Till pleasure, ageing to her full increase,
Puts on perfection, and is throned in peace.
Yea, sweetest peace, unsought-for, undesired,
Loathed and misnamed, ’tis thee I worship here:
Though in most black habiliments attired,
Thou art sweet peace, and thee I cannot fear.
Nay, were my last hope quenched, I here would sit
And praise the annihilation of the pit.
Nor quickly disenchanted will my feet
Back to the busy town return, but yet