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It is Chastity, my brother. She that has that is clad in complete steel.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Brother
Nymphs
Clad
Chastity
Steel
Complete

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As therefore the state of man now is, what wisdom can there be to choose, what continence to forbear, without the knowledge of good and evil?
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Law can discover sin, but not remove, Save by those shadowy expiations weak.
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Sport, that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides. Come and trip it as ye go, On the light fantastic toe.
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Sweetest Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen Within thy airy shell, By slow Meander's margent green, And in the violet-embroidered vale.
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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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Yet I argue not Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope but still bear up and steer Right onward.
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Implied Subjection, but requir'd with gentle sway, And by her yielded, by him best receiv'd,- Yielded with coy submission, modest pride, And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay.
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Death ready stands to interpose his dart.
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How sweetly did they float upon the wings Of silence through the empty-vaulted night, At every fall smoothing the raven down Of darkness till it smiled!
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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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Let no man seek Henceforth to be foretold that shall befall Him or his children.
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Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt, Surprised by unjust force, but not enthralled.
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Hate is of all things the mightiest divider, nay, is division itself. To couple hatred, therefore, though wedlock try all her golden links, and borrow to tier aid all the iron manacles and fetters of law, it does but seek to twist a rope of sand.
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The Angel ended, and in Adam's ear So charming left his voice, that he awhile Thought him still speaking, still stood fix'd to hear.
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Yet beauty, though injurious, hath strange power, After offence returning, to regain Love once possess'd.
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Never can true reconcilement grow where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep.
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Eloquence the soul, song charms the senses.
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It is not virtue, wisdom, valour, wit, Strength, comeliness of shape, or amplest merit, That woman's love can win, or long inherit But what it is, hard is to say, Harder to hit.
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Temper justice with mercy.
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And to the faithful: death, the gate of life.
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