III.
Something the gen’ral Attribute of all,
Sever’d from thee, it’s sole Original,
Into thy boundless self must undistinguish’d fall.
IV.
Yet something did thy mighty Pow’r command,
And from thy fruitful Emptiness’s Hand,
Snatch’d Men, Beasts, Birds, Fire, Air, and Land.
V.
Matter, the wicked’st Off-spring of thy Race,
By Form assisted, flew from thy Embrace,
And rebel Light obscur’d thy rev’rend dusky Face.
VI.
With Form and Matter, Time, and Place did join,
Body, thy Foe, with thee did Leagues combine
To spoil thy peaceful Realm, and ruin all thy Line.
VII.
But turn-coat Time assists the Foe in vain,
And, brib’d by thee, assists thy short-liv’d Reign.
And to thy hungry Womb drives back thy Slaves again.