His form had yet not lost All her original brightness, nor appear'd Less than archangel ruin'd, and th' excess Of glory obscur'd.
For so I created them free and free they must remain.
Then wilt thou not be loath To leave this Paradise, but shalt possess A Paradise within thee, happier far.
The gay motes that people the sunbeams.
Lords are lordliest in their wine.
The starry cope Of heaven.