"Cynthia, because your Hornes looke diverse wayes, Now darkned to the East, now to the West; Then at Full-glorie once in thirty dayes, Sense doth beleeve that Change is Natures rest. Poore earth, that dare presume to judge the skye; Cynthia is ever round, and never varies, Shadowes and distance doe abuse the eye, And in abusèd sense truth oft miscarries: Yet who this language to the People speaks, Opinions empire senses idoll breaks."