The terror answerd: I am Orc, wreath'd round the accursed tree:
The times are ended: shadows pass the morning gins to break:
The fiery joy, that Urizen perverted to ten commands,
What night he led the starry hosts thro' the wide wilderness:
That stony law I stamp to dust: and scatter religion abroad
To the four winds as a torn book, & none shall gather the leaves
But they shall rot on desart sands, & consume in bottomless deeps.
To make the desarts blossom, & the deeps shrink to their fountains.
And to renew the fiery joy, and burst the stony roof.
That pale religious letchery, seeking Virginity,
May find it in a harlot, and in coarse-clad honesty
The undefil'd tho' ravish'd in her cradle night and morn:
For every thing that lives is holy, life delights in life:
Because the soul of sweet delight can never be defil'd.
Fires inwrap the earthly globe, yet man is not consumd:
Amidst the lustful fires he walks: his feet become like brass,
His knees and thighs like silver, & his breast and head like gold
