Beauty is Nature's coin, must not be hoarded, But must be current, and the good thereof Consists in mutual and partaken bliss.

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

Where all life dies death lives.

These are thy glorious works, Parent of good!

In those vernal seasons of the year when the air is calm and pleasant, it were an injury and sullenness against nature not to go out and see her riches, and partake in her rejoicing with heaven and earth.

And ever against eating cares Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse

O fairest of creation, last and best Of all God's works, creature in whom excelled Whatever can to sight or thought be formed, Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet! How art thou lost, how on a sudden lost, Defaced, deflow'red, and now to death devote? Paradise Lost