XVIII
To an unfettered soules quick nimble haste Are falling stars, and hearts thoughts, but slow pac'd: Thinner than burnt aire flies this soule, and she Whom foure new comming, and foure parting Suns Had found, and left the Mandrakes tenant, runnes Thoughtlesse of change, when her firme destiny Confin'd, and enjayld her, that seem'd so free, Into a small blew shell, the which a poore Warme bird orespread, and sat still evermore, Till her inclos'd child kickt, and pick'd it selfe a dore.