This Horror Will Grow Mild, This Darkness

The Planets In Their Station List'ning Stood.

Bacchus, That First From Out The Purple Grape Crush'd The Sweet Poison Of Misused Wine.

Those Whom Reason Hath Equalled, Force Hath Made Supreme

But What More Oft In Nations Grown Corrupt, And By Their Vices Brought To Servitude, Than To Love Bondage More Than Liberty, Bondage With Ease Than Strenuous Liberty.

So Dear To Heaven Is Saintly Chastity, That, When A Soul Is Found Sincerely So, A Thousand Liveried Angels Lacky Her, Driving Far Off Each Thing Of Sin And Guilt.