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When Lucy came in, Peter was reading aloud to him some of Traherne's "Divine Reflections on the Native Objects of an Infant-Eye," which he seemed rather to like. "New burnisht Joys! Which finest Gold and Pearl excell!" "Oo," said Thomas expectantly. "Ow," said Thomas, agreeing. Peter turned over the pages. "Do you like it? Do you think so too? Here's another about you."
Our Virgil dooth laboure, in telling as yt were a Cantorburye tale, too ferret owt the secretes of Nature, with woordes so fitlye coucht, wyth verses so smoothlye slyckte, with sentences so featlye ordered, with orations so neatlie burnisht, with similitudes so aptly applyed, with eeche decorum so duely observed, as in truth hee hath in right purchased too hym self thee name of a surpassing poet, thee fame of an od oratoure, and thee admiration of a profound philosopher.
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