And Feel That I Am

God Made Thee Perfect, Not Immutable.

Virtue May Be Assailed, But Never Hurt, Surprised By Unjust Force, But Not Inthralled; Yea, Even That Which Mischief Meant Most Harm Shall In The Happy Trial Prove Most Glory.

With Thee Goes Thy Husband, Him To Follow Thou Art Bound; Where He Abides, Think There Thy Native Soil.

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

Such Sweet Compulsion Doth In Music Lie.