At which there arose from a wound in the asphalt, His big wig a-smoulder, Sir Christopher Wren Saying: 'Let them make hay of the streets of Laredo; When your ground-rent expire I will build them again.' Then twangling their bibles with wrath in their nostrils From Bonehill Fields came Bunyan and Blake: 'Laredo the golden is fallen, is fallen; Your flame shall not quench nor your thirst shall not slake.'

O early one morning I walked out like Agag, Early one morning to walk through the fire Dodging the pythons that leaked on the pavements With tinkle of glasses …

I am not yet born; forgive me For the sins that in me the world shall commit, my words When they speak me, my thoughts when they think me, My treason engendere…

I am not yet born; O hear me. Let not the bloodsucking bat or the rat or the stoat or the clubfooted ghoul come near me.

I should be judged as a captain who went from Spain to the Indies to conquer a people numerous and warlike, whose manners and religion are very different from …

Popery is such a thing as cannot, but for want of a word to express it, be called a religion; nor is it to be mentioned with that civility which is otherwise d…

Ces deux moities de Dieu, le pape et l'empereur!