All heavens dressed in black, and the church is not of help here.

Yet comets importing change of time and state, as the poet says.

Fiery demons in the sky, they are, or angels–that's hard to judge. Like pilgrims in the skies, they roam and lurk with sparkling, rough lies. Not long, they will descend, and along with them the scourge of angry, bad, revolting stars. These signs are evil. Not conquest, but famine, then war, and finally death.

Astrology–the highest science of all. It is a mirror of what's to come, but since the planets cannot command, will they inspire me, at least?

Your constellation's promising, although we all will mourn in blood.