And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
An angel; or, if not, An earthly paragon.
But most it is presumption in us when the help of heaven we count the act of men.
God defend me from that Welsh fairy, Lest he transform me to a piece of cheese!
Angels and ministers of grace defend us! Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd, Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell, Be thy intents wicked, or charitable, Thou com'st in such a questionable shape, That I will speak to thee.
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.
Angels and ministers of grace defend us.
They do not love that do not show their love. The course of true love never did run smooth. Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but Love.
O' What may man within him hide, though angel on the outward side!
Love is familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but Love." -