The dews of summer night did fall; The moon, sweet regent of the sky, Silvered the walls of Cumnor Hall And many an oak that grew thereby. - William Julius Mickle

Thousands of angels at thy gate,
And great archangels stand,
And twenty thousand chariots wait,
Great Lord, thy dread command!
Through all thy great, thy vast domains,
With godlike honours clad,
Captivity in captive chains
Triumphing thou hast led.

But are ye sure the news is true—
And are ye sure he's weel?
Is this a time to think o' wark?—
Ye jades, fling by your wheel!

Leicester," she cried, "is this thy love
That thou so oft hast sworn to me,
To leave me in this lonely grove,
Immured in shameful privity? "No more thou com'st with lover's speed,
Thy once beloved bride to see;
But be she alive, or be she dead,
I fear, stern Earl, 's the same to thee. "Not so the usage I received
When happy in my father's hall;
No faithless husband then me grieved,
No chilling fears did me appall. "I rose up with the cheerful morn,
No lark more blithe, no flower more gay;
And like the bird that haunts the thorn,
So merrily sung the livelong day. "If that my beauty is but small,
Among court ladies all despised,
Why didst thou rend it from that hall,
Where, scornful Earl, it well was prized?