Love, by what miracle dost open wide?
What glory from the wound doth he attain,
The wound that thou didst deal him in his side?
Whence from the loss thou sendest, comes the gain?
And whence the joyous life when thou hast died?
The soul that hath endured these at thine hand
The cause, but not the ways can understand.
ERASTRO.
So many faces in a broken glass
Are seen not, nor in glass formed with such art,