The man whom nature's self had made to mock herself, and truth to imitate.

Fly from wrath; sad be the sights and bitter fruits of war; a thousand furies wait on wrathful swords.

Together linkt with adamantine chains.

For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.

Her angel's face, As the great eye of heaven shined bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place.

All that in this delightful garden grows should happy be and have immortal bliss.

All for love, and nothing for reward.