Doth nestle in mine own, my body swoons
With rapture and delight.
Johannes:
With rapture and delight. Thou phantom ghost,
Of mist and fog compact, how dost thou dare
To utter blasphemy and so malign
The purest feelings of my heart. How great
A load of guilt must I have laid on me,
That I must be compelled to look upon
Such lust—befouled distortion of that love