And keeps the palace of the soul.
Circle are praised, not that abound, In largeness, but the exactly round.
With wisdom fraught; not such as books, but such as practice taught.
For all we know Of what the blessed do above Is, that they sing, and that they love. While I listen to thy Voice.
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.
A narrow compass! and yet there Dwelt all that 's good, and all that 's fair; Give me but what this riband bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round.