Hence, hence unhallowed ears and hearts more hard
Then Winter clods fast froze with Northern wind.
But most of all, foul tongue I thee discard
That blamest all that thy dark strait’ned mind,
Can not conceive: But that no blame thou find;
What e’re my pregnant Muse brings forth to light,
She’l not acknowledge to be of her kind,
Till Eagle-like she turn them to the sight
Of the eternall Word all deckt with glory bright.