The other shape,

If shape it might be call'd that shape had none

Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb;

Or substance might be call'd that shadow seem'd,

For each seem'd either,—black it stood as night,

Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell,

And shook a dreadful dart; what seem'd his head

The likeness of a kingly crown had on.

Satan was now at hand.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book ii. Line 666.

Thus adorned, the two heroes, 'twixt shoulder and elbow,

Shook hands and went to 't; and the word it was bilbow.

John Byrom (1691-1763): Upon a Trial of Skill between the Great Masters of the Noble Science of Defence, Messrs. Figg and Sutton.

And over them triumphant Death his dart

Shook, but delay'd to strike, though oft invok'd.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book xi. Line 491.

Thence to the famous orators repair,

Those ancient, whose resistless eloquence

Wielded at will that fierce democratie,

Shook the arsenal, and fulmin'd over Greece,

To Macedon, and Artaxerxes' throne.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Regained. Book iv. Line 267.

The solitary monk who shook the world

From pagan slumber, when the gospel trump

Thunder'd its challenge from his dauntless lips

In peals of truth.

Robert Montgomery (1807-1855): Luther. Man's Need and God's Supply.

And like a dew-drop from the lion's mane,

Be shook to air.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Troilus and Cressida. Act iii. Sc. 3.