Love-quarrels oft in pleasing concord end.
Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell.
Evil into the mind of god or man may come and go, so unapproved, and leave no spot or blame behind.
Tower'd cities please us then, And the busy hum of men.
Boast not of what thou would'st have done, but do.
On the tawny sands and shelves trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.