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True it is that covetousness is rich, modesty starves.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Starves
Covetousness
Modesty
Rich
True

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So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap, or be with ease Gathered, not harshly plucked, for death mature: This is old age but then thou must outlive Thy youth, thy strength, thy beauty, which will change To withered weak and grey.
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Evil, be thou my good.
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So on this windy sea of land, the Fiend Walked up and down alone bent on his prey.
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The redundant locks, robustious to no purpose, clustering down--vast monument of strength.
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Satan so call him now, his former name Is heard no more in heaven.
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Nor think thou with wind Of æry threats to awe whom yet with deeds Thou canst not.
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What boots it at one gate to make defence, And at another to let in the foe?
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Arm the obdured breast with stubborn patience as with triple steel.
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Midnight shout and revelry, Tipsy dance and jollity.
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Perplexed and troubled at his bad success The Tempter stood, nor had what to reply, Discovered in his fraud, thrown from his hope.
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Death is the golden key that opens the palace of eternity.
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From morn To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve,- A summer's day and with the setting sun Dropp'd from the Zenith like a falling star.
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What is dark within me, illumine.
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What is strength without a double share of wisdom?
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Heaven Is as the Book of God before thee set, Wherein to read His wondrous works.
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Yet some there be that by due steps aspire To lay their just hands on that golden key That opes the palace of Eternity.
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In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs.
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Let us go forth and resolutely dare with sweat of brow to toil our little day.
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His spear, to equal which the tallest pine Hewn on Norwegian hills to be the mast Of some great ammiral were but a wand, He walk'd with to support uneasy steps Over the burning marle.
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And grace that won who saw to wish her stay.
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