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Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves.
John Milton
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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Great
Deliverer
Mill
Gaza
Mills
Slaves
Slave
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More quotes by John Milton
Indu'd With sanctity of reason.
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Th'invention all admir'd, and each, how he to be th'inventor miss'd so easy it seem'd once found, which yet unfound most would have thought impossible.
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To know that which lies before us in daily life is the prime wisdom.
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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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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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Not to know me argues yourselves unknown.
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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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Th' ethereal mould Incapable of stain would soon expel Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope Is flat despair.
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Never can true reconcilement grow where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep.
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The planets in their station list'ning stood.
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But pain is perfect misery, the worst Of evils, and excessive, overturns All patience.
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On the tawny sands and shelves trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.
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Yet I argue not Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope but still bear up and steer Right onward.
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These evils I deserve, and more . . . . Justly, yet despair not of his final pardon, Whose ear is ever open, and his eye Gracious to re-admit the suppliant.
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Truth is as impossible to be soiled by any outward touch as the sunbeam.
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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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Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial To my proportion'd strength.
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O sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams That bring to my remembrance from what state I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere.
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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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Part of my soul I seek thee, and claim thee my other half
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