My virgin flower uncropt, pure, chaste, and fair,
No goblin, wood-god, fairy, elf, or fiend,
Satyr, or other power that haunts the groves
Shall hurt my body, or by vain illusion
Draw me to wander after idle fires,
Or voices calling me in dead of night
To make me follow and so tole me on
Through mire and standing-pools, to find my ruin.
...Sure there's a power
In the great name of Virgin that binds fast