“ ‘For whether earth’s an animal, and air Imbibes, her lungs with coolness to repair, And what she sucks remits, she still require Inlets for air, and outlets for her fires; When tortured with convulsive fits she shakes, That motion choke the vent, till other vent she makes: Or when the winds in hollow caves are closed, And subtle spirits find that way opposed, They toss up flints in air; the flints that hide The seeds of fire, thus toss’d in air, collide, Kindling the sulphur, till the fuel spent, The cave is cool’d, and the fierce winds relent.

“ ‘Or whether sulphur, catching fire, feeds on Its unctuous parts, till all the matter gone, The flames no more ascend; for earth supplies The fat that feeds them; and when earth denies That food, by length of time consumed, the fire Famish’d for want of fuel must expire.