thus in Smoak .
What moves him to build high ? as He,
Next Neighbour to the Sky , would be;
When from his proudest Heights , he sees,
What with high Thoughts , but ill agrees,
That Vapours light as these, out-flie
Both his Ambition , and his Eye .