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They who have put out the people's eyes reproach them of their blindness.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
People
Reproach
Blindness
Eyes
Eye

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So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap.
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Impostor do not charge most innocent Nature, As if she would her children should be riotous With her abundance she, good cateress, Means her provision only to the good, That live according to her sober laws, And holy dictate of spare temperance.
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Where there is much desire to learn, there of necessity will be much arguing, much writing, for opinion in good men is but knowledge in the making.
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Let us descend now therefore from this top Of speculation.
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Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call earth.
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Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves.
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How oft, in nations gone corrupt, And by their own devices brought down to servitude, That man chooses bondage before liberty. Bondage with ease before strenuous liberty.
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It is for homely features to keep home,- They had their name thence coarse complexions And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply The sampler and to tease the huswife's wool. What need a vermeil-tinctur'd lip for that, Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the morn?
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Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm, A sylvan scene, and as the ranks ascend Shade above shade, a woody theatre Of stateliest view.
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If all the world Should in a pet of temp'rance, feed on pulse, Drink the clear stream, and nothing wear but frieze, Th' All-giver would be unthank'd, would be unprais'd.
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Angels contented with their face in heaven, Seek not the praise of men.
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The Tree of Knowledge grew fast by, Knowledge of Good bought dear by knowing ill.
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Nor jealousy Was understood, the injur'd lover's hell.
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It is Chastity, my brother. She that has that is clad in complete steel.
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Man hath his daily work of body or mind Appointed.
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A shout that tore hell's concave, and beyond / Frightened the reign of Chaos and old Night.
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Beauty is nature's brag, and must be shown in courts, at feasts, and high solemnities, where most may wonder at the workmanship.
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Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul And lap it in Elysium.
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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.
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And sing to those that hold the vital shears And turn the adamantine spindle round, On which the fate of gods and men is wound.
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