None can love freedom heartily, but good men; the rest love not freedom, but license.

So he with difficulty and labour hard Mov'd on, with difficulty and labour he.

Come, pensive nun, devout and pure, sober steadfast, and demure, all in a robe of darkest grain, flowing with majestic train.

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

Moping melancholy And moon-struck madness.

Part of my soul I seek thee, and claim thee my other half

Apt words have power to suage the tumors of a troubled mind.