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The Extasie.
1.
I Leave Mortality, and things below;
I have no time in Complements to waste,
Farewel to'ye all in haste,
For I am call'd to go.
A Whirlwind bears up my dull Feet,
Th'officious Clouds beneath them meet.
And (Lo!) I mount, and (Lo!)
How small the biggest Parts of Earths proud Tittle show!
2.
Where shall I find the noble Brittish Land?
Lo, I at last a Northern Spec espie,
Which in the Sea does lie,
And seems a Grain o'th' Sand!
For this will any sin, or Bleed?
Of Civil Wars is this the Meed?
And is it this, alas, which we
(Oh Irony of Words!) we call Great Britainie▪
3.
I pass by th'arched Magazins, which hold
Th'eternal stores of Frost, and Rain, and Snow;
Dry, and secure I go,
Nor shake with Fear, or Cold.
Without affright or wonder
I meet Clouds charg'd with Thunder,
And Lightnings in my way
Like harmless Lambent Fires about my Temples play.
4.
Now into'a gentle Sea of rowling Flame
I plunge my'ascents, and still mount higher there,
As Flames mount up through aire.
So perfect, yet so tame,
So great, so pure, so bright a fire
Was that unfortunate desire,
My faithful Breast did cover,
Then, when I was of late a wretched Mortal Lover.