These guests, these courts, my soul most dearly loves:
Now the wing’d people of the sky shall sing
My cheerful anthems to the gladsome spring:
A prayer book now shall be my looking-glass,
In which I will adore sweet virtue’s face.
Here dwell no hateful looks, no palace-cares,
No broken vows dwell here, no pale-faced fears:
Then here I’ll sit, and sigh my hot love’s folly,
And learn ’t affect an holy melancholy;
And if Contentment be a stranger then,