Sweet bird, that shun the noise of folly, most musical, most melancholy!

And yet on the other hand unless warinesse be us'd, as good almost kill a Man as kill a good Book; who kills a Man kills a reasonable creature, Gods Image, but hee who destroyes a good Booke, kills reason it selfe, kills the Image of God, as it were in the eye.

Come knit hands, and beat the ground in a light fantastic round

Heaven open'd wide Her ever during gates, harmonious sound, On golden hinges moving.

Pleas'd me, long choosing and beginning late.

Those graceful acts, those thousand decencies, that daily flow from all her words and actions, mixed with love and sweet compliance, which declare unfeigned union of mind, or in us both one soul.

All is not lost, the unconquerable will, and study of revenge, immortal hate, and the courage never to submit or yield.