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 Where wild chaos' dungeon burneth, Whence no captive e'er returneth, For as Abraham decerneth, Never may the gulf be crosst.

Who can give a full narration, Picture in imagination, Who can make enumeration Of the wrath and torments dire?

Spirits of the damn'd assailing, And to divers tortures hailing, As each sin and mortal failing May in justice strict require?

Fire and frosty tempest roaring, Dark and sulphury vapour soaring, Damned souls their fate deploring,— Such their poison'd cup of woe.—

Dragons, death without conclusion, Famine, demons, toads, delusion, Bitter suff'ring and confusion Ever fresh upon them throw.

There so many gloomy places, There such torments and disgraces, That the world's remotest spaces, And whate'er is visible,