It was the winter wild, While the Heaven-born child, All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies.

Then wilt thou not be loath To leave this Paradise, but shalt possess A Paradise within thee, happier far.

Arms on armour clashing bray'd Horrible discord, and the madding wheels Of brazen chariots rag'd: dire was the noise Of conflict.

Farewell happy fields, Where joy forever dwells: Hail, horrors, hail.

For such kind of borrowing as this, if it be not bettered by the borrowers, among good authors is accounted Plagiarè.

The spirit of man, which God inspired, cannot together perish with this corporeal clod.

License they mean when they cry Liberty; For who loves that, must first be wise and good.