The School Or Pearl Of Putney, The Mistress Of All Singular Manners, Mistress Portman.

Whether I was myself, or else did see     Out of myself that glorious hierarchy;     Or whether those, in orders rare, or these     Made up one state of sixty Venuses;     Or whether fairies, syrens, nymphs they were,     Or muses on their mountain sitting there;     Or some enchanted place, I do not know,     Or Sharon, where eternal roses grow.     This I am sure: I ravished stood, as one     Confus'd in utter admiration.     Methought I saw them stir, and gently move,     And look as all were capable of love;     And in their motion smelt much like to flowers     Inspir'd by th' sunbeams after dews and showers.     There did I see the reverend rectress stand,     Who with her eye's gleam, or a glance of hand,     Those spirits raised; and with like precepts then,     As with a magic, laid them all again.     A happy realm! When no compulsive law,     Or fear of it, but love keeps all in awe.     Live you, great mistress of your arts, and be     A nursing mother so to majesty,     As those your ladies may in time be seen,     For grace and carriage, everyone a queen.     One birth their parents gave them; but their new,     And better being, they receive from you.     Man's former birth is graceless; but the state     Of life comes in, when he's regenerate.