All seemed well pleased, all seemed, but were not all.

He 's gone, and who knows how he may report Thy words by adding fuel to the flame?

Myself, and all the Angelic Host, that stand in the sight of God enthroned, our happy state hold, as you yours, while our obedience hold. On other surety none: freely we serve, because we freely love.

Good luck befriend thee, Son; for at thy birth The fairy ladies danced upon the hearth.

If this fail, The pillar'd firmament is rottenness, And earth's base built on stubble.

He who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things ought himself to be a true poem.

O fairest of creation, last and best Of all God's works, creature in whom excelled Whatever can to sight or thought be formed, Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet! How art thou lost, how on a sudden lost, Defaced, deflow'red, and now to death devote? Paradise Lost