Midnight shout and revelry, Tipsy dance and jollity.
Incens'd with indignation Satan stood Unterrify'd, and like a comet burn'd That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge In th' arctic sky, and from his horrid hair Shakes pestilence and war.
Anon out of the earth a fabric huge Rose, like an exhalation.
Luck is the residue of design.
The love-lorn nightingale nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well.
It is lawful and hath been held so through all ages for any one who have the power to call to account a tyrant or wicked king, and after due conviction to depose and put him to death.