" And so it would, as Shakspeare
says, "if my mother's cat had kittened. This," says our sagacious bard,
"is the excellent foppery of the world, that when we are sick in
fortune, (after the surfeit of our own behaviour) we make guilt of our
disasters, the sun, the moon, and the stars; as if we were villains by
necessity; fools, by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and
treachers, (traitors) by spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and
adulterers, by an enforced obedience of planetary influence; and all
that we are evil in by a divine thrusting on; an admirable evasion of a
whoremaster to lay his goatish tricks to the charge of a star! My father
compounded with my mother under the dragon's tail; and my nativity was
under _Ursa major_; so that it follows I am rough and treacherous.--Tut!
I should have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament
twinkled at my bastardizing." Thus it is evident, that astrology is
built upon no principles, that it is founded on fables, and on
influences void of reality. Yet absurd as it is, and even was, it
obtained credit; and the more it spread, the greater injury was done to
the cause of virtue.
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