Imparadis'd in one another's arms.

License they mean when they cry Liberty; For who loves that, must first be wise and good.

Let none admire that riches grow in hell; that soil may best deserve the precious bane.

Our cure, to be no more; sad cure!

Earth felt the wound; and Nature from her seat, Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe That all was lost.

Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell >From heaven; for ev'n in heaven his looks and thoughts Were always downward bent, admiring more The riches of heaven's pavement, trodden gold, Than aught divine or holy else enjoy'd In vision beatific.

And what is faith, love, virtue unassayed Alone, without exterior help sustained?