I have a mistress, for perfections rare 
In every eye, but in my thoughts most fair. 
Like tapers on the altar shine her eyes; 
Her breath is the perfume of sacrifice; 
And wheresoe'er my fancy would begin, 
Still her perfection lets religion in. 
We sit and talk, and kiss away the hours 
As chastely as the morning dews kiss flowers: 
I touch her, like my beads, with devout care, 
And come unto my courtship as my prayer.