Come knit hands, and beat the ground in a light fantastic round

But pain is perfect misery, the worst Of evils, and excessive, overturns All patience.

From Man or Angel the great Architect Did wisely to conceal, and not divulge, His secrets, to be scanned by them who ought Rather admire. Or, if they list to try Conjecture, he his fabric of the Heavens Hath left to their disputes - perhaps to move His laughter at their quaint opinions wide Hereafter, when they come to model Heaven And calculate the stars: how they will wield The mighty frame: how build, unbuild, contrive To save appearances; how gird the Sphere With Centric and Eccentric scribbled o'er, Cycle and Epicycle, Orb in Orb.

So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky.

I will not deny but that the best apology against false accusers is silence and sufferance, and honest deeds set against dishonest words.

Suffering for truth's sake Is fortitude to highest victory, And to the faithful death the gate of life.

And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light.