Which guilty of no crime, doth onely heare
The Vowes of recluse Nuns, and th' An'thrits prayer;
And by thy chaster selfe; My fervent zeale
Like mountaine yee, which the North winds congeale,
To purest Christall, feeles no wanton fire.
But as the humble Pilgrim, (whose desire
Blest in Christs cottage, view by Angels hands,
Transported from sad Bethlem,) wondring stands
At the great miracle: So I at thee,
Whose beauty is the shrine of chastity.