Truth is as impossible to be soiled by any outward touch as the sunbeam.
Morn, Wak'd by the circling hours, with rosy hand Unbarr'd the gates of light.
Seas wept from our deep sorrows.
We read not that Christ ever exercised force but once; and that was to drive profane ones out of his Temple, not to force them in.
Now I see Peace to corrupt no less than war to waste.
Th'invention all admir'd, and each, how he to be th'inventor miss'd; so easy it seem'd once found, which yet unfound most would have thought impossible.