Praying! and to be married! It was rare, But now 'tis monstrous; and that pious care Though of ourselves, is so much out of date, That to renew't were to degenerate. But thou a chosen sacrifice wert given, And offered up so early unto Heaven, Thy flames could not be out; religion was Hayed into thee like beams into a glass; Where, as thou grew'st, it multiplied, and shined The sacred constellation of thy mind. But being for a bride, prayer was such A decried course, sure it prevailed not much. Hadst ne'er an oath nor compliment? thou wert An odd, dull suitor; hadst thou but the art Of these our days, thou couldst have coined thee twenty New several oaths, and compliments, too, plenty. O sad and wild excess! and happy those White days, that durst no impious mirth expose: When conscience by lewd use had not lost sense, Nor bold-faced custom banished innocence! Thou hadst no pompous train, nor antic crowd Of young, gay swearers, with their needless, loud Retinue; all was here smooth as thy bride, And calm like her, or that mild evening-tide. Yet hadst thou nobler guests: angels did wind And rove about thee, guardians of thy mind; These fetched thee home thy bride, and all the way Advised thy servant what to do and say; These taught him at the well, and thither brought The chaste and lovely object of thy thought. But here was ne'er a compliment, not one Spruce, supple cringe, or studied look put on. All was plain, modest truth: nor did she come In rolls and curls, mincing and stately dumb; But in a virgin's native blush and fears, Fresh as those roses which the day-spring wears. O sweet, divine simplicity! O grace Beyond a curled lock or painted face! A pitcher too she had, nor thought it much To carry that, which some would scorn to touch; With, which in mild, chaste language she did woo To draw him drink, and for his camels too. And now thou knew'st her coming, it was time To get thee wings on, and devoutly climb Unto thy God; for marriage of all states Makes most unhappy, or most fortunates. This brought thee forth, where now thou didst undress Thy soul, and with new pinions refresh Her wearied wings, which, so restored, did fly Above the stars, a track unknown and high; And in her piercing flight perfumed the air, Scattering the myrrh and incense of thy prayer. So from Lahai-roi[1]'s well some spicy cloud, Wooed by the sun, swells up to be his shroud, And from her moist womb weeps a fragrant shower, Which, scattered in a thousand pearls, each flower And herb partakes; where having stood awhile, And something cooled the parched and thirsty isle, The thankful earth unlocks herself, and blends A thousand odours, which, all mixed, she sends Up in one cloud, and so returns the skies That dew they lent, a breathing sacrifice.