'Twas thus th' Armipotent advis'd the Gods,
When from his Throne the Cloud-Compeller nods,
Deep length'ning Thunders run from Pole to Pole,
trembles as the Thunders roll.
Then swift he whirls the brandish'd Bolt around,
And headlong darts it at the distant Ground,
The Bolt discharg'd inwrap'd with Light'ning flies,
And rends its flaming Passage thro' the Skies,
Then  Inhabitants, the Niblers, shake,
And  the Dwellers in the  quake.
Yet still the  advance their dread Design,
And the last Danger threats the croaking Line,
'Till  that inly mourn'd the Loss they bore,
With strange Assistants fill'd the frighted Shore.