And Grace That Won Who Saw To

Let Us Descend Now Therefore From This Top Of Speculation.

The Love-lorn Nightingale Nightly To Thee Her Sad Song Mourneth Well.

A Limbo Large And Broad, Since Call'd The Paradise Of Fools To Few Unknown.

None But Such As Are Good Men Can Give Good Things, And That Which Is Not Good, Is Not Delicious To A Well-govern'd And Wise Appetite.

Or Bid The Soul Of Orpheus Sing Such Notes As, Warbled To The String, Drew Iron Tears Down Pluto's Cheek.