They also serve who only stand and wait.

The great Emathian conqueror bid spare The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower Went to the ground.

Socrates... Whom well inspir'd the oracle pronounc'd Wisest of men.

They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld Of Paradise, so late their happy seat, Waved over by that flaming brand, the gate With dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms: Some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them soon; The world was all before them, where to choose Their place of rest, and Providence their guide; They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, Through Eden took their solitary way.

Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild.

Now I see Peace to corrupt no less than war to waste.

From his lips/Not words alone pleased her.