How sweetly did they float upon the wings Of silence through the empty-vaulted night, At every fall smoothing the raven down Of darkness till it smiled!

Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves.

Virtue that wavers is not virtue, but vice revolted from itself, and after a while returning. The actions of just and pious men do not darken in their middle course.

Incens'd with indignation Satan stood Unterrify'd, and like a comet burn'd That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge In th' arctic sky, and from his horrid hair Shakes pestilence and war.

A poet soaring in the high reason of his fancies, with his garland and singing robes about him.

God sure esteems the growth and completing of one virtuous person, more that the restraint of ten vicious.

Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.