You are what you write

Go up to London, to London, that great City, write, write, write. And behold I writ, and lo a hand was sent to me, and a roll of a book was therein, which this fleshly hand would have put wings to, before the time. Whereupon it was snatcht out of my hand, “& the Roll thrust into my mouth; and I eat it up, and filled my bowels with it (Eze. 2. 8. &c cha. 3.1,2,3.) where it was as bitter as worm wood; and it lay broiling, and burning in my stomack, till I brought it forth in this forme.
And now I send it flying to thee, with my heart, And all
PER AUXILIUM PATRIS

Abiezer Coppe, A Fiery Flying Roll . . . (1649) qtd. in Cohn, In Pursuit of the Millennium, 321