Most sweet and pleasing are thy wayes, O God,
Like Meadowes deckt with Christall streames and flowers:
Thy paths no foote prophane hath euer trod:
Nor hath the proud man rested in thy Bowers:
There liues no Vultur, no deuouring Beare,
But onely Doues and Lambs are harbor'd there.

The Wolfe his young ones to their prey doth guide;
The Foxe his Cubbs with false deceit endues;
The Lyons Whelpe suckes from his Damme his pride;
In hers the Serpent malice doth infuse:                                       
The darksome Desart all such beasts contaynes,
Not one of them in Paradice remaynes.