Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419801" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>An Ode, On the Death of Mr. Henry Purcell</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419801" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Late Servant to his Majesty, and Organist of the Chapel Royal, and of St. Peter's Westminster </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419801" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419801" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Mark how the Lark and Linnet Sing, <br>With rival Notes <br>They strain their warbling Throats, <br>To welcome in the Spring. <br>But in the close of Night, <br>When Philomel begins her Heav'nly lay, <br>They cease their mutual spite, <br>Drink in her Music with delight, <br>And list'ning and silent, and silent and list'ning, <br>And list'ning and silent obey.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419801" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">II</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419801" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">So ceas'd the rival Crew when Purcell came, <br>They Sung no more, or only Sung his Fame. <br>Struck dumb they all admir'd the God-like Man, <br>The God-like Man, <br>Alas, too soon retir'd, <br>As He too late began. <br>We beg not Hell, our Orpheus to restore, <br>Had He been there, <br>Their Sovereign's fear <br>Had sent Him back before. <br>The pow'r of Harmony too well they know, <br>He long e'er this had Tun'd their jarring Sphere, <br>And left no Hell below.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419801" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">III</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419801" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The Heav'nly Choir, who heard his Notes from high, <br>Let down the Scale of Music from the Sky: <br>They handed him along, <br>And all the way He taught, and all the way they Sung. <br>Ye Brethren of the Lyre, and tuneful Voice, <br>Lament his Lot: but at your own rejoice. <br>Now live secure and linger out your days, <br>The Gods are pleas'd alone with Purcell's Lays, <br>Nor know to mend their Choice.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=John+Dryden">John Dryden</a></strong></div>

solid border dashed border dotted border double border groove border ridge border inset border outset border no border blue green red purple cyan gold silver black