But see! theVirgin blessed Hath laid her Babe to rest. Time is our tedious song should here have ending.

His words, like so many nimble and airy servitors, trip about him at command. Ibid.

Beauty is Nature's coin, must not be hoarded, But must be current, and the good thereof Consists in mutual and partaken bliss.

Th' ethereal mould Incapable of stain would soon expel Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope Is flat despair.

The great Emathian conqueror bid spare The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower Went to the ground.

Arms on armour clashing bray'd Horrible discord, and the madding wheels Of brazen chariots rag'd: dire was the noise Of conflict.

The never-ending flight Of future days.