Du Bartas, His Divine Weeks and Works (excerpt)

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But ev'n as many (or more) quarrels cumber
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Th' old heathen schools about the heavens' number.
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One holds but one; making the world's eyes shine
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Through the thin-thickness of that chrystal line,
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(As through the ocean's clear and liquid flood
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The slippery fishes up and down do scud).
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Another, judging certain by his eye,
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And, seeing sev'n bright lamps mov'd diversely,
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Turn this and that way: and, on th' other side,
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That all the rest of the heav'ns' twinkling pride
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Keep all one course; ingeniously, he varies
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The heav'ns' rich building into eight round stories.
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Others, amid the starriest orb, perceiving
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A triple cadence, and withal conceiving
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That but one natural course one body goes,
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Count nine, some ten; not numb'ring yet (with those)
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Th' empyreal palace, where th' eternal treasures
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Of nectar flow, where everlasting pleasures
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Are heaped-up, where an immortal May
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In blissful beauties flourisheth for ay,
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Where life still lives, where God his sises holds
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Environ'd round with seraphins and souls
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Bought with his precious blood, whose glorious flight
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Erst mounted earth above the heavens bright.
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Nor shall my faint and humble Muse presume
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So high a song and subject to assume.
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