— In measur'd time
(So heav'n has will'd) together with their snows,
The everlasting hills shall melt away:
This solid globe dissolve, as ductile wax
Before the breath of Vulcan; like a scroll
Shrivel th' unfolded curtains of the sky;
Thy planets, NEWTON, tumble from their spheres;
The moon be perish'd from her bloody orb;
The sun himself, in liquid ruin, rush
And deluge with destroying flames the globe —
Peace then, my soul, nor grieve that POPE is dead.