Abashed The Devil Stood And Felt How

Indu'd With Sanctity Of Reason.

How Wearisom Eternity So Spent In Worship Paid To Whom We Hate. Let Us Not Then Pursue By Force Impossible, By Leave Obtain'd Unacceptable, Though In Heav'n, Our State Of Splendid Vassalage, But Rather Seek Our Own Good From Our Selves, And From Our Own Live To Our Selves, Though In This Vast Recess, Free, And To None Accountable, Preferring Hard Liberty Before The Easie Yoke Of Servile Pomp

The Mountain Nymph, Sweet Liberty.

New Presbyter Is But Old Priest Writ Large.

O Loss Of Sight, Of Thee I Most Complain! Blind Among Enemies, O Worse Than Chains, Dungeon, Or Beggary, Or Decrepit Age!