The martyrs shook the powers of darkness with the irresistible power of weakness.

A thousand fantasies Begin to throng into my memory, Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names On sands and shores and desert wildernesses

Or if Virtue feeble were, Heav'n itself would stoop to her.

What wisdom can there be to choose, what continence to forbear without the knowledge of evil? He that can apprehend and consider vice with all her baits and seeming pleasures, and yet abstain, and yet distinguish, and yet prefer that which is truly better, he is the true wayfaring Christian.

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

And the earth self-balanced on her centre hung.

Be lowly wise: Think only what concerns thee and thy being.