They who have put out the people's eyes reproach them of their blindness.

For such kind of borrowing as this, if it be not bettered by the borrowers, among good authors is accounted Plagiarè.

Hence, loathèd Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn, 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy.

Boast not of what thou would'st have done, but do.

Where eldest Night And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold Eternal anarchy amidst the noise Of endless wars, and by confusion stand; For hot, cold, moist, and dry, four champions fierce, Strive here for mast'ry.

Tears such as angels weep.

Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones.