Classic Poem

Jove saw the Heavens fram'd in a little glasse,
And laughing, to the Gods these words did passe;
Comes then the power of mortall cares so farre?
In brittle Orbes my labours acted are.
The statutes of the Poles, the faith of things,
The Laws of Gods this Syracusian brings
Hither by art: Spirits inclos'd attend
Their severall spheares, and with set motions bend
The living worke: Each yeare the faigned Sun,
Each Month returnes the counterfeited Moon;
And viewing now her world, bold Industrie
Grows proud, to know the heavens her subjects bee.
Beleive Salmonius hath false thunders thrown,
For a poore hand is Natures rivall grown.