C 0 M U S. 62/ What was that fnaky-headed Gorgon fhield, ' That wife Minerva wore, unconquer'd virgin, Wherewith fire freez'd her foes to congeard flone, But rigid looks of chafte auflerity, 450. And noble grace that dalh'd brute violence With fudden adoration, and blank awe ? So dear to Heav'n is faintly chatlity, That when a foul is found fincerely fo, A thoufand liveried Angels lacky her 455 Driving far off' each thing of fin and guilt, And in clear dreatn, and solemn Tell her of things that no grofs ear can hear, Till oft converfe with heav'nly habitants Begin to call a beam on th' outward (lupe, 46a The unpolluted temple of the mind, And turns it by degrees to th foul's effence Till all be made itnrnortal : but when lint, By unchafte looks, loofe geaures, and foul talk, But molt by-leud and lavith aa of fin, 465 Lets in defilement to the inward parts, The foul grows clotted by contagion, Imbodies, and irnbrutes, till the quite lofe The divine property of her firft being. Such are thole thick and bloomy fhadows damp 47g Oft feen in charnel vaults, and fepulchres, Ling'ring, and fitting by a new made grave, As loath to leave the body that it lov'd, And link'd it fell by carnal fenfuality To a degenerate and degraded (tate. 475 2. Bro. How charming is divine philofophy ! Not barth, and crabbed, as dull fools luppole, But mufical as is Apollo's lute, And a perpetual feat' of neatar'd fweets, Where no crude furfeit reigns. Eld. Bro. Lifl, hit, I her Some
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