Come to the sunset tree! The day is past and gone; The woodman's axe lies free, And the reaper's work is done.

Some say no evil thing that walks by night, In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen, Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost That breaks his magic chains at curfew time, No goblin, or swart fairy of the mine, Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.

Or if Virtue feeble were, Heav'n itself would stoop to her.

Our reason is our law.

Behold now this vast city [London]; a city of refuge, the mansion-house of liberty, encompassed and surrounded with His protection.

Satan; so call him now, his former name Is heard no more in heaven.

Our torments also may in length of time Become our elements, these piercing fires As soft as now severe, our temper changed Into their temper.