I fled, and cry'd out, Death; Hell trembled at the hideous name, and sigh'd From all her caves, and back resounded, Death.
A short retirement urges a sweet return.
Who overcomes by force, hath overcome but half his foe.
And looks commercing with the skies, Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes.
Her virtue and the conscience of her worth, That would be woo'd, and not unsought be won.
Arm the obdured breast with stubborn patience as with triple steel.