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Full speech
Through thick assembled clouds, through mists that would Choke up the Eagles eye, I in my swift And sudden journey through the Air, have seen All these fantastics objects, which but show How dull the Impious were to be so sillily Misled, and how the good did ever needs But little Care, and less of Brain, to escape the apparent baits of such gross Fools. Monster! thou knowest it's not thy strange defence Of Reason that provokes my rage, but thou Wouldst cunningly disguise thy sense In Reasons shape, cosening thy willing self, And giving seeming pleasures, real Attributes: These taking tunes, to which the numerous world Do dance (when your false-sullenness shall please) You may compare, to that dangerous Music of The swan, a merry preparation still To Melancholy death. Alas, how weak and easy would you make Our intellectual strength, when you have hope It may be overcome with noise and shows. How trivial and how lost thy visions are! Did thy Prophetic Science take such are (When thou Wertenberg mortal) with unlawful power To recollect thy ashes, against this hour, And all for such import? surrender strait This usurpation of thy warmth and weight, And turn to Air, thy Spirit to a wind: Blow thine own dust about, until we find No small remainder of ill gathered thee And Like to it, so waste thy memory. Away! Fame (still obedient unto Fate) This happy hour is called to celebrate Britanocles, and those that in this Isle The old with modern virtues reconcile. Away! Fame's universal voice I hear, 'Tis fit you vanish quite when they appear.