Him that yon soars on golden wing, guiding the fiery-wheelèd throne, the Cherub Contemplation.

So scented the grim Feature, and upturn'd His nostril wide into the murky air, Sagacious of his quarry from so far.

The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it, But in another country, as he said, Bore a bright golden flow'r, but not in this soil; Unknown, and like esteem'd, and the dull swain Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon.

And, re-assembling our afflicted powers, consult how we may henceforth most offend.

And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet.

The strongest and the fiercest spirit That fought in heaven, now fiercer by despair.

Let us no more contend, nor blame each other, blamed enough elsewhere, but strive, In offices of love, how we may lighten each other's burden.