The world was void, The populous and the powerful was a lump, Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless A lump of deatha chaos of hard clay. ByronDarkness. L. 69.
Lo: thy dread empire, Chaos, is restored; Light dies before thy uncreating word: Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall; And universal darkness buries all. PopeDunciad. Bk. IV. L. 649.
Nay, had I power, I should Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, Uproar the universal peace, confound All unity on earth. Macbeth. Act IV. Sc. 3. L. 97.