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Subdue By force, who reason for their law refuse, Right reason for their law.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Right
Subdue
Refuse
Law
Force
Reason

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And these gems of Heav'n, her starry train.
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If weakness may excuse, What murderer, what traitor, parricide, Incestuous, sacrilegious, but may plead it? All wickedness is weakness that plea, therefore, With God or man will gain thee no remission.
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On a sudden open fly With impetuous recoil and jarring sound Th' infernal doors, and on their hinges grate Harsh thunder.
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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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Just are the ways of God, And justifiable to men Unless there be who think not God at all.
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Man hath his daily work of body or mind Appointed.
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Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie.
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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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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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Beyond is all abyss, eternity, whose end no eye can reach.
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Thence to the famous orators repair, Those ancient, whose resistless eloquence Wielded at will that fierce democratie, Shook the arsenal, and fulmin'd over Greece, To Macedon, and Artaxerxes' throne.
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A boundless continent, Dark, waste, and wild, under the frown of night Starless expos'd.
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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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Heav'nly love shall outdoo Hellish hate
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Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay To mould me man? Did I solicit thee From darkness to promote me?
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The planets in their station list'ning stood.
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Hail, wedded love, mysterious law true source of human happiness.
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His words, like so many nimble and airy servitors, trip about him at command. Ibid.
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Fate shall yield To fickle Chance, and Chaos judge the strife.
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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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