Our torments also may in length of time Become our Elements.

Our two first parents, yet the only two Of mankind, in the happy garden placed, Reaping immortal fruits of joy and love, Uninterrupted joy, unrivalled love In blissful solitude.

It was that fatal and perfidious bark, Built in th' eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark.

None can love freedom heartily, but good men; the rest love not freedom, but license.

The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.

With a smile that glow'd Celestial rosy red, love's proper hue.

Ease would recant Vows made in pain, as violent and void.