John Milton Quotes
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Without the meed of some melodious tear.
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And join with thee, calm Peace and Quiet,Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet.
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Evil on itself shall back recoil.
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Yet I argue notAgainst Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate one jotOf heart or hope; but still bear up, and steerRight onward.
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License they mean when they cry, Liberty!For who loves that must first be wise and good.
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The Saviour who flitted before the patriarchs through the fog of the old dispensation, and who spake in time past to the fathers by the prophets, articulate but unseen, is the same Saviour who, on the open heights of the Gospel, and in the abundant daylight of this New Testament, speaks to us. Still all along it is the same Jesus, and that Bible is from beginning to end all of it, the word of Christ.
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To adore the conqueror, who now beholds Cherub and seraph rolling in the flood.
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The helmed Cherubim, And sworded Seraphim, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd.
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Attic tragedies of stateliest and most regal argument.
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Swinish gluttony never looks to heaven amidst its gorgeous feast; but with besotted, base ingratitude, cravens and blasphemes his feeder.
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But now my task is smoothly done, I can fly, or I can run Quickly to the green earth's end, Where the bow'd welkin slow doth bend, And from thence can soar as soon To the corners of the Moon.
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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.
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And every shepherd tells his taleUnder the hawthorn in the dale.
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The gadding vine.
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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.
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Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names.
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Let none henceforth seek needless cause to approve The faith they owe; when earnestly they seek Such proof, conclude, they then begin to fail.
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Inflamed 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.
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For to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise.
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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.
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Thus with the year Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of ev'n or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine.
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For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead,Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor;So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed;And yet anon repairs his drooping head,And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled oreFlames in the forehead of the morning sky.So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high,Through the dear might of him that walked the waves.
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Loneliness is the first thing which God's eye named not good.
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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.