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Better to reign in hell than serve in heav'n.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Serve
Hell
War
Belial
Lost
Heav
Death
Satanism
Better
Reign
Satan
Paradise

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His sleep Was aery light, from pure digestion bred.
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Nor from hell One step no more than from himself can fly By change of place.
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Our torments also may in length of time Become our elements, these piercing fires As soft as now severe, our temper changed Into their temper.
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Not to know me argues yourselves unknown.
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Necessity and chance Approach not me, and what I will is fate.
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Hell has no benefits, only torture.
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So dear to heav'n is saintly chastity, That when a soul is found sincerely so, A thousand liveried angels lackey her, Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, And in clear dream and solemn vision Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear, Till oft converse with heav'nly habitants Begin to cast a beam on th' outward shape.
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Most men admire Virtue who follow not her lore.
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Death ready stands to interpose his dart.
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To many a youth and many a maid, dancing in the chequer'd shade.
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But oh the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone and never must return!
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Fate shall yield To fickle Chance, and Chaos judge the strife.
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For neither man nor angel can discern hypocrisy, the only evil that walks invisible, except to God alone.
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For such kind of borrowing as this, if it be not bettered by the borrowers, among good authors is accounted Plagiarè.
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Some say no evil thing that walks by night, In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen, Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost That breaks his magic chains at curfew time, No goblin, or swart fairy of the mine, Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.
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I must not quarrel with the will Of highest dispensation, which herein, Haply had ends above my reach to know.
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Me miserable! Which way shall I fly Infinite wrath and infinite despair? Which way I fly is hell myself am hell And in the lowest deep a lower deep, Still threat'ning to devour me, opens wide, To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.
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Indu'd With sanctity of reason.
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No man who knows aught, can be so stupid to deny that all men naturally were born free.
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I sung of Chaos and Eternal Night, Taught by the heav'nly Muse to venture down The dark descent, and up to reascend.
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