Hail, wedded love, mysterious law; true source of human happiness.

Morn, Wak'd by the circling hours, with rosy hand Unbarr'd the gates of light.

Evil on itself shall back recoil.

Behold now this vast city [London]; a city of refuge, the mansion-house of liberty, encompassed and surrounded with His protection.

How gladly would I meet mortality, my sentence, and be earth in sensible! How glad would lay me down, as in my mother's lap! There I should rest, and sleep secure.

And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every star that heaven doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew, Till old experience to attain To something like prophetic strain.

Let us go forth and resolutely dare with sweat of brow to toil our little day.