Sin, that amends, is but patched with virtue.
While we lie tumbling in the hay.
O wretched state! O bosom black as death! O limed soul that, struggling to be free, art more engaged! Help, angels! Make assay! Bow, stubborn knees! and, heart with strings of steel, be soft as sinews of the new-born babe!
No man means evil but the devil, and we shall know him by his horns.
I may command where I adore.
I will be correspondent to command, And do my spiriting gently.