“For saints in peace degenerate,
And dwindle down to reprobate; ...
And though they’ve tricks to cast their sins,
As easy as serpents do their skins,
That in a while grow out again,
In peace they turn mere carnal men;
And from the most refined of saints
As naturally turn miscreants,[15]
As barnacles turn solan geese
I’ th’ islands of the Orcades.”