Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep, Shot forth peculiar graces.
O fleeting joys Of Paradise, dear bought with lasting woes!
But see! theVirgin blessed Hath laid her Babe to rest. Time is our tedious song should here have ending.
Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day.
Vain wisdom all, and false philosophy.
And out of good still to find means of evil.