Stoop thy pale vifage through an amber cloud,
And difinherit Chaos, that reigns here
In double night of darkness and of shades;
Or if your influence be quite damm'd up
With black ufurping mists, some gentle taper,
Though a rush candle from the wicker hole

Of fome clay habitation, visit us

With thy long level'd rule of ftreaming light,
And thou shalt be our star of Arcady,
Or Tyrian Cynofure.

2 BRO. Or if our eyes

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Be barr'd that happinefs, might we but hear
The folded flocks penn'd in their watled cotes,
Or found of paftoral reed with oaten stops,
Or whistle from the lodge, or village cock
Count the night watches to his feathery dames,
'Twould be fome folace yet, fome little chearing
In this clofe dungeon of innumerous boughs.
But O that hapless virgin, our lost Sister,
Where may the wander now, whither betake her
From the chill dew, amongst rude burs and thistles?
Perhaps fome cold bank is her bolster now,
Or 'gainst the rugged bark of fome broad elm
Leans her unpillow'd head fraught with fad fears. 355
What if in wild amazement, and affright,

Or, while we fpeak, within the direful grasp
Of favage hunger, or of savage heat?

I BRO. Peace, Brother, be not over-exquifite
To caft the fashion of uncertain evils :

grant they be fo, while they reft unknown,

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What

What need a man foreftall his date of grief,
And run to meet what he would moft avoid?
Or if they be but false alarms of fear,
How bitter is fuch felf-delufion?

I do not think my Sifter so to seek,
Or fo unprincipled in virtue's book,

And the fweet peace that goodness bosoms ever,
As that the fingle want of light and noise
(Not being in danger, as I truft she is not)
Could ftir the conftant mood of her calm thoughts,
And put them into mif-becoming plight.

Virtue could fee to do what virtue would

By her own radiant light, though fun and moon
Were in the flat fea funk. And wisdom's felf
Oft feeks to fweet retir'd folitude,

Where with her best nurse contemplation

She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings,
That in the various buftle of refort

Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impair'd.
He that has light within his own clear breaft
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;
Himfelf is his own dungeon.

2 BRO. 'Tis moft true,

That mufing meditation moft affects

The penfive fecrecy of defert cell,

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Far from the chearful haunt of men and herds,

And fits as fafe as in a fenate house;

For who would rob a hermit of his weeds,

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His few books, or his beads, or maple dish,
Or do his gray hairs any violence?

But beauty, like the fair Hefperian tree

Laden with blooming gold, had need the guard
Of dragon-watch with uninchanted eye,

To fave her bloffoms, and defend her fruit
From the rash hand of bold incontinence.

You may as well spread out the unfunn'd heaps

Of mifers' treasure by an out-law's den,

And tell me it is fafe, as bid me hope
Danger will wink on opportunity,
And let a fingle helpless maiden pass
Uninjur'd in this wild furrounding waste.
Of night, or loneliness it recks me not;

I fear the dread events that dog them both,

Left fome ill-greeting touch attempt the person
Of our unowned Sifter.

I BRO. I do not, Brother,

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Infer, as if I thought my Sifter's ftate

Secure without all doubt, or controversy:

Yet where an equal poise of hope and fear

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Does arbitrate th' event, my nature is

That I incline to hope, rather than fear,
And gladly banish squint fufpicion.

My Sifter is not fo defenfelefs left

As you imagin; fhe' has a hidden strength

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Which you remember not.

2 BRO. What hidden ftrength,

Unless the strength of Heav'n, if you mean that ?
I 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:

She that has that, is clad in cómplete 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,
No favage fierce, bandite, or mountaneer
Will dare to foil her virgin purity:
Yea there, where very defolation dwells,

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By grots, and caverns fhagg'd with horrid shades,
She may pafs on with unblench'd majesty,
Be it not done in pride, or in prefumption.
Some fay no evil thing that walks by night,
In fog, or fire, by lake, or moorish fen,
Blue meager hag, or ftubborn unlaid ghoft,

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That breaks his magic chains at Curfeu time,
No goblin, or fwart faery of the mine,

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Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.
Do ye believe me yet, or fhall I call
Antiquity from the old fchools of Greece
To teftify the arms of Chastity?

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Hence had the huntrefs Dian her dread bow,
Fair filver-fhafted queen, for ever chaste,
Wherewith fhe tam'd the brinded lioness
And fpotted mountain pard, but fet at nought
The frivolous belt of Cupid; Gods and men
Fear'd her ftern frown, and she was queen o'th' woods.
What was that fnaky-headed Gorgon fhield,
That wife Minerva wore, unconquer'd virgin,

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Wherewith

Wherewith the freez'd her foes to congeal'd stone,

But rigid looks of chaste austerity,

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And noble grace that dafh'd brute violence

With fudden adoration, and blank awe ?
So dear to Heav'n is faintly chastity,
That when a foul is found fincerely fo,
A thousand liveried Angels lacky her,
Driving far off each thing of fin and guilt,
And in clear dream, and folemn vision,
Tell her of things that no grofs ear can hear,
Till oft converfe with heav'nly habitants

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Begin to caft a beam on th' outward shape,

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The unpolluted temple of the mind,

And turns it by degrees to the foul's essence,

Till all be made immortal: but when luft,

By unchafte looks, loofe geftures, and foul talk,
But moft by leud and lavish act of fin,

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Lets in defilement to the inward parts,
The foul grows clotted by contagion,
Imbodies, and imbrutes, till the quite lofe
The divine property of her first being.

Such are thofe thick and gloomy fhadows damp 470
Oft feen in charnel vaults, and fepulchers,

Lingering, and fitting by a new-made grave,

As loath to leave the body that it lov'd,
And link'd itself by carnal fenfuality
To a degenerate and degraded ftate.

2 BRO. How charming is divine philofophy! Not harfh, and crabbed, as dull fools fuppofe, But mufical as is Apollo's lute,

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And