Hail Holy Light, Offspring Of Heav'n Firstborn!

His Form Had Yet Not Lost All Her Original Brightness, Nor Appear'd Less Than Archangel Ruin'd, And Th' Excess Of Glory Obscur'd.

Flowers Of All Hue, And Without Thorn The Rose.

Ink Is The Blood Of The Printing-press.

Rhime Being No Necessary Adjunct Or True Ornament Of Poem Or Good Verse, In Longer Works Especially, But The Invention Of A Barbarous Age, To Set Off Wretched Matter And Lame Meeter...the Troublesom And Modern Bondage Of Rimeing.

Knowledge Forbidden? Suspicious, Reasonless. Why Should Their Lord Envy Them That? Can It Be A Sin To Know? Can It Be Death?