• When the Sun sets, shadows, that shew'd at Noon But small, appear most long and terrible; So, when we think Fate hovers o'er our Heads, Our apprehensions shoot beyond all bounds, Owls, Ravens, Crickets seem the watch of death, Nature's worst Vermine scare her God-like Sons. Ecchoes the very leavings of a Voice, Grow babling Ghosts, and call us to our Graves: Each Mole-hill thought swells to a huge Olympus, While we fantastick Dreamers heave and puff, And sweat with an Imagination's weight.

    John Dryden: When the Sun sets, shadows, that shew'd at Noon 
But small, appear most long and terrible; 
So, when we think Fate hovers o'er our Heads, 
Our apprehensions shoot beyond all bounds, 
Owls, Ravens, Crickets seem the watch of death, 
Nature's worst Vermine scare her God-like Sons. 
Ecchoes the very leavings of a Voice, 
Grow babling Ghosts, and call us to our Graves: 
Each Mole-hill thought swells to a huge Olympus, 
While we fantastick Dreamers heave and puff,
And sweat with an Imagination's weight.
    "Dramatik Works".