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.

Praise from an enemy smells of craft.

Just are the ways of God, And justifiable to men; Unless there be who think not God at all.

What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attic taste?

Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call earth.

Virtue could see to do what Virtue would by her own radiant light, though sun and moon where in the flat sea sunk.

Enjoy your dear wit and gay rhetoric, That hath so well been taught her dazzling fence.