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Spiritus Sanctus superveniet in te.

As when soft West winds strooke the Garden Rose,
A showre of sweeter ayre salutes the Nose.
The breath gives sparing kisses, nor with powre
Unlocks the Virgin bosome of the Flowre.
So th'Holy Spirit upon Mary blow'd,
And from her sacred Box whole rivers flow'd.
Yet loos'd not thine eternall chastity,
Thy Roses folds doe still entangled lye.
Beleeve Christ borne from an unbruised wombe,
So from unbruised Barke the Odors come.