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

What hath night to do with sleep?

Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell >From heaven; for ev'n in heaven his looks and thoughts Were always downward bent, admiring more The riches of heaven's pavement, trodden gold, Than aught divine or holy else enjoy'd In vision beatific.

Tower'd cities please us then, And the busy hum of men.

Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit/Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste/Brought death into the world, and all our woe,/With loss of Eden, till one greater Man/Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,/Sing heavenly muse

Deep vers'd in books, and shallow in himself.

Heaven, the seat of bliss, Brooks not the works of violence and war.