WELL, 'tis as  has guest,
Tho' we all took it for a Jest:
is Dead, nay more, he dy'd
E'er he could prove the good  ly'd.
Strange, and Astrologer should Die,
Without one Wonder in the Sky;
Not one of all his  Stars,
To pay their Duty at his Hearse!
No Meteor, no Eclipse appear'd!
No Comet with a Flaming Beard!
The Sun has rose, and gone to Bed,
Just as if  were not Dead;
Nor hid himself behind the Moon,
To make a dreadful Night at Noon:
He at fit Periods walks through ,
Howe'er our Earthly Motion varies,
And 'twice a Year he'll cut th' ,
As if there had been no such Matter.