Sweetest Echo, Sweetest Nymph, That Liv'st Unseen

Seas Wept From Our Deep Sorrows.

For Spirits When They Please Can Either Sex Assume, Or Both; So Soft And Uncompounded Is Their Essence Pure, Not Tied Or Manacled With Joint Or Limb, Nor Founded On The Brittle Strength Of Bones, Like Cumbrous Flesh; But In What Shape They Choose Dilated Or Condensed, Bright Or Obscure, Can Execute Their Airy Purposes, And Works Of Love Or Enmity Fulfil.

To Live A Life Half Dead, A Living Death.

Into This Wild Abyss, The Womb Of Nature And Perhaps Her Grave.

Lifted Up So High I Disdained Subjection, And Thought One Step Higher Would Set Me Highest.