I Was All Ear, And

But When Lust By Unchaste Looks, Loose Gestures, And Foul Talk, But Most By Lewd And Lavish Arts Of Sin, Lets In Defilement To The Inward Parts, The Soul Grows Clotted By Contagion, Imbodies And Imbrutes, Till She Quite Lose The Divine Property Of Her First Being.

For Books Are As Meats And Viands Are; Some Of Good, Some Of Evil Sub-stance.

Sweetest Echo, Sweetest Nymph, That Liv'st Unseen Within Thy Airy Shell, By Slow Meander's Margent Green, And In The Violet-embroidered Vale.

O Why Did God, Creator Wise, That Peopled Highest Heav'n With Spirits Masculine, Create At Last This Novelty On Earth, This Fair Defect Of Nature, And Not Fill The World At Once With Men As Angels Without Feminine, Or Find Some Other Way To Generate Mankind?

What Is Dark Within Me, Illumine.