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But rigid looks of chaste austerity,
And noble grace that dash'd brute violence
With sudden adoration and blank awe?
So dear to heav'n 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;
And, in clear dream and solemn vision,
Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear,
Till oft converse with heav'nly habitants
Begin to cast a beam on th' outward shape,
The unpolluted temple of the mind,
And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence,.
Till all be made immortal: but when Lust,
By unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk,
But most by lewd and lavish act 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.
Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp,
Oft seen in chamel vaults and sepulchres
Ling'ring, and sitting by a new-made grave,
As loath to leave the body that it lov'd,
And link'd itself by carnal sensuality
To a degenerate and degraded state.
See. Br. How charming is divine Philosophy! Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, But musical/as is Apollo's lute, And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets, "Where no crude surfeit reigns.
El. Br.' - List, list, I hear
Some far off halloo break the silent air.
Sec. Br. Methought so too; what should it be?
El. Br. For certain
Either some one like us night-founder'd here, Or else some neighbour woodman, or, at worst, Some roving robber calling to his fellows.
Sec. Br. Heav'n keep my sister. Again, again, and near!
Best draw, and stand upon our guard.
El. Br. I'll halloo:
If he be friendly, he comes well; if not,
Enter the Attendant Spirit, habited like a
That halloo I should know, what are you? speak;
Sec. Br. O brother,'tis my father's shepherd, sure.
El. Br. Thyrsis? whose artful strains have oft
The huddling brook to hear his madrigale,
Sfir. O my lov'd master's heir, and his next joy,
El. Br. To tell thee sadly, shepherd, without blame,
Or our neglect, we lost her as we came.
Sfir. Ah me unhappy! then my fears are true.
'briefly shew. Sfir. I'll tell ye; 'tis not vain or fabulous, (Though so esteem'd by shallow ignorance) What the sage poets, taught by th' heavenly muse, . Story'd of old in high immortal verse,
Of dire chimeras and enchanted isles,
He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl,
Of knot-grass dew-bespent, and were in fold,