That virtue therefore which is but a youngling in the contemplation of evil, and knows not the utmost that vice promises to her followers, and rejects it, is but a blank virtue, not a pure; her whiteness is but an excremental whiteness.

Innumerable as the stars of night, Or stars of morning, dewdrops which the sun Impearls on every leaf and every flower.

Come, pensive nun, devout and pure, sober steadfast, and demure, all in a robe of darkest grain, flowing with majestic train.

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures Whilst the landscape round it measures, Russet lawns and fallows grey, Where the nibbling flocks do stray, Mountains on whose barren breast The labouring clouds do often rest; Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks, and rivers wide.

A man may be ungrateful, but the human race is not so.

What is dark within me, illumine.

Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep, Shot forth peculiar graces.