Was I Deceiv'd, Or Did A Sable

Spirits That Live Throughout, Vital In Every Part, Not As Frail Man, In Entrails, Heart Or Head, Liver Or Reins, Cannot But By Annihilating Die.

But Now My Task Is Smoothly Done, I Can Fly, Or I Can Run Quickly To The Green Earth's End, Where The Bow'd Welkin Slow Doth Bend, And From Thence Can Soar As Soon To The Corners Of The Moon.

Nor Jealousy Was Understood, The Injur'd Lover's Hell.

O Fleeting Joys Of Paradise, Dear Bought With Lasting Woes!

Immediate Are The Acts Of God, More Swift Than Time Or Motion.