Which, If Not Victory, Is Yet Revenge.

Incens'd With Indignation Satan Stood Unterrify'd, And Like A Comet Burn'd That Fires The Length Of Ophiuchus Huge In Th' Arctic Sky, And From His Horrid Hair Shakes Pestilence And War.

A Grateful Mind/ By Owing Owes Not, But Still Pays, At Once/ Indebted And Discharg'd.

My Heart Contains Of Good, Wise, Just, The Perfect Shape.

With Ruin Upon Ruin, Rout On Rout, Confusion Worse Confounded.

Know Thy Birth! For Dost Thou Art, And Shalt To Dust Return.