That practis'd falsehood under saintly shew, Deep malice to conceal, couch'd with revenge.
Or if Virtue feeble were, Heav'n itself would stoop to her.
To many a youth and many a maid, dancing in the chequer'd shade.
They are the troublers, they are the dividers of unity, who neglect and don't permit others to unite those dissevered pieces which are yet wanting to the body of Truth.
Hell has no benefits, only torture.
All hope is lost of my reception into grace; what worse? For where no hope is left, is left no fear.