Yet Hold It More Humane, More Heav'nly,

So May'st Thou Live, Till Like Ripe Fruit Thou Drop Into Thy Mother's Lap.

The Timely Dew Of Sleep Now Falling With Soft Slumb'rous Weight Inclines Our Eyelids.

Here We May Reign Secure; And In My Choice To Reign Is Worth Ambition, Though In Hell: Better To Reign In Hell Than Serve In Heaven.

But Hail Thou Goddess Sage And Holy, Hail, Divinest Melancholy, Whose Saintly Visage Is Too Bright To Hit The Sense Of Human Sight, And Therefore To Our Weaker View O'erlaid With Black, Staid Wisdom's Hue.

Death Grinn'd Horrible A Ghastly Smile, To Hear His Famine Should Be Fill'd.