That sight is blinded would thy greatness pierce.
Then follows this noble simile, nobly sustained, and with a flow and harmony of verse not common in the poets of his period:—
Ah! as a pilgrim who the Alps doth pass,
Or Atlas' temples crown'd with winter glass,—
The airy Caucasus, the Apennine,
Pyrenees' cliffs, where sun doth never shine;—
When he some craggy hills hath overwent,
Begins to think on rest, his journey spent,
Till mounting some tall mountain he do find
More heights before him than he left behind,—