see thy fate! […] “‘Weary Pluto with thy tattle! […] —     O void unmark’d — thy sisters of the sky. […] So let me be thy choir, and make a moan         Upon the midnight hours; Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet     From swinged censer teeming; Thy shrine, thy grove, thy oracle, thy heat     Of pale-mouth’d prophet dreaming.” […] Bear a benign mind; and thy helpful hand Lend all, submitted to thy dread command.”