O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse Without all hope of day!

Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss

That power Which erring men call Chance.

Anon out of the earth a fabric huge Rose, like an exhalation.

When a king sets himself to bandy against the highest court and residence of all regal powers, he then, in the single person of a man, fights against his own majesty and kingship.

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

But oh the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone and never must return!