Yet I argue not

Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate a jot

Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer

Right onward.

John Milton (1608-1674): Sonnet xxii. To Cyriac Skinner.

In arguing too, the parson own'd his skill,

For e'en though vanquish'd he could argue still;

While words of learned length and thundering sound

Amaz'd the gazing rustics rang'd around;

And still they gaz'd, and still the wonder grew

That one small head could carry all he knew.

Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774): The Deserted Village. Line 209.