"A sweet attractive kind of grace, A full assurance given by looks, Continual comfort in a face, The lineaments of Gospel books; I trow that countenance cannot lie, Where thoughts are legible in the eye. Was never eye, did see that face, Was never ear, did hear that tongue, Was never mind, did mind his grace, That ever thought the travel long- But eyes, and ears, and ev'ry thought, Were with his sweet perfections caught. [trow; believe or think]"