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This Horror Will Grow Mild, This Darkness Light; Besides What Hope The Never-ending Flight Of Future Days May Bring, What Chance, What Change Worth Waiting--since Our Present Lot Appears For Happy Though But Ill, For Ill Not Worst, If We Procure Not To Ourselves More Woe.

-John Milton

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This Horror Will Grow

John Milton

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This Horror Will Grow Mild, This Darkness Light; Besides What Hope The Never-ending Flight Of Future Days May Bring, What Chance, What Change Worth Waiting--since Our Present Lot Appears For Happy Though But Ill, For Ill Not Worst, If We Procure Not To Ourselves More Woe.

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What If Earth Be But The Shadow Of Heaven And Things Therein - Each Other Like, More Than On Earth Is Thought?

Farewell Happy Fields, Where Joy Forever Dwells: Hail, Horrors, Hail.

The Never-ending Flight Of Future Days.

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

In Physic, Things Of Melancholic Hue And Quality Are Used Against Melancholy, Sour Against Sour, Salt To Remove Salt Humors.

Infinity Is A Dark Illimitable Ocean, Without Bound.

The Great Creator From His Work Returned Magnificent, His Six Days' Work, A World.

Solitude Is Sometimes Best Society.

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.

Our Cure, To Be No More; Sad Cure!

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

And So Sepúlchred In Such Pomp Dost Lie, That Kings For Such A Tomb Would Wish To Die.

Now The Bright Morning-star, Day's Harbinger, Comes Dancing From The East.

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

If It Come To Prohibiting, There Is Aught More Likely To Be Prohibited Than Truth Itself.

The Tree Of Knowledge Grew Fast By, Knowledge Of Good Bought Dear By Knowing Ill.

Where Eldest Night And Chaos, Ancestors Of Nature, Hold Eternal Anarchy Amidst The Noise Of Endless Wars, And By Confusion Stand; For Hot, Cold, Moist, And Dry, Four Champions Fierce, Strive Here For Mast'ry.

The Low'ring Element Scowls O'er The Darken'd Landscape.

Sable-vested Night, Eldest Of Things.

Good, The More Communicated, More Abundant Grows.

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

Not To Know Me Argues Yourselves Unknown.

Paradise Lost Book 9

And The Jocund Rebecks Sound To Many A Youth, And Many A Maid, Dancing In The Checkered Shade. And Young And Old Come Forth To Play On A Sunshine Holiday.

What Honour That, But Tedious Waste Of Time, To Sit And Hear So Many Hollow Compliments And Lies.

Rather Than Be Less Car'd Not To Be At All.

Hope Allows Us To Bid Farewell To Fear.

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.

Demoniac Frenzy, Moping Melancholy.

Time Will Run Back And Fetch The Age Of Gold.

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.

Enflamed With The Study Of Learning And The Admiration Of Virtue; Stirred Up With High Hopes Of Living To Be Brave Men And Worthy Patriots, Dear To God, And Famous To All Ages.

Perplexed And Troubled At His Bad Success The Tempter Stood, Nor Had What To Reply, Discovered In His Fraud, Thrown From His Hope.

Evil, Be Thou My Good.

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.

Just Are The Ways Of God, And Justifiable To Men; Unless There Be Who Think Not God At All.

If The Will, Which In The Law Of Our Nature, Were Withdrawn From Our Memory, Fancy, Understanding, And Reason, No Other Hell Could Equal, For A Spiritual Being, What We Should Then Feel From The Anarchy Of Our Powers. It Would Be Conscious Madness,--a Horrid Thought!

Vain Wisdom All, And False Philosophy.

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.

My Mansion Is, Where Those Immortal Shapes Of Bright Aerial Spirits Live Insphered In Regions Mild Of Calm And Serene Air, Above The Smoke And Stir Of This Dim Spot Which Men Call Earth.

Beauty Is Nature's Brag, And Must Be Shown In Courts, At Feasts, And High Solemnities, Where Most May Wonder At The Workmanship.

Deep Vers'd In Books, And Shallow In Himself.

Let Not England Forget Her Precedence Of Teaching Nations How To Live.

What Reinforcement We May Gain From Hope; If Not, What Resolution From Despair.

But God Himself Is Truth; In Propagating Which, As Men Display A Greater Integrity And Zeal, They Approach Nearer To The Similitude Of God, And Possess A Greater Portion Of His Love.

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

Praise From An Enemy Smells Of Craft.

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

Our Reason Is Our Law.

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

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.

In God's Intention, A Meet And Happy Conversation Is The Chiefest And Noblest End Of Marriage.

Th' Imperial Ensign, Which Full High Advanc'd Shone Like A Meteor, Streaming To The Wind.

Yet I Shall Temper So Justice With Mercy, As May Illustrate Most Them Fully Satisfy'd, And Thee Appease.

You Can Make Hell Out Of Heaven And Heaven Out Of Hell. It's All In The Mind.

But When Lust By Unchaste Looks, Loose Gestures, And Foul Talk, But Most By Lewd And Lavish Arts Of Sin, Lets In Defilement To The Inward Parts, The Soul Grows Clotted By Contagion, Imbodies And Imbrutes, Till She Quite Lose The Divine Property Of Her First Being.

In Discourse More Sweet; For Eloquence The Soul, Song Charms The Sense. Others Apart Sat On A Hill Retir'd, In Thoughts More Elevate, And Reason'd High Of Providence, Foreknowledge, Will, And Fate, Fix'd Fate, Free-will, Foreknowledge Absolute; And Found No End, In Wand'ring Mazes Lost.

The Rising World Of Waters Dark And Deep.

Imparadis'd In One Another's Arms.

A Boundless Continent, Dark, Waste, And Wild, Under The Frown Of Night Starless Expos'd.

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.

Taste This, And Be Henceforth Among The Gods Thyself A Goddess.

What Wisdom Can There Be To Choose, What Continence To Forbear Without The Knowledge Of Evil? 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.

There Are No Songs Comparable To The Songs Of Zion, No Orations Equal To Those Of The Prophets, And No Politics Like Those Which The Scriptures Teach.

The Starry Cope Of Heaven.

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

Truth Is Compared In Scripture To A Streaming Fountain; If Her Waters Flow Not In Perpetual Progression, They Sicken Into A Muddy Pool Of Conformity And Tradition.

Hope Elevates, And Joy Brightens His Crest.

Paradise Lost Book 9

With Thee Goes Thy Husband, Him To Follow Thou Art Bound; Where He Abides, Think There Thy Native Soil.

To-morrow To Fresh Woods, And Pastures New.

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

I Did But Prompt The Age To Quit Their Clogs By The Known Rules Of Ancient Liberty, When Straight A Barbarous Noise Environs Me Of Owls And Cuckoos, Asses, Apes And Dogs.

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.

God Is Thy Law, Thou Mine: To Know No More Is Woman's Happiest Knowledge And Her Praise. With Thee Conversing I Forget All Time.

Few Sometimes May Know, When Thousands Err.

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 Teachers Of Our Law, And To Propose What Might Improve My Knowledge Or Their Own.

A Short Retirement Urges A Sweet Return.

What Boots It At One Gate To Make Defence, And At Another To Let In The Foe?

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

Truth And Falsehood

Consider First, That Great Or Bright Infers Not Excellence.

Goodness Thinks No Ill Where No Ill Seems.

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.

It Is Not Good That Man Should Be Alone. ... Hitherto All Things That Have Been Named, Were Approved Of God To Be Very Good: Loneliness Is The First Thing Which God's Eye Named Not Good: Whether It Be A Thing, Or The Want Of Something, I Labour Not.

The Pilot Of The Galilean Lake; Two Massy Keys He Bore, Of Metals Twain (the Golden Opes, The Iron Shuts Amain).

Into This Wild Abyss/ The Womb Of Nature, And Perhaps Her Grave--/ Of Neither Sea, Nor Shore, Nor Air, Nor Fire,/ But All These In Their Pregnant Causes Mixed/ Confusedly, And Which Thus Must Ever Fight,/ Unless The Almighty Maker Them Ordain/ His Dark Materials To Create More Worlds,--/ Into This Wild Abyss The Wary Fiend/ Stood On The Brink Of Hell And Looked A While,/ Pondering His Voyage; For No Narrow Frith/ He Had To Cross.

Anger And Just Rebuke, And Judgment Given, That Brought Into This World A World Of Woe, Sin And Her Shadow Death, And Misery, Death's Harbinger.

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

For Books Are Not Absolutely Dead Things, But Do Contain A Potency Of Life In Them To Be As Active As That Soul Was Whose Progeny They Are; Nay, They Do Preserve As In A Vial The Purest Efficacy And Extraction Of That Living Intellect That Bred Them.

Pandemonium, The High Capital Of Satan And His Peers.

The World Was All Before Them, Where To Choose Their Place Of Rest, And Providence Their Guide: They Hand In Hand, With Wandering Steps And Slow, Through Eden Took Their Solitary Way.

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

Such Joy Ambition Finds.

Was I Deceiv'd, Or Did A Sable Cloud Turn Forth Her Silver Lining On The Night?

These Are Thy Glorious Works, Parent Of Good!

A Bevy Of Fair Women.

Biochemically, Love Is Just Like Eating Large Amounts Of Chocolate.

Those Graceful Acts, Those Thousand Decencies, That Daily Flow From All Her Words And Actions, Mixed With Love And Sweet Compliance, Which Declare Unfeigned Union Of Mind, Or In Us Both One Soul.

Thick As Autumnal Leaves That Strow The Brooks In Vallombrosa, Where Th' Etrurian Shades High Over-arch'd Imbower.

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

But Infinite In Pardon Is My Judge.

The Hungry Sheep Look Up, And Are Not Fed, But, Swoln With Wind, And The Rank Mist They Draw, Rot Inwardly, And Foul Contagion Spread: Besides What The Grim Wolf With Privy Paw Daily Devours Apace, And Nothing Said; But That Two-handed Engine At The Door Stands Ready To Smite Once, And Smite No More.

Opinion In Good Men Is But Knowledge In The Making.

Be Lowly Wise: Think Only What Concerns Thee And Thy Being.

Give Me The Liberty To Know, To Utter, And To Argue Freely According To Conscience, Above All Liberties.

Solitude Is Sometimes The Best Society.

And Fast By, Hanging In A Golden Chain, This Pendent World, In Bigness As A Star Of Smallest Magnitude, Close By The Moon.

Yet Much Remains To Conquer Still; Peace Hath Her Victories No Less Renowned Then War, New Foes Arise Threatening To Bind Our Souls With Secular Chains: Help Us To Save Free Conscience From The Paw Of Hireling Wolves Whose Gospel Is Their Maw.

Methinks I See In My Mind A Noble And Puissant Nation Rousing Herself Like A Strong Man After Sleep, And Shaking Her Invincible Locks; Methinks I See Her As An Eagle Mewing Her Mighty Youth, And Kindling Her Undazzled Eyes At The Full Midday Beam.

To Be Blind Is Not Miserable; Not To Be Able To Bear Blindness, That Is Miserable.

Incens'd With Indignation Satan Stood Unterrify'd, And Like A Comet Burn'd That Fires The Length Of Ophiuchus Huge In Th' Arctic Sky, And From His Horrid Hair Shakes Pestilence And War.

Day And Night, Seed-time And Harvest, Heat And Hoary Frost Shall Hold Their Course, Till Fire Purge All Things New.

Nor Aught Availed Him Now To Have Built In Heaven High Towers; Nor Did He Scrape By All His Engines, But Was Headlong Sent With His Industrious Crew To Build In Hell.

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.

Eye Me, Blest Providence, And Square My Trial To My Proportion'd Strength.

Confusion Heard His Voice, And Wild Uproar Stood Ruled, Stood Vast Infinitude Confined; Till At His Second Bidding Darkness Fled, Light Shone, And Order From Disorder Sprung.

Arm The Obdured Breast With Stubborn Patience As With Triple Steel.

Be Strong, Live Happy And Love, But First Of All Him Whom To Love Is To Obey, And Keep His Great Command!

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.

Confidence Imparts A Wonderful Inspiration To The Possessor.

The Spirits Perverse With Easy Intercourse Pass To And Fro, To Tempt Or Punish Mortals.

To Many A Youth And Many A Maid, Dancing In The Chequer'd Shade.

Meanwhile The Adversary Of God And Man, Satan With Thoughts Inflamed Of Highest Design, Puts On Swift Wings, And Towards The Gates Of Hell Explores His Solitary Flight.

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

Hide Me From Day's Garish Eye, While The Bee With Honied Thigh, That At Her Flowery Work Doth Sing, And The Waters Murmuring With Such Consort As They Keep, Entice The Dewy-feathered Sleep.

Contemplation Is Wisdom's Best Nurse.

Sweet Is The Breath Of Morn, Her Rising Sweet, With Charm Of Earliest Birds.

For What Is Glory But The Blaze Of Fame?

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.

But Oh The Heavy Change, Now Thou Art Gone, Now Thou Art Gone And Never Must Return!

Let None Henceforth Seek Needless Cause To Approve The Faith They Owe; When Earnestly They Seek Such Proof, Conclude, They Then Begin To Fail.

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

O Why Did God, Creator Wise, That Peopled Highest Heav'n With Spirits Masculine, Create At Last This Novelty On Earth, This Fair Defect Of Nature, And Not Fill The World At Once With Men As Angels Without Feminine, Or Find Some Other Way To Generate Mankind?

Where Glowing Embers Through The Room Teach Light To Counterfeit A Gloom.

Virtue That Wavers Is Not Virtue.

Sport, That Wrinkled Care Derides, And Laughter Holding Both His Sides. Come And Trip It As Ye Go, On The Light Fantastic Toe.

The End Of All Learning Is To Know God, And Out Of That Knowledge To Love And Imitate Him.

And Oft, Though Wisdom Wake, Suspicion Sleeps At Wisdom's Gate, And To Simplicity Resigns Her Charge, While Goodness Thinks No Ill Where No Ill Seems.

But Who Is This, What Thing Of Sea Or Land,- Female Of Sex It Seems,- That So Bedeck'd, Ornate, And Gay, Comes This Way Sailing Like A Stately Ship Of Tarsus, Bound For Th' Isles Of Javan Or Gadire, With All Her Bravery On, And Tackle Trim, Sails Fill'd, And Streamers Waving, Courted By All The Winds That Hold Them Play, An Amber Scent Of Odorous Perfume Her Harbinger?

Above The Smoke And Stir Of This Dim Spot Which Men Call Earth.

Iris All Hues, Roses, And Jessamine Reared High Their Flourished Heads Between, And Wrought Mosaic; Underfoot The Violet, Crocus, And Hyacinth With Rich Inlay Broidered The Ground, More Coloured Than With Stone Of Costliest Emblem: Other Creature Here Beast, Bird, Insect, Or Worm Durst Enter None; Such Was Their Awe Of Man.

The Best Apology Against False Accusers Is Silence.

Myself, And All The Angelic Host, That Stand In The Sight Of God Enthroned, Our Happy State Hold, As You Yours, While Our Obedience Hold. On Other Surety None: Freely We Serve, Because We Freely Love.

Spirits When They Please Can Either Sex Assume, Or Both.

Truth Is As Impossible To Be Soiled By Any Outward Touch As The Sunbeam.

Who Shall Silence All The Airs And Madrigals That Whisper Softness In Chambers?

And Some Are Fall'n, To Disobedience Fall'n, And So From Heav'n To Deepest Hell; O Fall From What High State Of Bliss Into What Woe!

But Let My Due Feet Never Fail To Walk The Studious Cloisters Pale, And Love The High Embowed Roof, With Antique Pillars Massy Proof, And Storied Windows Richly Dight; Casting A Dim Religious Light.

Reason Is Also Choice.

Who Kills A Man Kills A Reasonable Creature, God's Image; But He Who Destroys A Good Book, Kills Reason Itself, Kills The Image Of God, As It Were, In The Eye.

It Is Not Hard For Any Man Who Hath A Bible In His Hand To Borrow Good Words And Holy Sayings In Abundance; But To Make Them His Own Is A Work Of Grace Only From Above.

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

So Shall The World Go On, To Good Malignant, To Bad Men Benign, Under Her Own Weight Groaning.

By A Certain Fate, Great Acts, And Great Eloquence Have Most Commonly Gone Hand In Hand, Equalling And Honoring Each Other In The Same Ages.

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

Just Deeds Are The Best Answer To Injurious Words.

And Feel That I Am Happier Than I Know.

Equally Inured By Moderation Either State To Bear, Prosperous Or Adverse.

Solitude Sometimes Is Best Society.

To Live A Life Half Dead, A Living Death.

God Has Set Labor And Rest, As Day And Night To Men Successive.

For Spirits When They Please Can Either Sex Assume, Or Both; So Soft And Uncompounded Is Their Essence Pure, Not Tied Or Manacled With Joint Or Limb, Nor Founded On The Brittle Strength Of Bones, Like Cumbrous Flesh; But In What Shape They Choose Dilated Or Condensed, Bright Or Obscure, Can Execute Their Airy Purposes, And Works Of Love Or Enmity Fulfil.

Implied Subjection, But Requir'd With Gentle Sway, And By Her Yielded, By Him Best Receiv'd,- Yielded With Coy Submission, Modest Pride, And Sweet, Reluctant, Amorous Delay.

Death Grinn'd Horrible A Ghastly Smile, To Hear His Famine Should Be Fill'd.

Th' Ethereal Mould Incapable Of Stain Would Soon Expel Her Mischief, And Purge Off The Baser Fire, Victorious. Thus Repuls'd, Our Final Hope Is Flat Despair.

So Hand In Hand They Passed, The Loveliest Pair That Ever Since In Love's Embraces Met -- Adam, The Goodliest Man Of Men Since Born His Sons; The Fairest Of Her Daughters Eve.

Midnight Shout And Revelry, Tipsy Dance And Jollity.

Sweetest Echo, Sweetest Nymph, That Liv'st Unseen Within Thy Airy Shell, By Slow Meander's Margent Green, And In The Violet-embroidered Vale.

Should God Create Another Eve, And I Another Rib Afford, Yet Loss Of Thee Would Never From My Heart; No No, I Feel The Link Of Nature Draw Me: Flesh Of Flesh, Bone Of My Bone Thou Art, And From Thy State Mine Never Shall Be Parted, Bliss Or Woe.

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.

Have Hung My Dank And Dropping Weeds To The Stern God Of Sea.

No War Or Battle Sound Was Heard The World Around.

Virtue Hath No Tongue To Check Vice's Pride.

Of Man's First Disobedience, And The Fruit/of That Forbidden Tree, Whose Mortal Taste/brought Death Into The World, And All Our Woe,/with Loss Of Eden, Till One Greater Man/restore Us, And Regain The Blissful Seat,/sing Heavenly Muse

And, When Night Darkens The Streets, Then Wander Forth The Sons Of Belial, Flown With Insolence And Wine.

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.

In Those Vernal Seasons Of The Year When The Air Is Calm And Pleasant, It Were An Injury And Sullenness Against Nature Not To Go Out And See Her Riches, And Partake In Her Rejoicing With Heaven And Earth.

Such Bickerings To Recount, Met Often In These Our Writers, What More Worth Is It Than To Chronicle The Wars Of Kites Or Crows Flocking And Fighting In The Air?

Death To Life Is Crown Or Shame.

Time Is The Subtle Thief Of Youth.

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

Our State Cannot Be Severed, We Are One, One Flesh; To Lose Thee Were To Lose Myself.

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

On The Morning Of Christ's Nativity Perhaps Their Loves, Or Else Their Sheep, Was All That Did Their Silly Thoughts So Busy Keep.

Revenge, At First Though Sweet, Bitter Ere Long Back On Itself Recoils.

Nor From Hell One Step No More Than From Himself Can Fly By Change Of Place.

Fame Is The Spur That The Clear Spirit Doth Raise

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.

Smiles From Reason Flow, To Brute Deny'd, And Are Of Love The Food.

First Moloch, Horrid King, Besmirched In Blood, Of Human Sacrifice, And Parent's Tears, Though, For The Noise Of Drums And Timbrels Loud, Their Childrens' Cries Unheard, That Passed Through Fire, To His Grim Idol.

The Superior Man Acquaints Himself With Many Sayings Of Antiquity And Many Deeds Of The Past, In Order To Strengthen His Character Thereby.

With Ruin Upon Ruin, Rout On Rout, Confusion Worse Confounded.

The Stars, That Nature Hung In Heaven, And Filled Their Lamps With Everlasting Oil, Give Due Light To The Misled And Lonely Traveller.

Money Brings Honor, Friends, Conquest, And Realms.

Good Luck Befriend Thee, Son; For At Thy Birth The Fairy Ladies Danced Upon The Hearth.

Can Any Mortal Mixture Of Earth's Mould Breathe Such Divine Enchanting Ravishment?

For Books Are As Meats And Viands Are; Some Of Good, Some Of Evil Sub-stance.

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

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; But Prayer Against His Absolute Decree No More Avails Than Breath Against The Wind Blown Stifling Back On Him That Breathes It Forth: Therefore To His Great Bidding I Submit.

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

In Dim Eclipse, Disastrous Twilight Sheds On Half The Nations, And With Fear Of Change Perplexes Monarchs.

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