One sip of this will bathe the drooping spirits in delight, beyond the bliss of dreams. - John Milton

Litigious terms, fat contentions, and flowing fees.

And pomp, and feast, and revelry,
With mask, and antique pageantry,
Such sights as youthful poets dream
On summer eves by haunted stream.
Then to the well-trod stage anon,
If Jonson's learned sock be on,
Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild,
And ever, against eating cares,
Lap me in soft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal verse
Such as the meeting soul may pierce,
In notes with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out.

Truth is as impossible to be soiled by any outward touch as the sunbeam.