Listen where thou art sitting

Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave,

In twisted braids of lilies knitting

The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair.

Comus. Line 859.

But now my task is smoothly done,

I can fly, or I can run.

Comus. Line 1012.

Or if Virtue feeble were,

Heav'n itself would stoop to her.