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Page 58 - Begin to cast a beam on the 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.
Page 108 - Thus I sprinkle on thy breast Drops that from my fountain pure, I have kept of precious cure...
Page 12 - Or ounce, or tiger, hog, or bearded goat, All other parts remaining as they were ; And they (so perfect is their misery) Not once perceive their foul disfigurement, But boast themselves more comely than before, And all their friends and native home forget, To roll with pleasure in a sensual sty.
Page 66 - With many murmurs mix'd, whose pleasing poison The visage quite transforms of him that drinks, And the inglorious likeness of a beast Fixes instead, unmoulding reason's mintage Character'd in the face. This have I learnt Tending my flocks hard by i...
Page 78 - The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it, But in another country, as he said, Bore a bright golden flower, but not in this soil ; Unknown, and like esteem'd, and the dull swain Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon : And yet more med'cinal is it than that moly, That Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave : He call'd it haemony, and gave it me, And bade me keep it as of sovran use 'Gainst all enchantments, mildew, blast, or damp, Or ghastly furies
Page 30 - Sweet echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen Within thy airy shell By slow Meander's margent green, And in the violet-embroidered vale Where the love-lorn nightingale Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well: Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair That likest thy Narcissus are?
Page 56 - So dear to Heaven is saintly chastity, That, when a soul is found sincerely so, A thousand liveried angels lackey 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...
Page 116 - And drenches with Elysian dew — List, mortals, if your ears be true ! — Beds of hyacinth and roses, Where young Adonis oft reposes, Waxing well of his deep wound, In slumber soft ; and on the ground Sadly sits the Assyrian queen.