What call thou solitude? Is not the earth with various living creatures, and the air replenished, and all these at thy command to come and play before thee?

Reason also is choice.

All hope is lost of my reception into grace; what worse? For where no hope is left, is left no fear.

A poet soaring in the high reason of his fancies, with his garland and singing robes about him.

And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet.

Anon out of the earth a fabric huge Rose, like an exhalation.

Awake, arise or be for ever fall’n.