Danger will wink on opportunity.
But see! theVirgin blessed Hath laid her Babe to rest. Time is our tedious song should here have ending.
Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild.
The nodding horror of whose shady brows Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger.
Our torments also may in length of time Become our Elements.
Who overcomes by force, hath overcome but half his foe.