In naked beauty more adorn'd, More lovely than Pandora.

Never can true reconcilement grow where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep.

So dear I love him, that with him, all deaths I could endure, without him, live no life.

Thus with the year Seasons return; but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine; But cloud instead, and ever-during dark Surrounds me; from the cheerful ways of men Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair Presented with a universal blank Of Nature's works, to me expung'd and raz'd, And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out.

It is for homely features to keep home,- They had their name thence; coarse complexions And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply The sampler and to tease the huswife's wool. What need a vermeil-tinctur'd lip for that, Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the morn?

Live while ye may, Yet happy pair.

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