John Milton

Such sober certainty of waking bliss.

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.

Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptred pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine.

Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds: At which the universal host up sent A shout that tore hell's concave, and beyond Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night.

Spirits that live throughout, Vital in every part, not as frail man, In entrails, heart or head, liver or reins, Cannot but by annihilating die.

Spirits when they please Can either sex assume, or both.

Sport, that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides. Come and trip it as ye go, On the light fantastic toe.

Squat like a toad, close at the ear of Eve.

Still govern thou my song, Urania, and fit audience find, though few.

Such as may make thee search the coffers round.