And with necessity,

The tyrant's plea, excus'd his devilish deeds.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book iv. Line 393.

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,

But sad mortality o'ersways their power,

How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,

Whose action is no stronger than a flower?

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Sonnet lxv.

In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt

But being season'd with a gracious voice

Obscures the show of evil?

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!

Here we will sit and let the sounds of music

Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night

Become the touches of sweet harmony.

Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven

Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold:

There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st

But in his motion like an angel sings,

Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins.

Such harmony is in immortal souls;

But whilst this muddy vesture of decay

Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): The Merchant of Venice. Act v. Sc. 1.