Nor jealousy Was understood, the injur'd lover's hell.

All hope is lost of my reception into grace; what worse? For where no hope is left, is left no fear.

Into this wild Abyss/ The womb of Nature, and perhaps her grave--/ Of neither sea, nor shore, nor air, nor fire,/ But all these in their pregnant causes mixed/ Confusedly, and which thus must ever fight,/ Unless the Almighty Maker them ordain/ His dark materials to create more worlds,--/ Into this wild Abyss the wary Fiend/ Stood on the brink of Hell and looked a while,/ Pondering his voyage; for no narrow frith/ He had to cross.

Anarchy is the sure consequence of tyranny; for no power that is not limited by laws can ever be protected by them.

Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay To mould me man? Did I solicit thee From darkness to promote me?

The earth, though in comparison of heaven so small, nor glistering, may of solid good contain more plenty than the sun, that barren shines.

Implied Subjection, but requir'd with gentle sway, And by her yielded, by him best receiv'd,- Yielded with coy submission, modest pride, And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay.