Pight at first, and yet sustains; He whose stable throne disdains Motion's shock and age's flight; He who endless one remains One, the same, in changeless plight.

" Lord, stretch thy tent in my strait breast; Enlarge it downward, that sure rest May there be pight for that pure fire pitched.

Nay, let us run unto the baseful cave, Pight in the hollow ribs of craggy cliff, Where dreary owls do shriek the live-long night, Chasing away the birds of cheerful light; Where yawning ghosts do howl in ghastly wise, Where that dull, hollow-eyed, that staring sire, Yclep'd Despair, hath his sad mansion: Him let us find, and by his counsel we Will end our too much irked misery.