Such bickerings to recount, met often in these our writers, what more worth is it than to chronicle the wars of kites or crows flocking and fighting in the air?

And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light.

Where no hope is left, is left no fear.

Seas wept from our deep sorrows.

Deep vers'd in books, and shallow in himself.

Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek.

Such joy ambition finds.