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But pain is perfect misery, the worst Of evils, and excessive, overturns All patience.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Pain
Overturns
Excessive
Evils
Patience
Misery
Worst
Perfect
Evil

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Back to thy punishment, False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings.
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What better can we do than prostrate fall before Him reverent, and there confess humbly our faults, and pardon beg with tears watering the ground?
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Seas wept from our deep sorrows.
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If this fail, The pillar'd firmament is rottenness, And earth's base built on stubble.
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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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Good luck befriend thee, Son for at thy birth The fairy ladies danced upon the hearth.
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For so I created them free and free they must remain.
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Boast not of what thou would'st have done, but do.
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Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony.
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What honour that, But tedious waste of time, to sit and hear So many hollow compliments and lies.
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Come and trip it as ye go On the light fantastic toe.
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Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail Or knock the breast, no weakness, no contempt, Dispraise, or blame,-nothing but well and fair, And what may quiet us in a death so noble.
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And to thy husband's will Thine shall submit he over thee shall rule.
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I on the other side Us'd no ambition to commend my deeds The deeds themselves, though mute, spoke loud the doer.
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With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout, Confusion worse confounded.
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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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