God love my soule, as I in heart rejoyce To have such power in my death-bringing voice, See how in steade of teares and hartie sighes; Of foulded armes and sorrow-speaking lookes, I doe behold with cheerefull countenance The livelesse roote of my nativitie, And thanke her hasty soule that thence did goe To keep her from her sonne and husbandes woe.

And the sharp sword of Knowledge cleft the deep vault, and shone therein, where the basilisk killed, and the animal's body was dissolved in a death-bringing vapour: its claw extended from the fermenting wine-cask; its eyes were air, that burnt when the fresh wind touched it.