Already had he toss’d the flaming brand, And roll’d the thunder in his spacious hand, Preparing to discharge on seas and land; But stopp’d, for fear, thus violently driven, The sparks should catch his axletree of heaven; Remembering in the Fates, a time when fire Should to the battlements of heaven aspire, And all his blazing worlds above should burn, And all the inferior globe to cinders turn. His dire artillery thus dismiss’d, he bent His thoughts to some securer punishment; Concludes to pour a watery deluge down, And what he durst not burn, resolves to drown.