Joyntly commanded by the nose and tongue;
Then on the Worde wee diversly dilate,
Wrangling indeed for heat of zeale, not hate:
When at the length an unappeased doubt
Feircely comes in, and then the light goes out;
Darkness thus workes our peace, and wee containe
Our fyery spiritts till we see againe.
Till then, no voice is heard, no tongue doth goe,
Except a tender Sister shreike, or so.
Such should be our delights, grave and demure,