This Spark Now Set, Retarded, Yet Forbears To Hold Her Light However So He Swears That Turns A Metalled Crank, And Leather Cloked, With Some Small Hammers Tappeth Hither An Yon; Peering As When She Showeth And When Is Gone; For Wait He Must Till The Vext Power'S Evoked That's One With The Lightnings. Wait In The Showers Soaked; Or By The Road-Side Sunned. She'll Not Progress. Poor Soul, Here Taught How Great Things May By Less Be Stayed, To File Contacts Doth Himself Address!