Midnight shout and revelry, Tipsy dance and jollity.

Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks and rivers wide Towers and battlements it sees Bosom'd high in tufted trees, Where perhaps some beauty lies, The cynosure of neighboring eyes.

So shall the world go on, To good malignant, to bad men benign, Under her own weight groaning.

Ornate rhetorick taught out of the rule of Plato.... To which poetry would be made subsequent, or indeed rather precedent, as being less suttle and fine, but more simple, sensuous, and passionate.

Socrates... Whom well inspir'd the oracle pronounc'd Wisest of men.

The sun to me is dark And silent as the moon, When she deserts the night Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.

Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out.