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So glistered the dire Snake , and into fraud Led Eve, our credulous mother, to the Tree Of Prohibition, root of all our woe.
John Milton
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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Tree
Dire
Mother
Snake
Prohibition
Woe
Snakes
Fraud
Root
Roots
Credulous
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Back to thy punishment, False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings.
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This horror will grow mild, this darkness light Besides what hope the never-ending flight Of future days may bring, what chance, what change Worth waiting--since our present lot appears For happy though but ill, for ill not worst, If we procure not to ourselves more woe.
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He who reigns within himself and rules passions, desires, and fears is more than a king.
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Nor jealousy Was understood, the injur'd lover's hell.
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Nothing lovelier can be found In woman, than to study household good, And good works in her husband to promote.
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They who have put out the people's eyes reproach them of their blindness.
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Rhime being no necessary Adjunct or true Ornament of Poem or good Verse, in longer Works especially, but the Invention of a barbarous Age, to set off wretched matter and lame Meeter...the troublesom and modern bondage of Rimeing.
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O madness to think use of strongest wines And strongest drinks our chief support of health, When God with these forbidden made choice to rear His mighty champion, strong above compare, Whose drink was only from the liquid brook.
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At His birth a star, unseen before in heaven, proclaims Him come.
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O Conscience, into what abyss of fears And horrors hast thou driven me, out of which I find no way, from deep to deeper plunged.
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He who tempts, though in vain, at last asperses The tempted with dishonor foul, supposed Not incorruptible of faith, not proof Against temptation.
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Believe and be confirmed.
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Temper justice with mercy.
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Midnight brought on the dusky hour Friendliest to sleep and silence.
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A limbo large and broad, since call'd The Paradise of Fools to few unknown.
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It is Chastity, my brother. She that has that is clad in complete steel.
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The teachers of our law, and to propose What might improve my knowledge or their own.
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Part of my soul I seek thee, and claim thee my other half
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How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!
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No mighty trance, or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
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