Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie. - John Milton, The Complete Poetry

"Where the bright seraphim in burning rowTheir loud uplifted angel trumpets blow."

"And so sepúlchred in such pomp dost lie,That kings for such a tomb would wish to die."

"What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones,The labor of an age in pilèd stones,Or that his hallowed relics should be hidUnder a star-y-pointing pyramid?Dear son of memory, great heir of fame,What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name?"