86
“And with its rapt and rapid whirl it drags all lesser spherelets which its womb containeth: By work of this the Sun who never flags with alien courses Day and Night sustaineth: ’Neath this swift orb another orb slow lags, so slow, so hard a curb its ardour reineth, while Phoebus makes, with ever splendid face, two hundred rounds, this moves a single pace.