Till oft converse with heav'nly habitants
Begin to cast a beam on th' outward shape.
Comus. Line 453.
How charming is divine philosophy!
Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose,
But musical as is Apollo's lute,[245:1]
And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets
Where no crude surfeit reigns.
Comus. Line 476.
And sweeten'd every musk-rose of the dale.