Now I see Peace to corrupt no less than war to waste.

Moping melancholy And moon-struck madness.

When complaints are freely heard, deeply considered and speedily reformed, then is the utmost bound of civil liberty attained that wise men look for.

Fairy elves, Whose midnight revels by a forest side Or fountain some belated peasant sees, Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon Sits arbitress.

The stars, that nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps with everlasting oil, give due light to the misled and lonely traveller.

O welcome pure-eyed Faith, white handed Hope, Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings.

But oh! as to embrace me she inclin'd, I wak'd, she fled, and day brought back my night.