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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
Fraud
Root
Roots
Credulous
Tree
Dire
Mother
Snake
Prohibition
Woe
Snakes
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The Angel ended, and in Adam's ear So charming left his voice, that he awhile Thought him still speaking, still stood fix'd to hear.
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I sung of Chaos and Eternal Night, Taught by the heav'nly Muse to venture down The dark descent, and up to reascend.
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Better to reign in hell than serve in heav'n.
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For neither man nor angel can discern hypocrisy, the only evil that walks invisible, except to God alone.
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And the earth self-balanced on her centre hung.
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Hail, holy light! offspring of heaven firstborn! Or of th' eternal co-eternal beam, May I express thee unblam'd? since God is light And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, Bright effluence of bright essence increate!
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What is dark within me, illumine.
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Necessity and chance Approach not me, and what I will is fate.
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The redundant locks, robustious to no purpose, clustering down--vast monument of strength.
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Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall.
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The earth, though in comparison of heaven so small, nor glistering, may of solid good contain more plenty than the sun, that barren shines.
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Oh, shame to men! devil with devil damn'd Firm concord holds, men only disagree Of creatures rational.
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Midnight brought on the dusky hour Friendliest to sleep and silence.
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When language in common use in any country becomes irregular and depraved, it is followed by their ruin and degradation. For what do terms used without skill or meaning, which are at once corrupt and misapplied, denote but a people listless, supine, and ripe for servitude?
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The never-ending flight Of future days.
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The conquer'd, also, and enslaved by war, Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose.
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And these gems of Heav'n, her starry train.
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Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.
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So dear to heav'n is saintly chastity, That when a soul is found sincerely so, A thousand liveried angels lackey her, Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, And in clear dream and solemn vision Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear, Till oft converse with heav'nly habitants Begin to cast a beam on th' outward shape.
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Assuredly we bring not innocence not the world, we bring impurity much rather: that which purifies us is trial, and trial is by what is contrary.
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