Practice Typing

And now the visage of that saintly light Was to the sun, that fills it, turnd again, As to the good, whose plenitude of bliss Sufficeth all. O ye misguided souls. Infatuate, who from such a good estrange Your hearts, and bend your gaze on vanity, Alas for you. And lo. toward me, next, Another of those splendent forms approachd, That, by its outward brightning, testified The will it had to pleasure me.