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His words … like so many nimble and airy servitors trip about him at command.
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In mirth that after no repenting draws.
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Yet hold it more humane, more heav'nly, first, By winning words to conquer willing hearts, And make persuasion do the work of fear.
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A grateful mind/ By owing owes not, but still pays, at once/ Indebted and discharg'd.
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Pandemonium, the high capital Of Satan and his peers.
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That space the Evil One abstracted stood From his own evil, and for the time remained Stupidly good, of enmity disarmed, Of guile, of hate, of envy, of revenge .
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Knowledge cannot defile, nor consequently the books, if the will and conscience be not defiled.
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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.
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These eyes, tho' clear To outward view of blemish or of spot, Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot, Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not Against Heaven's hand or will, not bate a jot Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer Right onward.
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Be strong, live happy and love, but first of all Him whom to love is to obey, and keep His great command!
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The teachers of our law, and to propose What might improve my knowledge or their own.
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Now conscience wakes despair That slumber'd,-wakes the bitter memory Of what he was, what is, and what must be Worse.
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Where glowing embers through the roomTeach light to counterfeit a gloom,Far from all resort of mirth,Save the cricket on the hearth.
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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.
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While the cock with lively dinScatters the rear of darkness thin,And to the stack, or the barn door,Stoutly struts his dames before,Oft list'ning how the hounds and hornCheerly rouse the slumb'ring morn.
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A poet soaring in the high reason of his fancies, with his garland and singing robes about him.
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The brazen throat of war.
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Farewell happy fields, Where joy forever dwells: Hail, horrors, hail.
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And, when night Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.
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For what is glory but the blaze of fame?