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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.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Men
Universal
Gave
Despotic
Therefore
Matrimony
Law
Awe
Hours
Dues
Part
Hour
Power
Smile
Right
Female

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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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And, when night Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.
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Back to thy punishment, False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings.
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Freely we serve, Because we freely love, as in our will To love or not in this we stand or fall.
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O why did God, Creator wise, that peopled highest heav'n With Spirits masculine, create at last This novelty on earth, this fair defect Of nature, and not fill the world at once With men as angels without feminine, Or find some other way to generate Mankind?
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But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began.
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Zeal and duty are not slow But on occasion's forelock watchful wait.
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Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds.
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Peace hath her victories, no less renowned than War.
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O visions ill foreseen! Better had I Liv'd ignorant of future, so had borne My part of evil only.
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To overcome in battle, and subdue Nations, and bring home spoils with infinite Man-slaughter, shall be held the highest pitch Of human glory.
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O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp, Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death.
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True it is that covetousness is rich, modesty starves.
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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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Awake, arise or be for ever fall’n.
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And yet on the other hand unless warinesse be us'd, as good almost kill a Man as kill a good Book who kills a Man kills a reasonable creature, Gods Image, but hee who destroyes a good Booke, kills reason it selfe, kills the Image of God, as it were in the eye.
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Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold.
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Who can enjoy alone? Or all enjoying what contentment find?
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Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones.
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