Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep, Shot forth peculiar graces.
Justice divine Mends not her slowest pace for prayers or cries.
How gladly would I meet mortality, my sentence, and be earth in sensible! How glad would lay me down, as in my mother's lap! There I should rest, and sleep secure.
Contemplation is wisdom's best nurse.
Only this I know, That one celestial father gives to all.
The gay motes that people the sunbeams.