Than Satan trod the Syrtis, at his fall,
And perch’d himself, with his monastick weight,
Upon the Convent-garden’s wall;—
Whence, on the grounds within it, as he gaze’d,
To find a spot where he might leave his load,
He ’spied a House so little, it seem’d raise’d
More for Man’s visits, than his fix’d abode;—
And Cynthia aided him to gaze his fill,
For, now, she sought Endymion on the hill.
Arise, Tarquinius![11] shew thy lofty face!