And heard, your most sharp supper past:

“Ye kept the best wine to the last!”

Ah, happy who

That sequestered secret knew,

How sweeter than bee-haunted dells

The blosmy blood of martyrs smells!

Who did upon the scaffold’s bed,

The ceremonial steel between you, wed

With God’s grave proxy, high and reverend Death;

Or felt about your neck, sweetly,