silence, broke:
“O Parent, these are thy magnific deeds, Thy trophies, which thou view’st as not thine own; Thou art their author and prime architect; For I no sooner in my heart divined (My heart, which by a secret harmony Still moves with thine, joined in connexion sweet) That thou on Earth hadst prospered, which thy looks Now also evidence, but straight I felt, Though distant from thee worlds between, yet felt That I must after thee with this thy son; Such fatal consequence unites us three. Hell could no longer hold us in her bounds, Nor this unvoyageable gulf obscure Detain from following thy illustrious track. Thou hast achieved our liberty, confined Within Hell-gates till now; thou us empowered To fortify thus far, and overlay With this portentous bridge the dark Abyss. Thine now is all this World; thy virtue hath won What thy hands builded not, thy wisdom gained With odds what war hath lost, and fully avenged Our foil in Heaven: here thou shalt monarch reign, There didst not; there let him still victor sway, As battle hath adjudged, from this new World Retiring, by his own doom alienated, And henceforth monarchy with thee divide Of all things, parted by the empyreal bounds, His quadrature, from thy orbicular World, Or try thee now more dangerous to his throne.”