"Nor shall all iron dooms make dumb Men wondering ceaselessly,If it be not better to fast for joy Than feast for misery.
"Nor monkish order only Slides down, as field to fen,All things achieved and chosen passAs the White Horse fades in the grass, No work of Christian men.
"Ere the sad gods that made your gods Saw their sad sunrise pass,The White Horse of the White Horse Vale,That you have left to darken and fail, Was cut out of the grass.
"Therefore your end is on you, Is on you and your kings,Not for a fire in Ely fen,Not that your gods are nine or ten,But because it is only Christian men Guard even heathen things,
"For our God hath blessed creation, Calling it good. I know —What spirit with whom you blindly bandHath blessed destruction with this hand;
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