In argument with men a woman ever Goes by the worse, whatever be her cause.

He that has light within his own clear breast May sit in the centre, and enjoy bright day: But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the mid-day sun; Himself his own dungeon.

Must I thus leave thee, Paradise?-thus leave Thee, native soil, these happy walks and shades?

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.

And, when night Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.

Spirits when they please Can either sex assume, or both.

Hail holy light, offspring of heav'n firstborn!