Better to reign in hell than serve in heav'n.

And live like Nature's bastards, not her sons.

Let none admire that riches grow in hell; that soil may best deserve the precious bane.

Confusion heard his voice, and wild uproar Stood ruled, stood vast infinitude confined; Till at his second bidding darkness fled, Light shone, and order from disorder sprung.

Th'invention all admir'd, and each, how he to be th'inventor miss'd; so easy it seem'd once found, which yet unfound most would have thought impossible.

Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out.

One sip of this will bathe the drooping spirits in delight, beyond the bliss of dreams.