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Bring The Rathe Primrose That Forsaken Dies, The Tufted Crow-toe, And Pale Gessamine, The White Pink, And The Pansy Freaked With Jet, The Glowing Violet, The Musk-rose, And The Well Attir'd Woodbine, With Cowslips Wan That Hang The Pensive Head, And Every Flower That Sad Embroidery Wears: Bid Amaranthus All His Beauty Shed, And Daffadillies Fill Their Cups With Tears, To Strew The Laureate Hearse Where Lycid Lies.

-John Milton

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Bring The Rathe Primrose

John Milton

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Bring The Rathe Primrose That Forsaken Dies, The Tufted Crow-toe, And Pale Gessamine, The White Pink, And The Pansy Freaked With Jet, The Glowing Violet, The Musk-rose, And The Well Attir'd Woodbine, With Cowslips Wan That Hang The Pensive Head, And Every Flower That Sad Embroidery Wears: Bid Amaranthus All His Beauty Shed, And Daffadillies Fill Their Cups With Tears, To Strew The Laureate Hearse Where Lycid Lies.

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The Childhood Shows The Man As Morning Shows The Day. Be Famous Then By Wisdom; As Thy Empire Must Extend, So Let Extend Thy Mind O'er All The World.

To Overcome In Battle, And Subdue Nations, And Bring Home Spoils With Infinite Man-slaughter, Shall Be Held The Highest Pitch Of Human Glory.

Solitude Sometimes Is Best Society.

His Words, Like So Many Nimble And Airy Servitors, Trip About Him At Command. Ibid.

Lethe, The River Of Oblivion, Rolls His Watery Labyrinth, Which Whoso Drinks Forgets Both Joy And Grief.

Let None Admire That Riches Grow In Hell; That Soil May Best Deserve The Precious Bane.

Hail Universal Lord, Be Bounteous Still To Give Us Only Good; And If The Night Have Gathered Aught Of Evil Or Concealed, Disperse It, As Now Light Dispels The Dark.

Death To Life Is Crown Or Shame.

So Scented The Grim Feature, And Upturn'd His Nostril Wide Into The Murky Air, Sagacious Of His Quarry From So Far.

Let Us Seek Death, Or He Not Found, Supply With Our Own Hands His Office On Ourselves; Why Stand We Longer Shivering Under Fears, That Show No End But Death, And Have The Power, Of Many Ways To Die The Shortest Choosing, Destruction With Destruction To Destroy.

Consider First, That Great Or Bright Infers Not Excellence.

Courtesy Which Oft Is Found In Lowly Sheds, With Smoky Rafters, Than In Tapestry Halls And Courts Of Princes, Where It First Was Named.

He Who Freely Magnifies What Hath Been Nobly Done, And Fears Not To Declares As Freely What Might Be Done Better, Gives Ye The Best Covenant Of His Fidelity.

Quips And Cranks And Wanton Wiles, Nods And Becks And Wreathèd Smiles.

And The Earth Self-balanced On Her Centre Hung.

How Soon Hath Time, The Subtle Thief Of Youth, Stolen On His Wing My Three-and-twentieth Year!

A Crown Golden In Show, Is But A Wreath Of Thorns, Bring Dangers, Troubles, Cares, And Sleepless Nights To Him Who Wears The Regal Diadem

She What Was Honour Knew, And With Obsequious Majesty Approv'd My Pleaded Reason. To The Nuptial Bower I Led Her Blushing Like The Morn; All Heaven And Happy Constellations On That Hour Shed Their Selectest Influence; The Earth Gave Sign Of Gratulation, And Each Hill; Joyous The Birds; Fresh Gales And Gentle Airs Whisper'd It To The Woods, And From Their Wings Flung Rose, Flung Odours From The Spicy Shrub.

A Thousand Fantasies Begin To Throng Into My Memory, Of Calling Shapes, And Beckoning Shadows Dire, And Airy Tongues That Syllable Men's Names On Sands And Shores And Desert Wildernesses

And Add To These Retired Leisure, That In Trim Gardens Take His Pleasure.

It Was The Winter Wild, While The Heaven-born Child, All Meanly Wrapt In The Rude Manger Lies.

Where Peace And Rest Can Never Dwell, Hope Never Comes, That Comes To All.

Peace Hath Her Victories, No Less Renowned Than War.

For What Is Glory But The Blaze Of Fame?

The Strongest And The Fiercest Spirit That Fought In Heaven, Now Fiercer By Despair.

Temper Justice With Mercy.

Demoniac Frenzy, Moping Melancholy.

My Latest Found, Heaven's Last, Best Gift, My Ever New Delight!

Which Way I Fly Is Hell; Myself Am Hell.

Yet Beauty, Though Injurious, Hath Strange Power, After Offence Returning, To Regain Love Once Possess'd.

I Will Not Deny But That The Best Apology Against False Accusers Is Silence And Sufferance, And Honest Deeds Set Against Dishonest Words.

These Evils I Deserve, And More . . . . Justly, Yet Despair Not Of His Final Pardon, Whose Ear Is Ever Open, And His Eye Gracious To Re-admit The Suppliant.

Time, Though In Eternity, Applied To Motion, Measures All Things Durable By Present, Past, And Future.

The Spirit Of Man, Which God Inspired, Cannot Together Perish With This Corporeal Clod.

Live While Ye May, Yet Happy Pair.

Don't Hold Grudges; It's Pointless. Jealousy Too Is A Non-cathartic, Negative Emotion. .

A Gulf Profound As That Serbonian Bog Betwixt Damiata And Mount Casius Old, Where Armies Whole Have Sunk: The Parching Air Burns Frore, And Cold Performs Th' Effect Of Fire. Thither By Harpy-footed Furies Hal'd, At Certain Revolutions All The Damn'd Are Brought, And Feel By Turns The Bitter Change Of Fierce Extremes,-extremes By Change More Fierce; From Beds Of Raging Fire To Starve In Ice Their Soft Ethereal Warmth, And There To Pine Immovable, Infix'd, And Frozen Round, Periods Of Time; Thence Hurried Back To Fire.

Knowledge Cannot Defile, Nor Consequently The Books, If The Will And Conscience Be Not Defiled.

I Will Not Allow My Daughters To Learn Foreign Languages Because One Tongue Is Sufficient For A Woman.

On The Tawny Sands And Shelves Trip The Pert Fairies And The Dapper Elves.

Who Can Enjoy Alone? Or All Enjoying What Contentment Find?

This Manner Of Writing Wherein Knowing Myself Inferior To Myself? I Have The Use, As I May Account It, But Of My Left Hand.

God Is Decreeing To Begin Some Newand Great Period In His Church, Even To The Reforming Of Reformation Itself. What Does He Then But Reveal Himself To His Servants, And As His Manner Is, First To His Englishmen?

All Is Not Lost, The Unconquerable Will, And Study Of Revenge, Immortal Hate, And The Courage Never To Submit Or Yield.

Then Might Ye See Cowls, Hoods, And Habits With Their Wearers Tost And Flutter'd Into Rags; Then Reliques, Beads, Indulgences, Dispenses, Pardons, Bulls, The Sport Of Winds; All These Upwhirl'd Aloft Fly To The Rearward Of The World Far Off Into A Limbo Large And Broad, Since Called The Paradise Of Fools.

For Contemplation He And Valour Formed; / For Softness She And Sweet Attractive Grace, / He For God Only, She For God In Him: / His Fair Large Front And Eye Sublime Declared / Absolute Rule.

And Ever Against Eating Cares Lap Me In Soft Lydian Airs, Married To Immortal Verse

If We Think We Regulate Printing, Thereby To Rectify Manners, We Must Regulate All Regulations And Pastimes, All That Is Delightful To Man.

Heaven Is For Thee Too High To Know What Passes There; Be Lowly Wise. Think Only What Concerns Thee And Thy Being; Dream Not Of Other Worlds, What Creatures There Live, In What State, Condition, Or Degree, Contented That Thus Far Hath Been Revealed.

Beauty Is God's Handwriting-a Wayside Sacrament.

Christian Inspirational

These Are Thy Glorious Works, Parent Of Good!

For Evil News Rides Post, While Good News Baits.

Let Her (truth) And Falsehood Grapple; Who Ever Knew Truth Put To The Worse In A Free And Open Encounter?

Truth And Falsehood

The Sacred Influence Of Light Appears.

What Can 'scape The Eye Of God, All-seeing, Or Deceive His Heart. Omniscient!

Nothing Profits More Than Self-esteem, Grounded On What Is Just And Right.

But O Yet More Miserable! Myself My Sepulchre, A Moving Grave.

Then Wilt Thou Not Be Loath To Leave This Paradise, But Shalt Possess A Paradise Within Thee, Happier Far.

Anon Out Of The Earth A Fabric Huge Rose, Like An Exhalation.

Praise From An Enemy Smells Of Craft.

Ev'n Them Who Kept Thy Truth So Pure Of Old, When All Our Fathers Worshipp'd Stocks And Stones.

What In Me Is Dark Illumine, What Is Low Raise And Support, That To The Height Of This Great Argument I May Assert Eternal Providence, And Justify The Ways Of God To Men. 1 Paradise Lost. Book I. Line 22.

He That Hath Light Within Their Own Breast, May Sit In The Centre And Enjoy Bright Day.

Wherefore Did Nature Pour Her Bounties Forth With Such A Full And Unwithdrawing Hand, Covering The Earth With Odours, Fruits, Flocks, Thronging The Seas With Spawn Innumerable, But All To Please And Sate The Curious Taste?

So Dear To Heaven Is Saintly Chastity, That, When A Soul Is Found Sincerely So, A Thousand Liveried Angels Lacky Her, Driving Far Off Each Thing Of Sin And Guilt.

Of Four Infernal Rivers That Disgorge/ Into The Burning Lake Their Baleful Streams;/abhorred Styx The Flood Of Deadly Hate,/sad Acheron Of Sorrow, Black And Deep;/cocytus, Nam'd Of Lamentation Loud/ Heard On The Rueful Stream; Fierce Phlegethon/ Whose Waves Of Torrent Fire Inflame With Rage./ Far Off From These A Slow And Silent Stream,/ Lethe The River Of Oblivion Rolls/ Her Wat'ry Labyrinth Whereof Who Drinks,/ Forthwith His Former State And Being Forgets,/ Forgets Both Joy And Grief, Pleasure And Pain.

And That Must End Us, That Must Be Our Cure: To Be No More. Sad Cure! For Who Would Lose, Though Full Of Pain, This Intellectual Being, Those Thoughts That Wander Through Eternity, To Perish, Rather, Swallowed Up And Lost In The Wide Womb Of Uncreated Night Devoid Of Sense And Motion?

He Who Reigns Within Himself And Rules Passions, Desires, And Fears Is More Than A King.

Few Sometimes May Know, When Thousands Err.

I Call A Complete And Generous Education That Which Fits A Man To Perform Justly, Skillfully, And Magnanimously All The Offices, Both Private And Public, Of Peace And War.

The Oracles Are Dumb, No Voice Or Hideous Hum Runs Through The Arched Roof In Words Deceiving. Apollo From His Shrine Can No More Divine, With Hollow Shriek The Steep Of Delphos Leaving. No Nightly Trance Or Breathed Spell Inspires The Pale-eyed Priest From The Prophetic Cell.

The First And Wisest Of Them All Professed To Know This Only, That He Nothing Knew.

A Broad And Ample Road, Whose Dust Is Gold, And Pavement Stars,--as Stars To Thee Appear Seen In The Galaxy, That Milky Way Which Nightly As A Circling Zone Thou Seest Powder'd With Stars.

Capricious, Wanton, Bold, And Brutal Lust Is Meanly Selfish; When Resisted, Cruel; And, Like The Blast Of Pestilential Winds, Taints The Sweet Bloom Of Nature's Fairest Forms.

By Night The Glass Of Galileo ... Observes Imagin'd Land And Regions In The Moon.

Extol Not Riches Then, The Toil Of Fools, The Wise Man's Cumbrance, If Not Snare, More Apt To Slacken Virtue, And Abate Her Edge, Than Prompt Her To Do Aught May Merit Praise.

And Pomp, And Feast, And Revelry, With Mask, And Antique Pageantry, Such Sights As Youthful Poets Dream On Summer Eves By Haunted Stream.

Boast Not Of What Thou Would'st Have Done, But Do.

And Join With Thee Calm Peace And Quiet, Spare Fast, That Oft With Gods Doth Diet.

How Wearisom Eternity So Spent In Worship Paid To Whom We Hate. Let Us Not Then Pursue By Force Impossible, By Leave Obtain'd Unacceptable, Though In Heav'n, Our State Of Splendid Vassalage, But Rather Seek Our Own Good From Our Selves, And From Our Own Live To Our Selves, Though In This Vast Recess, Free, And To None Accountable, Preferring Hard Liberty Before The Easie Yoke Of Servile Pomp

Our Two First Parents, Yet The Only Two Of Mankind, In The Happy Garden Placed, Reaping Immortal Fruits Of Joy And Love, Uninterrupted Joy, Unrivalled Love In Blissful Solitude.

O Impotence Of Mind, In Body Strong! But What Is Strength Without A Double Share Of Wisdom, Vast, Unwieldy, Burdensome, Proudly Secure, Yet Liable To Fall By Weakest Subtleties, Not Made To Rule, But To Subserve Where Wisdom Bears Command.

Evil Into The Mind Of God Or Man May Come And Go, So Unapproved, And Leave No Spot Or Blame Behind.

[rhyme Is] But The Invention Of A Barbarous Age, To Set Off Wretched Matter And Lame Meter; ... Not Without Cause Therefore Some Both Italian And Spanish Poets Of Prime Note Have Rejected Rhyme, ... As Have Also Long Since Our Best English Tragedies, As... Trivial And Of No True Musical Delight; Which [truly] Consists Only In Apt Numbers, Fit Quantity Of Syllables, And The Sense Variously Drawn Out From One Verse Into Another, Not In The Jingling Sound Of Like Endings, A Fault Avoided By The Learned Ancients Both In Poetry And All Good Oratory.

And Pomp, And Feast, And Revelry, With Mask, And Antique Pageantry, Such Sights As Youthful Poets Dream On Summer Eves By Haunted Stream. Then To The Well-trod Stage Anon, If Jonson's Learned Sock Be On, Or Sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's Child, Warble His Native Wood-notes Wild, And Ever, Against Eating Cares, Lap Me In Soft Lydian Airs, Married To Immortal Verse Such As The Meeting Soul May Pierce, In Notes With Many A Winding Bout Of Linked Sweetness Long Drawn Out.

To Live A Life Half Dead, A Living Death.

O Madness To Think Use Of Strongest Wines And Strongest Drinks Our Chief Support Of Health, When God With These Forbidden Made Choice To Rear His Mighty Champion, Strong Above Compare, Whose Drink Was Only From The Liquid Brook.

Midnight Brought On The Dusky Hour Friendliest To Sleep And Silence.

Chaos Umpire Sits And By Decision More Embroils The Fray By Which He Reigns: Next Him High Arbiter Chance Governs All.

But That From Us Aught Should Ascend To Heav'n So Prevalent As To Concern The Mind Of God, High-bless'd, Or To Incline His Will, Hard To Belief May Seem; Yet This Will Prayer.

Haste Thee, Nymph, And Bring With Thee Jest, And Youthful Jollity, Quips, And Cranks, And Wanton Wiles, Nods, And Becks, And Wreathed Smiles, Such As Hang On Hebe's Cheek, And Love To Live In Dimple Sleek; Sport That Wrinkled Care Derides, And Laughter Holding Both His Sides.

Here The Great Art Lies, To Discern In What The Law Is To Be To Restraint And Punishment, And In What Things Persuasion Only Is To Work.

Angels Contented With Their Face In Heaven, Seek Not The Praise Of Men.

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.

None But Such As Are Good Men Can Give Good Things, And That Which Is Not Good, Is Not Delicious To A Well-govern'd And Wise Appetite.

No Institution Which Does Not Continually Test Its Ideals, Techniques And Measure Of Accomplishment Can Claim Real Vitality.

Herbs, And Other Country Messes, Which The Neat-handed Phillis Dresses.

Joking Decides Great Things, Stronger And Better Oft Than Earnest Can.

Beauty Is Nature's Coin, Must Not Be Hoarded, But Must Be Current, And The Good Thereof Consists In Mutual And Partaken Bliss.

Who Knows Not Circe, The Daughter Of The Sun , Whose Charmed Cup Whoever Tasted, Lost His Upright Shape, And Downward Fell Into A Groveling Swine?

Heav'nly Love Shall Outdoo Hellish Hate

The Redundant Locks, Robustious To No Purpose, Clustering Down--vast Monument Of Strength.

What Hath Night To Do With Sleep?

A Dungeon Horrible, On All Sides Round, As One Great Furnace, Flamed; Yet From Those Flames No Light, But Rather Darkness Visible Serv'd Only To Discover Sights Of Woe, Regions Of Sorrow, Doleful Shades, Where Peace And Rest Can Never Dwell, Hope Never Comes That Comes To All; But Torture Without End.

Execute Their Airy Purposes.

Goodness Thinks No Ill Where No Ill Seems.

Thus Belial, With Words Clothed In Reason's Garb, Counseled Ignoble Ease, And Peaceful Sloth, Not Peace.

For Stories Teach Us, That Liberty Sought Out Of Season, In A Corrupt And Degenerate Age, Brought Rome Itself To A Farther Slavery: For Liberty Hath A Sharp And Double Edge, Fit Only To Be Handled By Just And Virtuous Men; To Bad And Dissolute, It Becomes A Mischief Unwieldy In Their Own Hands: Neither Is It Completely Given, But By Them Who Have The Happy Skill To Know What Is Grievance And Unjust To A People, And How To Remove It Wisely; What Good Laws Are Wanting, And How To Frame Them Substantially, That Good Men May Enjoy The Freedom Which They Merit, And The Bad The Curb Which They Need.

He That Has Light Within His Own Clear Breast May Sit In The Centre, And Enjoy Bright Day: But He That Hides A Dark Soul And Foul Thoughts Benighted Walks Under The Mid-day Sun; Himself His Own Dungeon.

And Now Without Redemption All Mankind Must Have Been Lost, Adjudged To Death And Hell By Doom Severe.

The Timely Dew Of Sleep Now Falling With Soft Slumb'rous Weight Inclines Our Eyelids.

Immortal Amarant, A Flower Which Once In Paradise, Fast By The Tree Of Life, Began To Bloom; But Soon For Man's Offence To Heaven Removed, Where First It Grew, There Grows, And Flowers Aloft, Shading The Fount Of Life, And Where The River Of Bliss Through Midst Of Heaven Rolls O'er Elysian Flowers Her Amber Stream: With These That Never Fade The Spirits Elect Bind Their Resplendent Locks.

Now The Bright Morning-star, Day's Harbinger, Comes Dancing From The East, And Leads With Her The Flowery May, Who From Her Green Lap Throws The Yellow Cowslip And The Pale Primrose. Hail, Bounteous May, That Dost Inspire Mirth, And Youth, And Warm Desire! Woods And Groves Are Of Thy Dressing; Hill And Dale Doth Boast Thy Blessing. Thus We Salute Thee With Our Early Song, And Welcome Thee, And Wish Thee Long.

How Oft, In Nations Gone Corrupt, And By Their Own Devices Brought Down To Servitude, That Man Chooses Bondage Before Liberty. Bondage With Ease Before Strenuous Liberty.

Thus I Set My Printless Feet O'er The Cowslip's Velvet Head, That Bends Not As I Tread.

Death From Sin No Power Can Separate.

Money Brings Honor, Friends, Conquest, And Realms.

Arms On Armour Clashing Bray'd Horrible Discord, And The Madding Wheels Of Brazen Chariots Rag'd: Dire Was The Noise Of Conflict.

These Two Imparadised In One Another's Arms, The Happier Eden, Shall Enjoy Their Fill Of Bliss On Bliss.

We Read Not That Christ Ever Exercised Force But Once; And That Was To Drive Profane Ones Out Of His Temple, Not To Force Them In.

The Pious And Just Honoring Of Ourselves May Be Thought The Fountainhead From Whence Every Laudable And Worthy Enterprise Issues Forth.

Promiscuous Reading Is Necessary To The Constituting Of Human Nature. The Attempt To Keep Out Evil Doctrine By Licensing Is Like The Exploit Of That Gallant Man Who Thought To Keep Out The Crows By Shutting The Park Gate.

But All Was False And Hollow; Though His Tongue Dropp'd Manna, And Could Make The Worse Appear The Better Reason, 4 To Perplex And Dash Maturest Counsels.

And Grace That Won Who Saw To Wish Her Stay.

Rocks Whereon Greatest Men Have Oftest Wreck'd.

Men Of Most Renowned Virtue Have Sometimes By Transgressing Most Truly Kept The Law.

(that Last Infirmity Of Noble Mind) To Scorn Delights, And Live Laborious Days; But The Fair Guerdon When We Hope To Find, And Think To Burst Out Into Sudden Blaze, Comes The Blind Fury With Th' Abhorred Shears And Slits The Thin-spun Life.

Swinish Gluttony Never Looks To Heaven Amidst Its Gorgeous Feast; But With Besotted, Base Ingratitude, Cravens And Blasphemes His Feeder.

Thoughts That Voluntary Move Harmonious Numbers.

I Will Point Ye Out The Right Path Of A Virtuous And Noble Education; Laborious Indeed At First Ascent, But Else So Smooth, So Green, So Full Of Goodly Prospect, And Melodious Sounds On Every Side, That The Harp Of Orpheus Was Not More Charming.

Neither Prosperity Nor Empire Nor Heaven Can Be Worth Winning At The Price Of A Virulent Temper, Bloody Hands, An Anguished Spirit, And A Vain Hatred Of The Rest Of The World.

Time Will Run Back And Fetch The Age Of Gold.

His Form Had Yet Not Lost All Her Original Brightness, Nor Appear'd Less Than Archangel Ruin'd, And Th' Excess Of Glory Obscur'd.

How Gladly Would I Meet Mortality, My Sentence, And Be Earth In Sensible! How Glad Would Lay Me Down, As In My Mother's Lap! There I Should Rest, And Sleep Secure.

There Swift Return Diurnal, Merely To Officiate Light Round This Opacous Earth, This Punctual Spot.

Let Us No More Contend, Nor Blame Each Other, Blamed Enough Elsewhere, But Strive, In Offices Of Love, How We May Lighten Each Other's Burden.

Hail Holy Light, Offspring Of Heav'n Firstborn!

But Infinite In Pardon Is My Judge.

For Other Things Mild Heav'n A Time Ordains, And Disapproves That Care, Though Wise In Show, That With Superfluous Burden Loads The Day, And When God Sends A Cheerful Hour, Refrains.

Confidence Imparts A Wonderful Inspiration To The Possessor.

Gratitude Bestows Reverence, Allowing Us To Encounter Everyday Epiphanies, Those Transcendent Moments Of Awe That Change Forever How We Experience Life And The World.

And May At Last My Weary Age Find Out The Peaceful Hermitage, The Hairy Gown And Mossy Cell, Where I May Sit And Rightly Spell Of Every Star That Heaven Doth Shew, And Every Herb That Sips The Dew, Till Old Experience To Attain To Something Like Prophetic Strain.

Athens, The Eye Of Greece, Mother Of Arts And Eloquence.

Let Us Descend Now Therefore From This Top Of Speculation.

Till Old Experience Do Attain To Something Like Prophetic Strain.

Yet Hold It More Humane, More Heav'nly, First, By Winning Words To Conquer Willing Hearts, And Make Persuasion Do The Work Of Fear.

And If By Prayer Incessant I Could Hope To Change The Will Of Him Who All Things Can, I Would Not Cease To Weary Him With My Assiduous Cries.

This Horror Will Grow Mild, This Darkness Light.

My Sentence Is For Open War.

The Timely Dew Of Sleep.

Wherefore Did He [god] Create Passions Within Us, Pleasures Round About Us, But That These Rightly Tempered Are The Very Ingredients Of Virtue?

Rhime Being No Necessary Adjunct Or True Ornament Of Poem Or Good Verse, In Longer Works Especially, But The Invention Of A Barbarous Age, To Set Off Wretched Matter And Lame Meeter...the Troublesom And Modern Bondage Of Rimeing.

Who Can In Reason Then Or Right Assume Monarchy Over Such As Live By Right His Equals, If In Power Or Splendor Less, In Freedom Equal?

The Starry Cope Of Heaven.

There Is No Learned Man But Will Confess Be Hath Much Profited By Reading Controversies,--his Senses Awakened, His Judgment Sharpened, And The Truth Which He Holds Firmly Established. If Then It Be Profitable For Him To Read, Why Should It Not At Least Be Tolerable And Free For His Adversary To Write? In Logic They Teach That Contraries Laid Together, More Evidently Appear; It Follows Then, That All Controversy Being Permitted, Falsehood Will Appear More False, And Truth The More True; Which Must Needs Conduce Much To The General Confirmation Of An Implicit Truth.

And Yet On The Other Hand Unless Warinesse Be Us'd, As Good Almost Kill A Man As Kill A Good Book; Who Kills A Man Kills A Reasonable Creature, Gods Image, But Hee Who Destroyes A Good Booke, Kills Reason It Selfe, Kills The Image Of God, As It Were In The Eye.

Socrates... Whom Well Inspir'd The Oracle Pronounc'd Wisest Of Men.

Fairest Of Stars, Last In The Train Of Night, If Better Thou Belong Not To The Dawn.

Suffering For Truth's Sake Is Fortitude To Highest Victory, And To The Faithful Death The Gate Of Life.

When Thou Attended Gloriously From Heaven , Shalt In The Sky Appear, And From Thee Send Thy Summoning Archangels To Proclaim Thy Dread Tribunal.

The Power Of Kings And Magistrates Is Nothing Else, But What Is Only Derivative, Transferrd And Committed To Them In Trust From The People, To The Common Good Of Them All, In Whom The Power Yet Remaines Fundamentally, And Cannot Be Takn From Them, Without A Violation Of Thir Natural Birthright.

One Sip Of This Will Bathe The Drooping Spirits In Delight, Beyond The Bliss Of Dreams.

Him That Yon Soars On Golden Wing, Guiding The Fiery-wheelèd Throne, The Cherub Contemplation.

Thou O Spirit, That Dost Prefer Before All Temples Th' Upright Heart And Pure, Instruct Me, For Thou Know'st; Thou From The First Wast Present, And With Mighty Wings Outspread Dove-like Satst Brooding On The Vast Abyss And Mad'st It Pregnant: What Is In Me Dark Illumine, What Is Low Raise And Support; That To The Heighth Of This Great Argument I May Assert Eternal Providence, And Justify The Ways Of God To Men.

God Made Thee Perfect, Not Immutable.

And What The People But A Herd Confus'd, A Miscellaneous Rabble, Who Extol Things Vulgar, And, Well Weigh'd, Scarce Worth The Praise? They Praise, And They Admire, They Know Not What; And Know Not Whom, But As One Leads The Other; And What Delight To Be By Such Extoll'd, To Live Upon Their Tongues, And Be Their Talk, Of Whom To Be Disprais'd Were No Small Praise?

Me Miserable! Which Way Shall I Fly Infinite Wrath And Infinite Despair? Which Way I Fly Is Hell; Myself Am Hell; And In The Lowest Deep A Lower Deep, Still Threat'ning To Devour Me, Opens Wide, To Which The Hell I Suffer Seems A Heaven.

A Death-like Sleep, A Gentle Wafting To Immortal Life.

Calm Of Mind, All Passion Spent.

Nor Turned I Ween Adam From His Fair Spouse, Nor Eve The Rites Mysterious Of Connubial Love Refused: Whatever Hypocrites Austerely Talk Of Purity And Place And Innocence, Defaming As Impure What God Declares Pure, And Commands To Some, Leaves Free To All.

Innumerable As The Stars Of Night, Or Stars Of Morning, Dewdrops Which The Sun Impearls On Every Leaf And Every Flower.

He That Can Apprehend And Consider Vice With All Her Baits And Seeming Pleasures, And Yet Abstain, And Yet Distinguish, And Yet Prefer That Which Is Truly Better, He Is The True Wayfaring Christian. I Cannot Praise A Fugitive And Cloistered Virtue, Unexercised And Unbreathed, That Never Sallies Out And Sees Her Adversary, But Slinks Out Of The Race, Where That Immortal Garland Is To Be Run For, Not Without Dust And Heat. Assuredly We Bring Not Innocence Into The World, We Bring Impurity Much Rather: That Which Purifies Us Is Trial, And Trial Is By What Is Contrary.

O Nightingale, That On Yon Bloomy Spray Warblest At Eve, When All The Woods Are Still; Thou With Fresh Hope The Lover's Heart Dost Fill While The Jolly Hours Lead On Propitious May.

United Thoughts And Counsels, Equal Hope And Hazard In The Glorious Enterprise.

Yet Once More, O Ye Laurels, And Once More Ye Myrtles Brown, With Ivy Never Sere, I Come To Pluck Your Berries Harsh And Crude, And With Forced Fingers Rude Shatter Your Leaves Before The Mellowing Year.

Death Ready Stands To Interpose His Dart.

Hard Are The Ways Of Truth, And Rough To Walk.

The Very Essence Of Truth Is Plainness And Brightness; The Darkness And Crookedness Is Our Own. The Wisdom Of God Created Understanding, Fit And Proportionable To Truth, The Object And End Of It, As The Eye To The Thing Visible. If Our Understanding Have A Film Of Ignorance Over It, Or Be Blear With Gazing On Other False Glitterings, What Is That To Truth?

Most Men Admire Virtue Who Follow Not Her Lore.

The Bird Of Jove, Stoop'd From His Aery Tour, Two Birds Of Gayest Plume Before Him Drove.

When We Speak Of Knowing God, It Must Be Understood With Reference To Man's Limited Powers Of Comprehension. God, As He Really Is, Is Far Beyond Man's Imagination, Let Alone Understanding. God Has Revealed Only So Much Of Himself As Our Minds Can Conceive And The Weakness Of Our Nature Can Bear.

Thus With The Year Seasons Return; But Not To Me Returns Day, Or The Sweet Approach Of Even Or Morn, Or Sight Of Vernal Bloom Or Summer's Rose, Or Flocks, Or Herds, Or Human Face Divine; But Cloud Instead, And Ever-during Dark Surrounds Me; From The Cheerful Ways Of Men Cut Off, And For The Book Of Knowledge Fair Presented With A Universal Blank Of Nature's Works, To Me Expung'd And Raz'd, And Wisdom At One Entrance Quite Shut Out.

Now Morn, Her Rosy Steps In Th' Eastern Clime Advancing, Sow'd The Earth With Orient Pearl, When Adam Wak'd, So Custom'd; For His Sleep Was Aery Light, From Pure Digestion Bred.

With Cowslips Wan That Hang The Pensive Head, And Every Flower That Sad Embroidery Wears.

Believe And Be Confirmed.

Of Calling Shapes, And Beck'ning Shadows Dire, And Airy Tongues That Syllable Men's Names.

Such As The Meeting Soul May Pierce, In Notes With Many A Winding Bout Of Linked Sweetness Long Drawn Out.

Th'invention All Admir'd, And Each, How He To Be Th'inventor Miss'd; So Easy It Seem'd Once Found, Which Yet Unfound Most Would Have Thought Impossible.

And Live Like Nature's Bastards, Not Her Sons.

The Mountain Nymph, Sweet Liberty.

From Morn To Noon He Fell, From Noon To Dewy Eve,- A Summer's Day; And With The Setting Sun Dropp'd From The Zenith Like A Falling Star.

Solitude Is Sometimes Best Society.

In The Sweat Of Thy Face Thou Shalt Eat Bread, Till Thou Return Unto The Ground; For Thou Out Of The Ground Wast Taken; Know Thy Birth, For Dust Thou Art, And Shalt To Dust Return.

He Touch'd The Tender Stops Of Various Quills, With Eager Thought Warbling His Doric Lay.

Therefore, If At Great Things Thou Wouldst Arrive, Get Riches First, Get Wealth.

And In Their Motions Harmony Divine So Smoothes Her Charming Tones, That God's Own Ear Listens Delighted.

His Sleep Was Aery Light, From Pure Digestion Bred.

And These Gems Of Heav'n, Her Starry Train.

Prudence Is The Virtue By Which We Discern What Is Proper To Do Under Various Circumstances In Time And Place.

Ride The Air In Whirlwind.

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