Versa est in luctum cythara mea. Job.
Love! I no orgies sing
Whereby thy mercies to invoke:
Nor from the East rich perfumes bring
To cloude the Altars with thy precious smoake.
Nor while I did frequent
Those fanes by lovers rais'd to thee:
Did I loose heathenish rites invent,
To force a blush from injur'd Chastitie.