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His words, like so many nimble and airy servitors, trip about him at command. Ibid.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Words
Many
Like
Nimble
Airy
Trip
Command

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But infinite in pardon is my Judge.
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The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But, swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread: Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
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Better to reign in hell than serve in heav'n.
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Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day.
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And grace that won who saw to wish her stay.
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God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest They also serve who only stand and wait.
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Where shame is, there is also fear.
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Farewell Hope, and with Hope farewell Fear
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Therefore God's universal law Gave to the man despotic power Over his female in due awe, Not from that right to part an hour, Smile she or lour.
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Dark with excessive bright.
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Back to thy punishment, False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings.
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Who can enjoy alone? Or all enjoying what contentment find?
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Indu'd With sanctity of reason.
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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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Though all the winds of doctrine were let loose to play upon the earth, so Truth be in the field, we do injuriously by licensing and prohibiting to misdoubt her strength. Let her and Falsehood grapple who ever knew Truth put to the worse, in a free and open encounter.
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But all was false and hollow though his tongue Dropp'd manna, and could make the worse appear The better reason, 4 to perplex and dash Maturest counsels.
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A short retirement urges a sweet return.
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A boundless continent, Dark, waste, and wild, under the frown of night Starless expos'd.
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Angels contented with their face in heaven, Seek not the praise of men.
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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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