You would conceive a castle and a court.
The orchards, gardens, rivers, and the aire,
Doe with the trenches, rampires, walls, compare:
It seemes nor art nor force can intercept it,
As if a lover built, a souldier kept it.
Up to the tower, though it be steepe and high,
Wee doe not climbe but walke; and though the eye
Seeme to be weary, yet our feet are still
In the same posture cozen’d up the hill:
And thus the workemans art deceaves our sence,