Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth.

This horror will grow mild, this darkness light.

So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap.

Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.

These two imparadised in one another's arms, the happier Eden, shall enjoy their fill of bliss on bliss.

At His birth a star, unseen before in heaven, proclaims Him come.

Thus Belial, with words clothed in reason's garb, counseled ignoble ease, and peaceful sloth, not peace.