Those whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme

Anon out of the earth a fabric huge Rose, like an exhalation.

Hence, loathèd Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn, 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy.

All is not lost, the unconquerable will, and study of revenge, immortal hate, and the courage never to submit or yield.

My latest found, Heaven's last, best gift, my ever new delight!

But all was false and hollow; though his tongue Dropp'd manna, and could make the worse appear The better reason, 4 to perplex and dash Maturest counsels.

The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it, But in another country, as he said, Bore a bright golden flow'r, but not in this soil; Unknown, and like esteem'd, and the dull swain Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon.