Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie.

More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchang'd To hoarse or mute, though fall'n on evil days, On evil days though fall'n, and evil tongues.

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

Evil on itself shall back recoil.

But God himself is truth; in propagating which, as men display a greater integrity and zeal, they approach nearer to the similitude of God, and possess a greater portion of his love.

Our torments also may in length of time Become our elements, these piercing fires As soft as now severe, our temper changed Into their temper.

In contemplation of created things, by steps we may ascend to God.