Chapter III
“Or, haply, how if this contrarious West,That me by turns hath starved, by turns hath fed,Embraced, disgraced, beat back, solicited,Have no fixed heart of Law within his breast,Or with some different rhythm doth e’er contestNature in the East? Why, ’tis but three weeks fledI saw my Judas needle shake his headAnd flout the Pole that, east, he Lord confessed!God! if this West should own some other Pole,And with his tangled ways perplex my soulUntil the maze grow mortal, and I dieWhere distraught Nature clean hath gone astray,On earth some other wit than Time’s at play,Some other God than mine above the sky!