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 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
III.
  
  

III.

Should'st thou, my Dear, look down on us below,
To see how busie we.
Are in Anatomie,
Thoud'st laugh to see our Ignorance;
Who some things miss, & some things hit by chance,
For we, at best, do but in twilight go,
Whilst thou see'st all by th' most Transcendent light,
Compar'd to which the Sun's bright Rays are night:

106

Yet so Cœlestial are thine Eyes,
That Light can neither dazzle nor surprize;
For all things there
So perfect are,
And freely they their qualities dispence,
Without the mixture of Terrestrial dross;
Without hazard, harm or loss;
O joys Eternal satiating Sence,
And yet the Sence the smallest part in gross.