Awake, Arise Or Be For Ever Fall’n.

But See! Thevirgin Blessed Hath Laid Her Babe To Rest. Time Is Our Tedious Song Should Here Have Ending.

It Is Not Virtue, Wisdom, Valour, Wit, Strength, Comeliness Of Shape, Or Amplest Merit, That Woman's Love Can Win, Or Long Inherit; But What It Is, Hard Is To Say, Harder To Hit.

Back To Thy Punishment, False Fugitive, And To Thy Speed Add Wings.

To Many A Youth And Many A Maid, Dancing In The Chequer'd Shade.

Now Morn, Her Rosy Steps In Th' Eastern Clime Advancing, Sow'd The Earth With Orient Pearl, When Adam Wak'd, So Custom'd; For His Sleep Was Aery Light, From Pure Digestion Bred.