War Is No Strife To The Dark

Exceeds Man's Might: That Dwells With The Gods Above.

What's More To Do, Which Would Be Planted Newly With The Time, As Calling Home Our Exiled Friends Abroad That Fled The Snares Of Watchful Tyranny, Producing Forth The Cruel Ministers Of This Dead Butcher And His Fiend-like Queen, Who, As 'tis Thought, By Self And Violent Hands Took Off Her Life; This, And What Needful Else That Calls Upon Us, By The Grace Of Grace We Will Perform In Measure, Time, And Place.

Virtue Is Chok'd With Foul Ambition

Love Like A Shadow Flies When Substance Love Pursues Pursuing That That Flies, And Flying What Pursues.

Cursed Be The Hand That Made These Fatal Holes.