To many a youth and many a maid, dancing in the chequer'd shade.
Come knit hands, and beat the ground in a light fantastic round
Who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's image; but he who destroys a good book, kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were, in the eye.
Our reason is our law.
Imparadis'd in one another's arms.
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.