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222. On Commendation.

The Saint's an Angel drest in flesh and blood;
His inclinations do aim at good;
His vertues are too great to be reveal'd,
And yet (me thinks) too great to be conceal'd:
Grace doth advance him far beyond the Pen,
Or the weak knowledge of admiting men,
No flowing language, nor words richest dress
And loft'st sence, can his full worth express,
Then since thou canst not paint him life & limb,
Admire Gods goodness in admiting him.