So dear to heavn is saintly chastity, That when a soul is found sincerely so, A thousand liveried angels lackey her, Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, And in clear dream and solemn vision Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear, Till oft converse with heavnly habitants Begin to cast a beam on th outward shape.
How charming is divine philosophy! Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, But musical as is Apollos lute,1 And a perpetual feast of nectard sweets Where no crude surfeit reigns.
The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it, But in another country, as he said, Bore a bright golden flowr, but not in this soil; Unknown, and like esteemd, and the dull swain Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon.