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This manner of writing wherein knowing myself inferior to myself? I have the use, as I may account it, but of my left hand.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Knowing
Use
Wherein
Left
Inferior
Hands
Inferiors
May
Account
Writing
Manner
Accounts
Hand

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First Moloch, horrid king, besmirched in blood, Of Human sacrifice, and parent's tears, Though, for the noise of drums and timbrels loud, Their childrens' cries unheard, that passed through fire, To his grim idol.
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Let none henceforth seek needless cause to approve The faith they owe when earnestly they seek Such proof, conclude, they then begin to fail.
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Where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes, That comes to all.
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From haunted spring and dale Edg'd with poplar pale The parting genius is with sighing sent.
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They are the troublers, they are the dividers of unity, who neglect and don't permit others to unite those dissevered pieces which are yet wanting to the body of Truth.
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And if by prayer Incessant I could hope to change the will Of Him who all things can, I would not cease To weary Him with my assiduous cries.
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The redundant locks, robustious to no purpose, clustering down--vast monument of strength.
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Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth.
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This is the month, and this the happy morn, wherein the Son of heaven's eternal King, of wedded Maid and Virgin Mother born, our great redemption from above did bring.
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They who have put out the people's eyes reproach them of their blindness.
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If at great things thou would'st arrive, Get riches first, get wealth, and treasure heap, Not difficult, if thou hearken to me Riches are mine, fortune is in my hand, They whom I favor thrive in wealth amain, While virtue, valor, wisdom, sit in want.
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Those graceful acts, those thousand decencies, that daily flow from all her words and actions, mixed with love and sweet compliance, which declare unfeigned union of mind, or in us both one soul.
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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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And to thy husband's will Thine shall submit he over thee shall rule.
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Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise. That last infirmity of noble mind. To scorn delights, and live laborious days.
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Impostor do not charge most innocent Nature, As if she would her children should be riotous With her abundance she, good cateress, Means her provision only to the good, That live according to her sober laws, And holy dictate of spare temperance.
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Unless an age too late, or cold Climate, or years, damp my intended wing.
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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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Virtue hath no tongue to check vice's pride.
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The sun to me is dark And silent as the moon, When she deserts the night Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.
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