Govern well thy appetite, lest Sin surprise thee, and her black attendant Death.

These are thy glorious works, Parent of good!

The great Emathian conqueror bid spare The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower Went to the ground.

Yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible.

Her virtue and the conscience of her worth, That would be woo'd, and not unsought be won.

Morn, Wak'd by the circling hours, with rosy hand Unbarr'd the gates of light.

And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light. There let the pealing organ blow, To the full-voiced choir below, In service high, and anthems clear As may, with sweetness, through mine ear Dissolve me into ecstasies, And bring all heaven before mine eyes.