Enjoy Your Dear Wit And Gay Rhetoric,

Let Us Descend Now Therefore From This Top Of Speculation.

A Death-like Sleep, A Gentle Wafting To Immortal Life.

So On This Windy Sea Of Land, The Fiend Walked Up And Down Alone Bent On His Prey.

There Is No Truth Sure Enough To Justify Persecution.

His Form Had Yet Not Lost All Her Original Brightness, Nor Appear'd Less Than Archangel Ruin'd, And Th' Excess Of Glory Obscur'd.