Let come the worst, it matters not to me.

Repel that wrongful thought,

O Maid! thou feelest, but believ’st it not;

It is thine own imperfect nature’s fault

That lets one doubt of him arise within.

And this the Virgin knew; and, like a sin,

Repell’d the thought, and still believ’d him true;

And summoned up her spirit to endure

All forms of fear, in that firm trust secure.