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Stoop thy pale visage through an amber cloud,
34 And thou shalt be our star of Arcady, Or Tyrian Cynosure.
2 Bro. Or if our eyes Be barr'd that happiness, might we but hear The folded flocks penn’d in their watled cotes, Or sound of pastoral reed with oaten stops, 345 Or whistle from the lodge, or village cock Count the night watches to his feathery dames, 'Twould be some solace yet, fome little chearing In this close dungeon of innumerous boughs. But O that hapless virgin, our lost Sister,
350 Where may she wander now, whither betake her From the chill dew, amongit rude burs and thistles ? Perhaps fome cold bank is her bolster now, Or 'gainst the rugged bark of some broad elm Leans her unpillow'd head fraught with fad fears. 355 What if in wild amazement, and affright, Or, while we speak, within the direful grasp Of savage hunger, or of favage heat ?
1 Bro. Peace, Brother, be not over-exquisite To cast the fashion of uncertain evils : For grant they be so, while they rest unknown,
What need a man forestall his date of grief,
375 Oft seeks to sweet retir'd folitude, Where with her best nurse contemplation She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings, That in the various bustle of resort Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impair’d. 380 He that has light within his own clear breast May fit i’th' center, and enjoy bright day: But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts, Benighted walks under the mid-day fun; Himself is his own dungeon. 2 Bro. 'Tis most true,
385 That musing meditation most affects The pensive secrecy of desert cell, Far from the chearful haunt of men and herds, And sits as safe as in a senate house; For who would rob a hermit of his weeds, 390
His few books, or his beads, or maple dish,
i Bro. I do not, Brother,
2 BRO. What hidden strength, Unless the strength of Heav'n, if you mean that? 1 BRO. I mean that too, but yet a hidden strength;
Which if Heav’n gave it, may be term'd her own : 'Tis chastity, my Brother, chastity :
420 She that has that, is clad in complete steel, And like a quiver'd nymph with arrows keen May trace huge forests, and unharbour'd heaths, Infamous hills, and fandy perilous wilds, Where, through the facred rays of chastity, 425 No savage fierce, bandite, or mountaneer Will dare to foil her virgin purity : Yea there, where very
desolation dwells, By grots, and caverns shagg’d with horrid shades, She may pass on with unblench'd majesty,
430 Be it not done in pride, or in presumption. Some say no evil thing that walks by night, In fog, or fire, by lake, or moorish fen, Blue meager hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost, That breaks his magic chains at Curfeu time, 433 No goblin, or swart facry of the mine, Hath hurtful
o'er true virginity. Do
ye believe me yet, or shall I call Antiquity from the old schools of Greece To testify the arms of Chastity?
440 Hence had the huntress Dian her dread bow, Fair Glver-shafted queen, for ever chaste, Wherewith she tam'd the brinded lioness And spotted mountain pard, but set at nought The frivolous bolt of Cupid; Gods and men 445 Fear'd her stern frown, and she was queen o'th' woods. What was that (naky-headed Gorgon shield, That wife Minerva wore, unconquer'd virgin,
Wherewith the freez'd her foes to congeal'd stone,
435 Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, And in clear dream, and folemn vision, Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear, Till cft 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 foul's essence, Till all be made immortal : but when lust, By unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk, But most by leud and lavish act of fin,
465 Lets in defilement to the inward parts, The soul grows clotted by contagion, Imbodies, and imbrutes, till the quite lose The divine property of her first being. Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp 4.70 Oft seen in charnel vaults, and sepulchers, Lingering, and fitting 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.
475 2 Bro. How charming is divine philofophy! Not harsh, and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, But musical as is Apollo's lute,