« PreviousContinue »
'Tis most true, That musing meditation most affects The pensive secrecy of desert cell, Far from the cheerful haunt of men and herds, And sits as safe as in a senate-house; For who would rob a hermit of his weeds, His few books, or his beads, or maple dish, Or do his grey hairs any violence? But Beauty, like the fair Hesperian tree Laden with blooming gold, hath need the guard Of dragon-watch with unenchanted eye, To save her blossoms, and defend her fruit From the rash hand of bold Incontinence. You may as well spread out the unsunned heaps Of misers' treasure by an outlaw's den, And tell me it is safe, as bid me hope Danger will wink on opportunity, And let a single helpless maiden pass Uninjured in this wild surrounding waste. Of night, or loneliness, it recks me not; I fear the dread events that dog them both,
Lest some ill-greeting touch attempt the person
I do not, brother,
What hidden strength, Unless the strength of Heaven, if you mean that?
I mean that too; but yet a hidden strength,
Which, if Heaven gave it, may be termed her own;