Tower'd cities please us then, And the busy hum of men.
So shall the world go on, To good malignant, to bad men benign, Under her own weight groaning.
Heav'nly love shall outdoo Hellish hate
And ever against eating cares Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse
The stars, that nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps with everlasting oil, give due light to the misled and lonely traveller.
Or if Virtue feeble were, Heav'n itself would stoop to her.