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Extol not riches then, the toil of fools, The wise man's cumbrance, if not snare, more apt To slacken virtue, and abate her edge, Than prompt her to do aught may merit praise.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Fool
Prompts
Wise
Toil
Slacken
Fools
Abate
Virtue
Edge
Extol
May
Riches
Aught
Men
Merit
Snare
Edges
Prompt
Praise
Snares

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Spirits when they please Can either sex assume, or both.
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Evil into the mind of god or man may come and go, so unapproved, and leave no spot or blame behind.
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And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every star that heaven doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew, Till old experience to attain To something like prophetic strain.
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Live while ye may, Yet happy pair.
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But oh the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone and never must return!
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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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To know that which lies before us in daily life is the prime wisdom.
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Give me the liberty to know, to utter, and to argue freely according to conscience, above all liberties.
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Midnight brought on the dusky hour Friendliest to sleep and silence.
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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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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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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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For truth is strong next to the Almighty. She needs no policies or stratagems or licensings to make her victorious. These are the shifts and the defences that error uses against her power.
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Truth is compared in Scripture to a streaming fountain if her waters flow not in perpetual progression, they sicken into a muddy pool of conformity and tradition.
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Spirits that live throughout, Vital in every part, not as frail man, In entrails, heart or head, liver or reins, Cannot but by annihilating die.
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It was that fatal and perfidious bark, Built in th' eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark.
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And some are fall'n, to disobedience fall'n, And so from Heav'n to deepest Hell O fall From what high state of bliss into what woe!
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Confidence imparts a wonderful inspiration to the possessor.
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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.
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Beyond is all abyss, eternity, whose end no eye can reach.
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