Art Made Tongue-tied By Authority.

Now Entertain Conjecture Of A Time When Creeping Murmur And The Poring Dark Fills The Wide Vessel Of The Universe.

Fit For The Mountains And The Barbarous Caves, Where Manners Ne'er Were Preached.

This Blessèd Plot, This Earth, This Realm, This England This Nurse, This Teeming Womb Of Royal Kings, . . . This Land Of Such Dear Souls, This Dear Dear Land.

Dispute Not With Her: She Is Lunatic.

Modest Wisdom Plucks Me From Over-credulous Haste.