Their Weapons like to Lightning, came and went: / Our Souldiers like the Night-Owles lazie flight, / Or like a lazie Threſher with a Flaile, / Fell gently downe, as if they ſtrucke their Friends.

When you leave, make sure you have locked the door behind you.

I used to suffer from depression, but now I'm mostly content with my life.

This procession is slow and unclimactic, utterly mesmerizing and like everything else about this astounding work, absolutely right.