John Milton Quotes
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Last came, and last did go,The Pilot of the Galilean lake;Two massy keys he bore of metals twain,(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain).
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Let us descend now therefore from this top Of speculation.
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Believe and be confirmed.
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Behold the kings of the Earth how they oppressThy chosen, to what highth thir pow'r unjustThey have exalted, and behind them castAll fear of thee, arise and vindicateThy Glory, free thy people from thir yoke
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Accuse not nature: she hath done her part; Do thou but thine.
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The gadding vine.
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The whole freedom of man consists either in spiritual or civil liberty.
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Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose.
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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 pawDaily devours apace, and nothing said;But that two-handed engine at the doorStands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
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Nothing lovelier can be found In woman, than to study household good, And good works in her husband to promote.
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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.
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This is servitude, To serve th' unwise, or him who hath rebelled Against his worthier, as thine now serve thee, Thyself not free, but to thyself enthralled.
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Be frustrate, all ye stratagems of Hell,And devilish machinations come to nought.
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Better to reign in hell than serve in heav'n.
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The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks, Safest and seemliest by her husband stays, Who guards her, or with her the worst endures.
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Then lies him down the lubber fiend,And stretched out all the chimney's length,Basks at the fire his hairy strength.
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If weakness may excuse, What murderer, what traitor, parricide, Incestuous, sacrilegious, but may plead it? All wickedness is weakness; that plea, therefore, With God or man will gain thee no remission.
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Death ready stands to interpose his dart.
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Taste this, and be henceforth among the Gods thyself a Goddess.
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So on this windy sea of land, the Fiend Walked up and down alone bent on his prey.
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Come, pensive nun, devout and pure, sober steadfast, and demure, all in a robe of darkest grain, flowing with majestic train.
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Under the opening eyelids of the morn,We drove afield; and both together heardWhat time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn,Batt'ning our flocks with the fresh dews of night.
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Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold.
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When the gust hath blown his fill,Ending on the rustling leavesWith minute drops from off the eaves.