Quote
"And so sepúlchred in such pomp dost lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die."
"And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light. There let the pealing organ blow, To the full-voiced choir below, In service high, and anthems clear As may, with sweetness, through mine ear Dissolve me into ecstasies, And bring all heaven before mine eyes."

"And so sepúlchred in such pomp dost lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die."
"Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie."
"Where the bright seraphim in burning row Their loud uplifted angel trumpets blow."
"Fly, envious Time, till thou run out thy race: Call on the lazy leaden-stepping Hours, Whose speed is but the heavy plummets pace; And glut thyself with what thy womb devours, Which is no more than what is false and vain, And merely mortal dross."
"He who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things ought himself to be a true poem."
"How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stoln on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!"