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Evil, be thou my good.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Thou
Evil
Good

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The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks, Safest and seemliest by her husband stays, Who guards her, or with her the worst endures.
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From restless thoughts, that, like a deadly swarm Of hornets arm'd, no sooner found alone, But rush upon me thronging.
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Myself, and all the Angelic Host, that stand in the sight of God enthroned, our happy state hold, as you yours, while our obedience hold. On other surety none: freely we serve, because we freely love.
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True it is that covetousness is rich, modesty starves.
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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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Dim eclipse, disastrous twilight.
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The end then of learning is to repair the ruins of our first parents by regaining to know God aright, and out of that knowledge to love him, to imitate him, to be like him, as we may the nearest by possessing our souls of true virtue, which being united to the heavenly grace of faith makes up the highest perfection.
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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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But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began.
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Nor think thou with wind Of æry threats to awe whom yet with deeds Thou canst not.
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Perplexed and troubled at his bad success The Tempter stood, nor had what to reply, Discovered in his fraud, thrown from his hope.
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How gladly would I meet mortality, my sentence, and be earth in sensible! How glad would lay me down, as in my mother's lap! There I should rest, and sleep secure.
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My latest found, Heaven's last, best gift, my ever new delight!
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Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, in every gesture dignity and love.
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Let us descend now therefore from this top Of speculation.
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None But such as are good men can give good things, And that which is not good, is not delicious To a well-govern'd and wise appetite.
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With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout, Confusion worse confounded.
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It is not virtue, wisdom, valour, wit, Strength, comeliness of shape, or amplest merit, That woman's love can win, or long inherit But what it is, hard is to say, Harder to hit.
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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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For to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise.
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