but so swift with tempest fell On the proud Crest of SATAN, that no sight, Nor motion of swift thought, less could his Shield Such ruin intercept: ten paces huge He back recoild; the tenth on bended knee His massie Spear upstaid; as if on Earth Winds under ground or waters forcing way Sidelong, had push’t a Mountain from his seat Half sunk with all his Pines.
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