Who Would Not, Finding Way, Break Loose

Hence, Loathèd Melancholy, Of Cerberus And Blackest Midnight Born, In Stygian Cave Forlorn, 'mongst Horrid Shapes, And Shrieks, And Sights Unholy.

Behold Now This Vast City [london]; A City Of Refuge, The Mansion-house Of Liberty, Encompassed And Surrounded With His Protection.

The Stars, That Nature Hung In Heaven, And Filled Their Lamps With Everlasting Oil, Give Due Light To The Misled And Lonely Traveller.

Heaven Open'd Wide Her Ever During Gates, Harmonious Sound, On Golden Hinges Moving.

Perplexed And Troubled At His Bad Success The Tempter Stood, Nor Had What To Reply, Discovered In His Fraud, Thrown From His Hope.