When religion doth with virtue join, it makes a hero like an angel shine.

The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er; So calm are we when passions are no more!

And as pale sickness does invade, Your frailer part, the breaches made, In that fair lodging still more clear, Make the bright guest, your soul, appear.

For all we know Of what the blessed do above Is, that they sing, and that they love. While I listen to thy Voice.

Under the tropic is our language spoke, And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our yoke.

The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build, Her humble nest, lies silent in the field.

What use of oaths, of promise, or of test, where men regard no God but interest?