So wee have dull'd our minde, it hath no ends;
40Onely the bodie's busie, and pretends;
As dead low earth ecclipses and controules
The quick high Moone: so doth the body, Soules.
In none but us, are such mixt engines found,
As hands of double office: For, the ground
45We till with them; and them to heav'n wee raise;
Who prayer-lesse labours, or, without this, prayes,
Doth but one halfe, that's none; He which said, Plough