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

Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul And lap it in Elysium.

Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls his watery labyrinth, which whoso drinks forgets both joy and grief.

Justice divine Mends not her slowest pace for prayers or cries.

Is it true, O Christ in heaven, that the highest suffer the most? That the strongest wander furthest and most hopelessly are lost? That the mark of rank in nature is capacity for pain? That the anguish of the singer makes the sweetness of the strain?

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

And, re-assembling our afflicted powers, consult how we may henceforth most offend.