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.