And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light.
Hail holy light, offspring of heav'n firstborn!
I fled, and cry'd out, Death; Hell trembled at the hideous name, and sigh'd From all her caves, and back resounded, Death.
And out of good still to find means of evil.
Lords are lordliest in their wine.
Solitude is sometimes best society.