John Milton

Beholding the bright countenance of truth in the quiet and still air of delightful studies.

Have hung My dank and dropping weeds To the stern god of sea.

What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attic taste?

License they mean when they cry, Liberty! For who loves that must first be wise and good.

That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp.

That old man eloquent.

As ever in my great Taskmaster's eye.

Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day.

O fairest flower! no sooner blown but blasted, Soft silken primrose fading timelessly.

Such as may make thee search the coffers round.

The end of learning is to know God, and out of that knowledge to love Him and imitate Him.

Madam, methinks I see him living yet; So well your words his noble virtues praise, That all both judge you to relate them true, And to possess them, honour'd Margaret.

that good men may enjoy the freedom which they merit, and the bad the curb which they need.

for liberty hath a sharp and double edge, fit only to be handled by just and virtuous men

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?

But oh! as to embrace me she inclined, I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night.

Methought I saw my late espousèd saint Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave.

Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son

In mirth that after no repenting draws.

Of which all Europe rings from side to side.

Yet I argue not Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate one jot Of heart or hope; but still bear up, and steer Right onward.

Cyriack, whose Grandsire on the Royal Bench Of British Themis, with no mean applause Pronounced and in his volumes taught our Laws, Which others at their Bar so often wrench

Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold; Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones Forget not.

Who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest; They also serve who only stand and wait.