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 cleer dream, and solemn vision
        Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear,
        Till oft convers 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 souls 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 sin,
        Lets in defilement to the inward parts,
        The soul grows clotted by contagion,
        Imbodies, and imbrutes, till she quite loose
        The divine property of her first being.
        Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp
        Oft seen in Charnell vaults, and Sepulchers
        Lingering, and sitting by a new made grave,
        As loath to leave the body that it lov'd,
        And link't it self by carnal sensualty
        To a degenerate and degraded state.
          2.Bro. 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 surfet raigns.  Eld. Bro.  List, list, I hear
        Som far off hallow break the silent Air.
          2.Bro. Me thought so too; what should it be?
          Eld. Bro. For certain
        Either som one like us night-founder'd here,
        Or els som neighbour Wood-man, or at worst,
        Som roaving Robber calling to his fellows.
          2. Bro. Heav'n keep my sister, agen agen and neer,
        Best draw, and stand upon our guard.
          Eld. Bro. Ile hallow,
        If he be friendly he comes well, if not,
        Defence is a good cause, and Heav'n be for us.

             The attendant Spirit habited like a Shepherd

        That hallow I should know, what are you? speak;
        Com not too neer, you fall on iron stakes else.
          Spir. What voice is that, my young Lord? speak agen.
          2. Bro. O brother, 'tis my father Shepherd sure.
          Eld. Bro. Thyrsis? Whose artful strains have oft delaid
        The huddling brook to hear his madrigal,
        And sweeten'd every muskrose of the dale,
        How cam'st thou here good Swain? hath any ram
        Slip't from the fold, or young Kid lost his dam,
        Or straggling weather the pen't flock forsook?
        How couldst thou find this dark sequester'd nook?
          Spir. O my lov'd masters heir, and his next joy,
        I came not here on such a trivial toy
        As a stray'd Ewe, or to pursue the stealth
        Of pilfering Woolf, not all the fleecy wealth
        That doth enrich these Downs, is worth a thought
        To this my errand, and the care it brought.
        But O my Virgin Lady, where is she?
        How chance she is not in your company?
          Eld. Bro. To tell thee sadly Shepherd, without blame,
        Or our neglect, we lost her as we came.
          Spir. Ay me unhappy then my fears are true.
          Eld.Bro. What fears good Thyrsis? Prethee briefly shew.
          Spir. Ile tell ye, 'tis not vain or fabulous,
        (Though so esteem'd by shallow ignorance)
        What the sage Poets taught by th' heav'nly Muse,
        Storied of old in high immortal vers
        Of dire Chimera's and inchanted Iles,
        And rifted Rocks whose entrance leads to hell,
        For such there be, but unbelief is blind.
        Within the navil of this hideous Wood,
        Immur'd in cypress shades a Sorcerer dwels
        Of Bacchus, and of Circe born, great Comus,
        Deep skill'd in all his mothers witcheries,
        And here to every thirsty wanderer,
        By sly enticement gives his banefull cup,
        With many murmurs mixt, whose pleasing poison
        The visage quite transforms of him that drinks,
        And the inglorious likenes of a beast
        Fixes instead, unmoulding reasons mintage
        Character'd in the face; this have I learn't
        Tending my flocks hard by i'th hilly crofts,
        That brow this bottom glade, whence night by night
        He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl
        Like stabl'd wolves, or tigers at their prey,
        Doing abhorred rites to Hecate
        In their obscured haunts of inmost bowres.
        Yet have they many baits, and guilefull spells
        To inveigle and invite th' unwary sense
        Of them that pass unweeting by the way.
        This evening late by then the chewing flocks
        Had ta'n their supper on the savoury Herb
        Of Knot-grass dew-besprent, and were in fold,
        I sate me down to watch upon a bank
        With Ivy canopied, and interwove
        With flaunting Hony-suckle, and began
        Wrapt in a pleasing fit of melancholy
        To meditate my rural minstrelsie,
        Till fancy had her fill, but ere a close