Reference > Quotations > C.N. Douglas, comp. > Forty Thousand Quotations > Primary Author Index
C.N. Douglas, comp.  Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical.  1917.
        A broad and ample road, whose dust is gold,
And pavement stars.
        A crown
Golden in show, is but a wreath of thorns;
Brings dangers, troubles, cares, and sleepless nights
To him who wears the regal diadem,
When on his shoulders each man’s burden lies;
For therein stands the office of a king,
His honor, virtue, merit, and chief praise,
That for the public all this weight he bears.
        A dark
Illimitable ocean, without bound,
Without dimension; where length, breadth, and highth,
And time, and place, are lost; where eldest Night
And Chaos—ancestors of Nature, hold
Eternal anarchy, amidst the noise
Of endless wars, and by confusion stand.
        A death-like sleep,
A gentle wafting to immortal life.
        A dungeon horrible, on all sides round,
As one great furnace, flamed; yet from those flames
No light, but rather darkness visible
Serv’d only to discover sights of woe,
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes
That comes to all; but torture without end.
        A fabric huge
Rose, like an exhalation.
        A grateful mind
By owing owes not, but still pays, at once
Indebted and discharg’d.
        A smile that glow’d
Celestial rosy red, love’s proper hue.
        A Spirit, zealous, as he seemed, to know
More of the Almighty’s works, and chiefly Man,
God’s latest image.
        A universe of death
Where all life dies, death lives, and nature breeds
Perverse, all monstrous, all prodigious things
Abominable, unutterable, and worse
Than fables yet have feign’d, or fear conceived.
        A wilderness of sweets; for nature here
Wanton’d as in her prime, and play’d at will
Her virgin fancies, pouring forth more sweets;
Wild above rule or art, enormous bliss.
        Abash’d the devil stood,
And felt how awful goodness is, and saw
Virtue in her shape how lovely.
        Accuse not Nature, she hath done her part;
Do thou but thine!
        Adam, the goodliest man of men since born
His sons, the fairest of her daughters Eve.
        Adam, well may we labor, still to dress
This garden, still to tend plant, herb, and flower.
        All heart they live, all head, all eye, all ear,
All intellect, all sense, and as they please
They limb themselves, and color, shape, or size
Assume, as likes them best, condense or rare.
        Among unequals what society
Can sort, what harmony or true delight?
        And add to these retired Leisure,
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure.
        And all amid them stood the Tree of Life,
High eminent, blooming ambrosial fruit
Of vegetable gold.
        And every shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.
        And God made two great lights, great for their use
To man, the greater to have rule by day,
The less by night, altern.
        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 ones.
        And made the stars,
And set them in the firmament of heav’n,
T’ illuminate the earth, and rule the day
In their vicissitude, and rule the night.
        *    *    *    and now expecting
Each hour their great adventurer, from the search
Of foreign worlds.
        And now the herald lark
Left his ground-nest, high tow’ring to descry
The morn’s approach, and greet her with his song.
        And now without redemption all mankind
Must have been lost, adjudged to death and hell
By doom severe.
        And sing to those that hold the vital shears;
And turn the adamantine spindle round,
On which the fate of gods and men is wound.
        And so sepulchred in such pomp dost lie;
That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.
        And to thy husband’s will
Thine shall submit; he over thee shall rule.
        And what the people but a herd confus’d,
A miscellaneous rabble, who extol
Things vulgar, and, well weigh’d, scarce worth the praise?
They praise, and they admire, they know not what,
And know not whom, but as one leads the other;
And what delight to be by such extoll’d,
To live upon their tongues, and be their talk,
Of whom to be disprais’d were no small praise?
        And Wisdom’s self
Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude,
Where, with her best nurse, Contemplation,
She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings,
That in the various bustle of resort
Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impaired.
        And, weaponless himself,
Made arms ridiculous.
        Angels contented with their face in heaven,
Seek not the praise of men.
        Anger and just rebuke, and judgment given,
That brought into this world a world of woe,
Sin and her shadow Death, and Misery,
Death’s harbinger.
        Apostate, still thou err’st, nor end wilt find
Offering, from the paths of truth remote.
        Apt words have power to ’suage
The tumors of a troubled mind;
And are as balm to fester’d wounds.
        Arms on armor clashing bray’d
Horrible discord, and the madding wheels
Of brazen chariots ray’d; dire was the noise
Of conflict.
        Ascend, I follow thee, safe guide, the path
Thou lead’st me, and to the hand of heav’n submit.
        At whose sight all the stars
Hide their diminished heads.
        Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts
And eloquence.
My fairest, my espous’d, my latest found,
Heaven’s last best gift, my ever new delight!
        Back to thy punishment,
False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings,
Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue
Thy ling’ring.
        Beauty is Nature’s coin, must not be hoarded,
But must be current, and the good thereof
Consists in mutual and partaken bliss.
        Before mine eyes in opposition sits
Grim Death, my son and foe.
        Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed,
And daffodillies fill their cups with tears,
To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.
        Black it stood as night,
Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell,
And shook a dreadful dart; what seem’d his head
The likeness of a kingly crown had on.
Satan was now at hand.
        Brightest seraph, tell
In which of all these shining orbs hath man
His fixed seat, or fixed seat hath none,
But all these shining orbs his choice to dwell.
        But all was false and hollow; though his tongue
Dropt manna, and could make the worse appear
The better reason, to perplex and dash
Maturest counsels.
        But to know
That which before us lies in daily life,
Is the prime wisdom.
        But what will not ambition and revenge
Descend to? who aspires must down as low
As high he soar’d, obnoxious first or last
To basest things.
        But when lust,
By unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk,
But most by lewd and lavish arts of sin,
Lets in defilement to the inward parts,
The soul grows clotted by contagion,
Imbodies and imbrutes, till she quite lose
The divine property of her first being.
        But zeal moved thee;
To please thy gods them didst it!
        Capricious, wanton, bold, and brutal Lust
Is meanly selfish; when resisted, cruel;
And, like the blast of Pestilential Winds,
Taints the sweet bloom of Nature’s fairest forms.
        Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm,
A sylvan scene, and as the ranks ascend
Shade above shade, a woody theatre
Of stateliest view.
        Come and trip it as ye go,
On the light fantastic toe.
        Come, knit hands, and beat the ground
In a light fantastic round.
        Confirm’d then I resolve,
Adam shall share with me in bliss or woe:
So dear I love him, that with him all deaths
I could endure, without him live no life.
        Day and night,
Seedtime and harvest, heat and hoary frost
Shall hold their course, till fire purge all things new.
        Embryos and idiots, eremites and friars,
White, black, and grey, with all their trumpery.
        Ev’n them who kept thy truth so pure of old,
When all our fathers worshipp’d stocks and stones,
Forget not.
        Experience, next, to thee I owe,
Best guide; not following thee, I had remain’d
In ignorance; thou open’st wisdom’s way,
And giv’st access, though secret she retire.
        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.
        Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise
(That last infirmity of noble mind)
To scorn delights and live laborious days;
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears,
And slits the thin-spun life.
        Farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear;
Farewell remorse; all good to me is lost;
Evil, be thou my good!
        Farewell, happy fields,
Where joy forever dwells; hail, horrors!
        Farewell, remorse: all good to me is lost;
Evil, be thou my good.
        Flesh of flesh,
Bone of my bone, thou art, and from thy state
Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe.
        *  *  *  for beauty stands
In the admiration only of weak minds
Led captive. Cease to admire, and all her plumes
Fall flat and shrink into a trivial toy,
At every sudden slighting quite abash’d.
        For God will deign
To visit oft the dwellings of just men
Delighted, and with frequent intercourse
Thither will send his winged messengers
On errands of supernal grace.
        For I no sooner in my heart divin’d,
My heart, which by a secret harmony
Still moves with thine, joined in connection sweet.
        For nothing lovelier can be found
In woman, than to study household good,
And good works in her husband to promote.
        For smiles from reason flow
To brute deny’d, and are of love the food.
        For spirits when they please
Can either sex assume, or both.
        *  *  *  For such a numerous host
Fled not in silence through the frighted deep
With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout,
Confusion worse confounded.
        For what thou art is mine:
Our state cannot be severed; we are one,
One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself.
        For wonderful indeed are all His works,
Pleasant to know, and worthiest to be all
Had in remembrance always with delight;
But what created mind can comprehend
Their number, or the wisdom infinite
That brought them forth, but hid their causes deep?
        From that high mount of God whence light and shade
Spring both, the face of brightest heaven had changed
To grateful twilight.
        God made thee perfect, not immutable;
And good he made thee, but to persevere
He left it in thy pow’r; ordained thy will
By nature free, not over-rul’d by fate
Inextricable, or strict necessity.
        God, who oft descends to visit men
Unseen, and through their habitations walks
To mark their doings.
        Good luck befriend thee, Son; for at thy birth
The fairy ladies danced upon the hearth.
        Govern well thy appetite, lest Sin
Surprise thee, and her black attendant Death.
        Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye,
In every gesture dignity and love.
        Hanging in a golden chain
This pendent world.
        Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jest, and youthful Jollity,
Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,
Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe’s cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
        He hears
On all sides, from innumerable tongues
A dismal universal hiss, the sound
Of public scorn.
        He of their wicked ways
Shall them admonish, and before them set
The paths of righteousness.
        He seem’d
For dignity composed and high exploit:
But all was false and hollow.
        He that has light within his own clear breast,
May sit i’ the centre, and enjoy bright day;
But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts,
Benighted walks under the mid-day sun;
Himself is his own dungeon.
        He who tempts, though in vain, at last asperses
The tempted with dishonor foul, supposed
Not incorruptible of faith, not proof
Against temptation.
        He’s gone, and who knows how he may report
Thy words by adding fuel to the flame?
Is as the Book of God before thee set,
Wherein to read His wondrous works.
        Hell, their fit habitation, fraught with fire
Unquenchable, the house of woe and pain.
        Her rash hand in evil hour
Forth reaching to the fruit, she pluck’d, she eat;
Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat
Sighing through all her works gave signs of woe
That all was lost.
        Her virtue and the conscience of her worth,
That would be woo’d and not unsought be won.
        Here we may reign secure; and in my choice
To reign is worth ambition, though in hell.
Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven.
        *  *  *  his providence
Out of our evil seek to bring forth good.
        Hither, as to their fountain, other stars
Repairing in their golden urns draw light,
And hence the morning planet gilds her horns.
        How often from the steep
Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard
Celestial voices to the midnight air,
Sole, or responsive each to other’s note,
Singing their great Creator?
        How sweetly did they float upon the wings
Of silence through the empty-vaulted night,
At every fall smoothing the raven down
Of darkness till it smiled!
        I argue not
Against heaven’s hand or will, nor bate a jot
Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer
Right onward.
        I fled, and cried out Death!
Hell trembled at the hideous name, and sigh’d
From all her caves, and back resounded Death.
        I hate when vice can bolt her arguments,
And virtue has no tongue to check her pride.
        I must not quarrel with the will
Of highest dispensation, which herein,
Haply had ends above my reach to know.
        I on the other side
Us’d no ambition to commend my deeds;
The deeds themselves, though mute, spoke loud the doer.
        I see thou art implacable, more deaf
To pray’rs than winds and seas. Yet winds to seas
Are reconcil’d at length, and sea to shore:
Thy anger, unappeasable, still rages
Eternal tempest never to be calm’d.
        I was all ear,
And took in strains that might create a soul
Under the ribs of death.
        If all the world
Should in a pet of temp’rance, feed on pulse,
Drink the clear stream, and nothing wear but frieze,
Th’ All-giver would be unthank’d, would be unprais’d.
        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.
        If by fire
Of sooty coal th’ empiric alchymist
Can turn, or holds it possible to turn,
Metals of drossest ore to perfect gold.
        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;
But prayer against his absolute decree
No more avails than breath against the wind
Blown stifling back on him that breathes it forth:
Therefore to his great bidding I submit.
        If thou well observe
The rule of—not too much,—by temperance taught
In what thou eat’st and drink’st, seeking from thence
Due nourishment, not gluttonous delight,
Till many years over thy head return:
So may’s thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop,
Into thy mother’s lap, or be with ease
Gather’d, not harshly pluck’d; in death mature.
        If weakness may excuse,
What murderer, what traitor, parricide,
Incestuous, sacrilegious, but may plead it?
All wickedness is weakness; that plea, therefore,
With God or man will gain thee no remission.
        Immortal amaranth, a flower which once
In Paradise, fast by the Tree of Life,
Began to bloom, but soon for Man’s offence,
To heav’n remov’d, where first it grew, there grows,
And flow’rs aloft shading the fount of life.
        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.
        In argument with men a woman ever
Goes by the worse, whatever be her cause.
        In the sweat of thy face thou shalt eat bread,
Till thou return unto the ground; for thou
Out of the ground wast taken; know thy birth,
For dust thou art, and shalt to dust return.
        In their looks divine
The image of their glorious Maker shone,
Truth, wisdom, sanctitude serene and pure.
        In vain doth valour bleed,
While Avarice and Rapine share the land.
        It is not virtue, wisdom, valour, wit,
Strength, comeliness of shape, or amplest merit,
That woman’s love can win;
But what it is, hard is to say, harder to hit.
        Joking decides great things,
Stronger and better oft than earnest can.
        Keep together here, lest, running thither,
We unawares run into danger’s mouth.
        Lap me in soft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal verse,
Such as the meeting soul may pierce,
In notes, with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out.
        Law can discover sin, but not remove,
Save by those shadowy expiations weak.
        Let none admire
That riches grow in hell; that soil may best
Deserve the precious bane.
        “Let there be light!” said God; and forthwith light
Ethereal, first of things, quintessence pure,
Sprung from the deep; and, from her native east,
To journey through the aery gloom began,
Spher’d in a radiant cloud.
        Let us no more contend, nor blame
Each other, blam’d enough elsewhere, but strive
In offices of love, how we may lighten
Each other’s burden, in our share of woe.
        Long is the way
And hard, that out of hell leads up to light.
        Mammon led them on—
Mammon, the least erected Spirit that fell
From Heaven; for even in Heaven his looks and thoughts
Were always downward bent, admiring more
The riches of Heaven’s pavement, trodden gold,
Than aught divine or holy else enjoyed
In vision, beatific.
        Many books,
Wise men have said, are wearisome; who reads
Incessantly, and to his reading brings not
A spirit and judgment equal or superior,
Uncertain and unsettled still remains—
Deep versed in books, and shallow in himself.
        Meanwhile the adversary of God and man,
Satan, with thoughts inflam’d of highest design,
Puts on swift wings, and towards the gates of Hell
Explores his solitary flight; sometimes
He scours the right hand coast, sometimes the left:
Now shaves with level wing the deep; then soars
Up to the fiery concave, tow’ring high.
        Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth
Unseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep.
        My latest found,
Heaven’s last best gift, thy ever new delight!
        Myself am hell;
And in the lowest deep a lower deep,
Still threat’ning to devour me, opens wide;
To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.
        Necessity and chance
Approach not me, and what I will is fate.
        Never can true reconcilement grow,
Where wounds of deadly hate have pierc’d so deep.
        No thought of flight,
None of retreat, no unbecoming deed
That argued fear; each on himself relied,
As only in his arm the moment lay
Of victory.
But such as are good men can give good things,
And that which is not good, is not delicious
To a well-governed and wise appetite.
        Nor love thy life nor hate; but what thou liv’st
Live well; how long or short permit to heaven.
        Nothing lovelier can be found
In woman, than to study household good,
And good works in her husband to promote.
        Now began
Night with her sullen wing to double-shade
The desert; fowls in their clay nests were couch’d,
And now wild beasts came forth, the woods to roam.
        Now came still evening on, and twilight gray,
Had in her sober livery all things clad.
        Now conscience wakes despair
That slumber’d, wakes the bitter memory,
Of what he was, what is, what must be
Worse; if worst deeds, worse sufferings must ensue.
        *  *  *  now glow’d the firmament
With living sapphires; Hesperus, that led
The starry host rode brightest, till the Moon,
Rising in clouded majesty, at length,
Apparent queen, unveil’d her peerless light,
And o’er the dark her silver mantle threw.
        Now purer air
Meets his approach, and to the heart inspires
Vernal delight and joy, able to drive
All sadness but despair: Now gentle gales
Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense
Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole
Those balmy spoils.
        Now the bright morning star, day’s harbinger,
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose.
Hail, bounteous May, that doth inspire
Mirth, and youth, and warm desire;
Woods and groves are of thy dressing,
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing,
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.
        O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon,
Irrecoverably dark! total eclipse,
Without all hope of day.
        O execrable son! so to aspire
Above his brethren, to himself assuming
Authority usurp’d, from God not given.
He gave us only over beast, fish, fowl,
Dominion absolute; that right we hold
By his donation; but man over men
He made not lord; such title to himself
Reserving, human left from human free.
        O fairest of creation! last and best
Of all God’s works! creature in whom excell’d
Whatever can to sight or thought be form’d
Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet!
        O loss of sight, of thee I most complain!
Blind among enemies, O worse than chains,
Dungeon, or beggary, or decrepit age!
        O madness, to think use of strongest wines
And strongest drinks our chief support of health
When God, with these forbidden, made choice to rear
His mighty champion, strong above compare,
Whose drink was only from the liquid brook.
        O visions ill foreseen! Better had I
Liv’d ignorant of future, so had borne
By part of evil only.
        O welcome, pure-eyed Faith, white-handed Hope,
Thou hovering angel, girt with golden wings.
        Of man’s first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste
Brought death into the world, and all our woe.
        Oft fairy elves,
Whose midnight revels by a forest side,
Or fountain, some belated peasant sees,
Or dreams he sees, while o’erhead the moon
Sits arbitress, and nearer to the earth
Wheels her pale course, they on their mirth and dance
Intent, with jocund music charm his ear;
At once with joy and fear his heart rebounds.
        Oh! why did God,  *  *  *  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.
        Only add
Deeds to thy knowledge answerable, add faith,
Add virtue, patience, temperance, add love,
By name to come call’d charity, the soul
Of all the rest; then wilt thou not be loath
To leave this Paradise, but shalt possess
A Paradise within thee, happier far.
        Open, ye heavens, your living doors; let in
The great Creator from His work returned
Magnificent, His six days’ work, a world!
        Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing
Such notes as, warbled to the string,
Drew iron tears down Pluto’s cheek.
        Or stars of morning, dew-drops which the sun
Impearls on every leaf and every flower.
        Others more mild,
Retreated in a silent valley, sing
With notes angelical to many a harp
Their own heroic deeds and hapless fall
By doom of battle.
        Peace hath her victories,
No less renowned than war.
        Rather than be less
Car’d not to be at all.
        Retired Leisure,
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure.
        Retiring from the popular noise, I seek
This unfrequented place to find some ease.
        Ring out ye crystal spheres!
      Once bless our human ears,
If ye have power to touch our senses so;
      And let your silver chime
      Move in melodious time;
And let the base of Heaven’s deep organ blow,
And with your ninefold harmony,
Make up full consort to the angelic symphony.
        Satan; so call him now, his former name
Is heard no more in heaven.
        Say, heavenly pow’rs, where shall we find such love?
Which of ye will be mortal to redeem
Man’s mortal crime, and just th’ unjust to save?
        Sense of pleasure we may well
Spare out of life perhaps, and not repine,
But live content, which is the calmest life;
But pain is perfect misery, the worst
Of evils, and excessive, overturns
All patience.
        Servant of God, well done, well hast thou fought
The better fight.
        Shepherd, I take thy word,
And trust thy honest offer’d courtesy,
Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds
With smoky rafters, than in tap’stry halls,
And courts of princes.
        So clomb the first grand thief into God’s fold;
So since into his church lewd hirelings climb.
        So dear to heaven 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.
        So frown’d the mighty combatants, that hell
Grew darker at their frown.
        So glistered the dire Snake, and into fraud
Led Eve, our credulous mother, to the Tree
Of Prohibition, root of all our woe.
        So may’st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop
Into thy mother’s lap, or be with ease
Gather’d, not harshly pluck’d, for death mature.
        So on he fares, and to the border comes,
Of Eden, where delicious Paradise,
Now nearer, crowns with her enclosure green,
As with a rural mound, the champain head
Of a steep wilderness.
        So sang they, and the empyrean rung
With Hallelujahs. Thus was Sabbath kept.
        So sinks the day-star in the ocean-bed,
And yet anon repairs his drooping head,
And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky.
        So, farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear,
Farewell remorse: all good to me is lost.
        Socrates  *  *  *
Whom, well inspir’d, the oracle pronounc’d
Wisest of men.
        Some cursed fraud
Of enemy hath beguiled thee, yet unknown,
And me with thee hath ruined.
        Stand fast  *  *  *
And all temptation to transgress repel.
By force, who reason for their law refuse,
Right reason for their law.
        Such a numerous host
Fled not in silence through the frighted deep,
With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout,
Confusion worse confounded.
        Sweet is the breath of Morn, her rising sweet,
With charm of earliest birds.
        Sweetest Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv’st unseen
  Within thy airy shell,
By slow Meander’s margent green,
  And in the violet-embroidered vale.
        Take heed lest passion sway
Thy judgment to do aught which else free-will
Would not admit.
        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
        Th’ unwieldly elephant,
To make them mirth, us’d all his might, and wreathed
His lithe proboscis.
        That golden key,
That opes the palace of eternity.
        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.
        The childhood shows the man
As morning shows the day.
        The golden sun, in splendor likest heav’n,
Dispenses light from far; they, as they move
Their starry dance, in numbers that compute
Days, months, and years, towards his all-cheering lamp,
Turn swift their various motions, or are turn’d
By his magnetic beam, that gently warms
The universe; and to each inward part,
With gentle penetration, though unseen,
Shoots invisible virtue ev’n to the deep.
        The great luminary
Aloof the vulgar constellations thick,
That from his lordly eye keep distance due,
Dispenses light from far.
        The hasty multitude
Admiring enter’d, and the work some praise,
And some the architect: his hand was known
In heaven by many a tower’d structure high,
Where scepter’d angels held their residence,
And sat as princes.
        The helmed Cherubim,
  And sworded Seraphim,
Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display’d.
        The infernal serpent; he it was, whose guile,
Stirr’d up with envy and revenge, deceiv’d
The mother of mankind.
        The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.
        The swan, with arched neck
Between her white wings mantling proudly, rows
Her state with oary feet.
        The thunder,
Wing’d with red lightning and impetuous rage,
Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now
To bellow through the vast and boundless deep.
        The wife, where danger or dishonor lurks,
Safest and seemliest by her husband stays,
Who guards her, or with her the worst endures.
        The winds with wonder whist,
Smoothly the waters kisst.
        The work under our labour grows
Luxurious by restraint.
        The world was all before them, where to choose
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide.
        Then might ye see
Cowls, hoods, and habits with their wearers tost
And flutter’d into rags; then reliques, beads,
Indulgences, dispenses, pardons, bulls,
The sport of winds; all these upwhirl’d aloft
Fly to the rearward of the world far off
Into a limbo large and broad, since called
The paradise of fools.
        Then purg’d with euphrasy and rue
The visual nerve, for he had much to see.
        Then shall they seek to avail themselves of names,
Places and titles, and with these to join
Secular pow’r though feigning still to act
By spiritual, to themselves appropriating
The spirit of God, promis’d alike and given
To all believers; and from that pretence,
Spiritual laws by carnal pow’r shall force
On every conscience; laws which none shall find
Left them enroll’d, or what the spirit within
Shall on the heart engrave.
        Then to the well-trod stage anon
If Jonson’s learned sock be on,
Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy’s child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild.
        There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full voiced quire below,
In service high, and anthems clear,
As may with sweetness, through mine ear,
Dissolve me into ecstasies,
And bring all heaven before mine eyes.
        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.
        Therefore, if at great things thou wouldst arrive,
Get riches first, get wealth.
        These eyes tho’ clear
To outward view of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot.
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not
Against Heaven’s hand or will, nor have a jot
Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer
Right onward.
        They praise, and they admire they know not what,
And know not whom, but as one leads the other;
And what delight to be by such extoll’d,
To live upon their tongues, and be their talk,
Of whom to be disprais’d were no small praise?
        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,
For so the holy sages once did sing,
That He our deadly forfeit should release,
And with His Father work us a perpetual peace.
        Those graceful acts,
Those thousand decencies that daily flow
From all her words and actions.
        Though to recount almighty works
What words of tongue or seraph can suffice,
Or heart of man suffice to comprehend?
        Though wisdom wake, suspicion sleeps
At wisdom’s gate, and to simplicity
Resigns her charge, while goodness thinks no ill
Where no ill seems.
        Thrones, dominions, princedoms, virtues, powers—
If these magnific titles yet remain
Not merely titular.
        Thy actions to thy words accord; they words
To thy large heart give utterance due; thy heart
Contains of good, wise, just, the perfect shape.
        Thy boist’rous locks, no worthy match
For valor to assail, nor by the sword,
*        *        *        *        *
But by the barber’s razor best subdued.
        Thy likeness, thy fit help, thy other self,
Thy wish, exactly to thy heart’s desire.
        To overcome in battle, and subdue
Nations, and bring home spoils with infinite
Man-slaughter, shall be held the highest pitch
Of human glory.
        To satisfy the sharp desire I had
Of tasting those fair apples, I resolv’d
Not to defer; hunger and thirst at once
Powerful persuaders, quicken’d at the scent
Of that alluring fruit, urged me so keen.
        To the nuptial bower
I led her, blushing like the morn; all Heaven,
And happy constellations on that hour
Shed their selectest influence; the earth
Gave sign of gratulation, and each hill;
Joyous the birds; fresh gales and gentle airs
Whisper’d it to the woods, and from their wings
Flung rose, flung odours from the spicy shrub.
        Towered cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men.
        Under a tuft of shade that on the green
Stood whisp’ring soft, by a fresh fountain side
They sat them down; and after no more toil
Of their sweet gard’ning labour than suffic’d
To recommend cool zephyr, and made ease
More easy, wholesome thirst and appetite
More grateful, to their supper fruits they fell.
        Under spread ensigns moving nigh, in slow
But firm battalion.
        Virtue may be assail’d, but never hurt;
Surpris’d by unjust force, but not enthrall’d;
Yea, even that which mischief meant most harm,
Shall in the happy trial prove most glory.
        What can ’scape the eye
Of God, all-seeing, or deceive His heart,
        What cause
Moved the Creator in His holy rest
Through all eternity so late to build
In chaos, and, the work begun, how soon
        What in me is dark,
Illumine; what is low, raise and support;
That to the height of this great argument
I may assert eternal Providence,
And justify the ways of God to men.
        What is strength, without a double share
Of wisdom? Vast, unwieldy, burdensome;
Proudly secure, yet liable to fall
By weakest subtleties; not made to rule,
But to subserve where wisdom bears command.
        What need a man forestall his date of grief,
And run to meet what he would most avoid?
        What needs my Shakespeare for his honor’d bones,
The labor of an age in pilèd stones?
*        *        *        *        *
Thou in our wonder and astonishment
Hast built thyself a livelong monument.
        What though the field be lost!
All is not lost; the ungovernable will,
And study of revenge, immortal hate,
And courage never to submit or yield;
And what is else not to be overcome.
        When Adam first of men,
To first of women Eve, thus moving speech,
Turn’d him all ear to hear new utterance flow.
        When I approach
Her loveliness, so absolute she seems,
And in herself complete, so well to know
Her own, that what she wills to do or say,
Seems wisest, virtuousest, discretest, best;
All higher knowledge in her presence falls
Degraded. Wisdom in discourse with her
Loses, discount’nanc’d, and like folly shows.
        When the gust hath blown his fill,
Ending on the rustling leaves,
With minute drops from off the eaves.
        When the scourge
Inexorable, and the torturing hour
Calls us to penance.
        Wherefore did Nature pour her bounties forth
With such a full and unwithdrawing hand,
Covering the earth with odors, fruits, and flocks,
Thronging the seas with spawn innumerable,
But all to please and sate the curious taste?
        Who best
Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best: His state
Is kingly; thousands at His bidding speed,
And post o’er land and ocean without rest.
        Who can enjoy alone?
Or all enjoying what contentment find?
        Who forthwith from the glittering staff unfurl’d
Th’ imperial ensign, which full high advanc’d
Shone like a meteor streaming to the wind.
        Who overcomes by force,
Hath overcome but half his foe.
        With grave
Aspect he rose, and in his rising seem’d
A pillar of state; deep on his front engraven
Deliberation sat, and public care;
And princely counsel in his face yet shone
Majestic, though in ruin. Sage he stood,
With Atlantean shoulders, fit to bear
The weight of mightiest monarchies; his look
Drew audience and attention still as night
Or summer’s noontide air.
        With thee goes
Thy husband, him to follow thou art bound;
Where he abides, think there thy native soil.
        Yet hold it more humane, more heav’nly, first,
By winning words to conquer willing hearts,
And make persuasion do the work of fear.
        Yet when I approach
Her loveliness, of absolute she seems,
And in herself complete; so well to know
Her own, that what she wills to do or say,
Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best.
        Zeal and duty are not slow;
But on occasion’s forelock watchful wait.
  A complete and generous education fits a man to perform justly, skilfully and magnanimously all the offices of peace and war.  250
  A dismal, universal hiss, the sound of public scorn.  251
  A father or a brother may be hated zealously, and loved civilly or naturally.  252
  A good book is the precious life blood of a master spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life.  253
  A good principle not rightly understood may prove as hurtful as a bad.  254
  A man may be a heretic in the truth; and if he believe things only because his pastor says so, or the assembly so determines, without knowing other reason, though his belief be true, yet the very truth he holds becomes his heresy.  255
  Advise how war may, best upheld, move by her two main nerves, iron and gold.  256
  Airs, vernal airs, breathing the smell of fields and grove, attune the trembling leaves.  257
  All hope is lost of my reception into grace; what worse? For where no hope is left, is left no fear.  258
  All sorts are here that all the earth yields, variety without end.  259
  Among the writers of all ages, some deserve fame, and have it; others neither have nor deserve it; some have it, not deserving it; others, though deserving it, yet totally miss it, or have it not equal to their deserts.  260
  Anarchy is the sure consequence of tyranny; for no power that is not limited by laws can ever be protected by them.  261
  And now the thickened sky like a dark ceiling stood; down rushed the rain impetuous.  262
  And out of good still to find means of evil.  263
  And so sepulchred, in such pomp dost lie, that kings for such a tomb would wish to die.  264
  Apt words have power to suage the tumors of a troubled mind.  265
  Arm the obdured breast with stubborn patience as with triple steel.  266
  As good almost kill a man as kill a good book; who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God’s image; but he who destroys a good book kills reason itself.  267
  At His birth a star, unseen before in heaven, proclaims Him come.  268
  At shut of evening flowers.  269
  Awake, arise, or be forever fall’n!  270
  Beauty is God’s handwriting,—a wayside sacrament.  271
  Beauty is Nature’s brag.  272
  Beholding the bright countenance of truth in the quiet and still air of delightful studies.  273
  Believe and be confirmed.  274
  Beyond is all abyss, eternity, whose end no eye can reach.  275
  Books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a progeny of life in them to be as active as that soul was whose progeny they are; nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them.  276
  But God himself is truth; in propagating which, as men display a greater integrity and zeal, they approach nearer to the similitude of God, and possess a greater portion of his love.  277
  But infinite in pardon is my Judge.  278
  But thy words, with grace divine imbued, bring to their sweetness no satiety.  279
  By a certain fate, great acts, and great eloquence have most commonly gone hand in hand, equalling and honoring each other in the same ages.  280
  By steps we may ascend to God.  281
  Chance governs all.  282
  Childhood shows the man, as morning shows the day.  283
  Confidence imparts a wonderful inspiration to its possessor.  284
  Conspicuous, with three listed colors gay, betokening peace from God, and covenant new.  285
  Courage never to submit or yield.  286
  Courtesy which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds, with smoky rafters, than in tapestry halls and courts of princes, where it first was named.  287
  Danger will wink on opportunity.  288
  Darkness visible.  289
  Death from sin no power can separate.  290
  Death ready stands to interpose his dart.  291
  Deep versed in books and shallow in himself.  292
  Demoniac frenzy, moping melancholy.  293
  Dim eclipse, disastrous twilight.  294
  Dim sadness did not spare that time celestial visages; yet, mixed with pity, violated not their bliss.  295
  Distends with pride, and hardening in his strength.  296
  Education of youth is not a bow for every man to shoot in that counts himself a teacher; but will require sinews almost equal to those which Homer gave to Ulysses.  297
  Eloquence the soul, song charms the senses.  298
  Enflamed with the study of learning, and the admiration of virtue; stirred up with high hopes of living to be brave men, and worthy patriots, dear to God, and famous to all ages.  299
  Equally inured by moderation either state to bear, prosperous or adverse.  300
  Evil into the mind of god or man may come and go, so unapproved, and leave no spot or blame behind.  301
  Evil news rides post, while good news bates.  302
  Evil, be thou my good.  303
  Faithful found among the faithless.  304
  Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil.  305
  For books are as meats and viands are; some of good, some of evil substance.  306
  For no falsehood can endure touch of celestial temper, but returns of force to its own likeness.  307
  For not to irksome toil, but to delight, He made us.  308
  For such kind of borrowing as this, if it be not bettered by the borrower, among good authors is accounted Plagiary.  309
  For what is glory but the blaze of fame?  310
  For who knows not that truth is strong, next to the Almighty; she needs no politics, nor stratagems, nor licensings to make her victorious; those are the shifts and the defenses that error uses against her power: give her but room, and do not bind her when she sleeps.  311
  Forget thyself to marble.  312
  Give me the liberty to know, to think, to believe, and to utter freely according to conscience, above all other liberties.  313
  God has set labor and rest, as day and night to men successive.  314
  God hath here varied His bounty so with new delights!  315
  God sure esteems the growth and completing of one virtuous person, more than the restraint of ten vicious.  316
  Good, the more communicated, more abundant grows.  317
  Goodness thinks no ill where no ill seems.  318
  Gorgons, and Hydras, and Chimæras dire.  319
  Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, in every gesture dignity and love.  320
  Hail, holy light! offspring of heaven first-born.  321
  Hail, wedded love, mysterious law, true source of human offspring!  322
  Hate is of all things the mightiest divider, nay, is division itself. To couple hatred, therefore, though wedlock try all her golden links, and borrow to her aid all the iron manacles and fetters of law, it does but seek to twist a rope of sand.  323
  He alone is worthy of the appellation who either does great things, or teaches how they may be done, or describes them with a suitable majesty when they have been done; but those only are great things which tend to render life more happy, which increase the innocent enjoyments and comforts of existence, or which pave the way to a state of future bliss more permanent and more pure.  324
  He of their wicked ways shall them admonish, and before them set the paths of righteousness.  325
  He seemed for dignity composed and high exploit; but all was false and hollow.  326
  He that can apprehend and consider vice with all her baits and seeming pleasures, and yet abstain, and yet distinguish, and yet prefer that which is truly better, he is the true way-faring Christian. I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue unexercised and unbreathed that never sallies out and sees her adversary, but slinks out of the race, where that immortal garland is to be run for, not without dust and heat.  327
  He that has light within his own clear breast may sit in the center, and enjoy bright day.  328
  He who reigns within himself, and rules passions, desires, and fears, is more than a king.  329
  Hide their diminished heads.  330
  His tongue dropped manna, and could make the worse appear the better reason, to perplex and dash maturest counsels.  331
  His words, like so many nimble and airy servitors, trip about him at command.  332
  How charming is divine philosophy! not harsh nor crabbed, as dull fools suppose, but musical as is Apollo’s lute!  333
  Human face divine.  334
  Hypocrisy, the only evil that walks invisible, except to God alone.  335
  I shall detain you no longer in the demonstration of what we should not do, but straight conduct ye to a hillside, where I will point ye out the right path of a virtuous and noble education; laborious indeed at the first ascent, but else so smooth, so green, so full of goodly prospect, and melodious sounds on every side, that the harp of Orpheus was not more charming.  336
  I was all ear, and took in strains that might create a soul under the ribs of death.  337
  If I foreknew, foreknowledge had no influence on their fault, which had no less proved certain unforeknown.  338
  If the will, which is the law of our nature, were withdrawn from our memory, fancy, understanding, and reason, no other hell could equal, for a spiritual being, what we should then feel from the anarchy of our powers. It would be conscious madness,—a horrid thought!  339
  Imparadis’d in one another’s arms.  340
  In heaven the trees of life ambrosial fruitage bear, and vines yield nectar.  341
  In his east the glorious lamp was seen, regent of the day; and all the horizon round, invested with bright rays.  342
  In those vernal seasons of the year when the air is soft and pleasant, it were an injury and sullenness against nature not to go out and see her riches and partake of her rejoicings with heaven and earth.  343
  Indued with sanctity of reason.  344
  Ink is the blood of the printing-press.  345
  It is not hard for any man who hath a Bible in his hand to borrow good words and holy sayings in abundance; but to make them his own is a work of grace only from above.  346
  Laws can discover sin, but not remove.  347
  Let gorgeous Tragedy, in sceptred pall, come sweeping by.  348
  Let his tormentor conscience find him out.  349
  Let none henceforth seek needless cause to approve the faith they own; when earnestly they seek such proof, conclude they then begin to fail.  350
  Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls his watery labyrinth, which whoso drinks forgets both joy and grief.  351
  License they mean when they cry liberty.  352
  Lifted up so high I disdained subjection, and thought one step higher would set me highest.  353
  Loneliness is the first thing which God’s eye named not good.  354
  Long is the way and hard, that out of hell leads up to light.  355
  Lust—hard by hate.  356
  Man hath his daily work of body or mind appointed, which declares his dignity; while other animals unactive range, and of their doings God takes no account.  357
  Many a man lives a burden upon the earth; but a good book is the precious life-blood of a master spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose for a life beyond life.  358
  Midnight brought on the dusky hour friendliest to sleep and silence.  359
  Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth unseen, both when we sleep and when we wake.  360
  Mine eyes he closed, but open left the cell of Fancy, my immortal sight.  361
  Money brings honor, friends, conquest, and realms.  362
  Morn, waked by the circling hours, with rosy hand unbarred the gates of light.  363
  Most men admire virtue, who follow not her lore.  364
  Mutual love the crown of all our bliss!  365
  My heart contains of good, wise, just, the perfect shape.  366
  My sentence is for open war.  367
  Nations grow corrupt, love bondage more than liberty; bondage with ease than strenuous liberty.  368
  No date prefixed directs me in the starry rubric set.  369
  Now had night measured, with her shadowy cone, half-way up hill this vast sublunar vault.  370
  O conscience, into what abyss of fears and horrors hast thou driven me, out of which I find no way, from deep to deeper plunged.  371
  O goodness! that shall evil turn to good.  372
  O nightingale, that on yon blooming spray warblest at eve, when all the woods are still,—thou with fresh hope the lover’s heart doth fill!  373
  O sun! of this great world both eye and soul.  374
  On the tawny sands and shelves trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.  375
  Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy’s child!  376
  Or, if virtue feeble were, heaven itself would stoop to her.  377
  Praise from an enemy smells of craft.  378
  Prudence is that virtue by which we discern what is proper to be done under the various circumstances of time and place.  379
  Revenge, at first though sweet, bitter ere long, back on itself recoils.  380
  Rocks whereon greatest men have oftest wreck’d.  381
  Sable-vested Night, eldest of things!  382
  Servant of God, well done.  383
  She that has that is clad in complete steel.  384
  Short retirement urges sweet return.  385
  Sin and her shadow, death.  386
  So many laws argue so many sins.  387
  Solitude is sometimes best society.  388
  Spirits live insphered, in regions mild, of calm and serene air.  389
  Sport, that wrinkled Care derides, and Laughter, holding both his sides.  390
  Sweet bird, that shunn’st the noise of folly, most musical, most melancholy!  391
  Sweet intercourse of looks and smiles; for smiles from reason flow.  392
  Swinish gluttony never looks to heaven amidst its gorgeous feast; but with besotted, base ingratitude, cravens and blasphemes his feeder.  393
  Tears such as angels weep.  394
  That forbidden tree, whose mortal taste brought death into the world, and all our woe.  395
  That golden key that opes the palace of eternity.  396
  That grounded maxim, so rife and celebrated in the mouths of wisest men, that to the public good private respects must yield.  397
  The brazen throat of war.  398
  The bright consummate flower.  399
  The debt immense of endless gratitude.  400
  The drowsy frightened steeds that draw the litter of close-curtained sleep.  401
  The earth, though in comparison of heaven so small, nor glistering, may of solid good contain more plenty than the sun, that barren shines.  402
  The end of learning is to know God, and out of that knowledge to love Him, and to imitate Him, as we may the nearest, by possessing our souls of true virtue.  403
  The evening star, love’s harbinger, appeared.  404
  The fickle pensioners of Morpheus’ train.  405
  The gay motes that people the sunbeams.  406
  The greatest burden in the world is superstition, not only of ceremonies in the church, but of imaginary and scarecrow sins at home.  407
  The hell within him.  408
  The hidden soul of harmony.  409
  The love-lorn nightingale nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well.  410
  The palpable obscure.  411
  The paradise of fools, to few unknown.  412
  The pious and just honoring of ourselves may be thought the radical moisture and fountain-head from whence every laudable and worthy enterprise issues forth.  413
  The planets in their station listening stood.  414
  The pleasing poison the visage quite transforms of him that drinks, and the inglorious likeness of a beast fixes instead, unmoulding reason’s mintage charactered in the face.  415
  The redundant locks, robustious to no purpose, clustering down—vast monument of strength.  416
  The rising world of waters dark and deep.  417
  The sacred influence of light appears.  418
  The silver-footed queen.  419
  The spirit of man, which God inspired, cannot together perish with this corporeal clod.  420
  The spirits perverse with easy intercourse pass to and fro, to tempt or punish mortals.  421
  The starry cope of heaven.  422
  The sun, declined, was hastening now with prone career to the ocean isles, and in the ascending scale of heaven the stars that usher evening rose.  423
  The timely dew of sleep, now falling with soft slumbrous weight, inclines our eyelids.  424
  The truest fortitude.  425
  The very essence of truth is plainness and brightness; the darkness and crookedness is our own. The wisdom of God created understanding, fit and proportionable to truth, the object and end of it, as the eye to the thing visible. If our understanding have a film of ignorance over it, or be blear with gazing on other false glitterings, what is that to truth?  426
  The whole freedom of man consists either in spiritual or civil liberty.  427
  There are no songs comparable to the songs of Zion, no orations equal to those of the prophets, and no politics like those which the Scriptures teach.  428
  There is no learned man but will confess he hath much profited by reading controversies,—his senses awakened, his judgment sharpened, and the truth which he holds firmly established. If then it be profitable for him to read, why should it not at least be tolerable and free for his adversary to write? In logic they teach that contraries laid together, more evidently appear; it follows then, that all controversy being permitted, falsehood will appear more false, and truth the more true; which must needs conduce much to the general confirmation of an implicit truth.  429
  There is no Christian duty that is not to be seasoned and set off with cheerishness, which in a thousand outward and intermitting crosses may yet be done well, as in this vale of tears.  430
  These are Thy glorious works, Parent of good.  431
  These evils I deserve, yet despair not of His final pardon whose ear is ever open and his eye gracious to readmit the supplicant.  432
  They also serve who only stand and wait.  433
  They rejoice each with their kind, lion with lioness, so fitly them in pairs thou hast combined.  434
  Those thoughts that wander through eternity.  435
  Though all the winds of doctrine were let loose to play upon the earth, so truth be in the field, we do injuriously by licensing and prohibiting to misdoubt her strength. Let her and falsehood grapple; who ever knew truth put to the worse, in a free and open encounter? Her confuting is the best and surest suppressing.  436
  Time will run back and fetch the age of gold.  437
  To attain the height and depth of Thy eternal ways, all human thoughts come short.  438
  To be weak is miserable, doing or suffering.  439
  To know that which before us lies in daily life is the prime of wisdom.  440
  To season them, and win them early to the love of virtue and true labor, ere any flattering seducement or vain principle seize them wandering, some easy and delightful book of education should be read to them.  441
  To show us what a miserable, credulous, deluded thing that creature is, called the vulgar.  442
  To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.  443
  Truth is as impossible to be soiled by any outward touch as the sunbeam.  444
  Twilight gray hath in her sober livery all things clad.  445
  Unbelief is blind.  446
  Under the opening eyelids of the morn.  447
  Unrespited, unpitied, unrepriev’d.  448
  Virtue can see to do what virtue would by her own radiant light, though sun and moon were in the flat sea sunk.  449
  Virtue that wavers is not virtue, but vice revolted from itself, and after a while returning. The actions of just and pious men do not darken in their middle course.  450
  Virtue, which breaks through opposition and all temptation can remove, most shines, and most is acceptable above.  451
  Wave rolling after wave in torrent rapture.  452
  We should be wary what persecution we raise against the living labors of public men, how we spill that seasoned life of man, preserved and stored up in books, since we see a kind of homicide may be thus committed, sometimes a martyrdom; and if it extend to the whole impression, a kind of massacre, whereof the execution ends not in the slaying of an elemental life, but strikes at the ethereal and fifth essence, the breath of reason itself; slays an immortality rather than a life.  453
  What better can we do than prostrate fall before Him reverent, and there confess humbly our faults, and pardon beg with tears watering the ground?  454
  What need a man forestall his date of grief, and run to meet what he would most avoid?  455
  When a king sets himself to bandy against the highest court and residence of all regal powers, he then, in the single person of a man, fights against his own majesty and kingship.  456
  Where all life dies death lives.  457
  Where more is meant than meets the ear.  458
  Where no hope is left, is left no fear.  459
  Where shame is, there is also fear.  460
  Which, if not victory, is yet revenge.  461
  While rocking winds are piping loud.  462
  Who can in reason then or right assume monarchy over such as live by right his equals, if in power or splendor less, in freedom equal?  463
  Who ever knew truth put to the worse in a free and open encounter?  464
  Why was the sight to such a tender ball as the eye confined, so obvious and so easy to be quenched, and not, as feeling, through all parts diffused, that she might look at will through every pore?  465
  With thee conversing I forget all time.  466
  Without the meed of some melodious tear.  467
  Worthy deeds are not often destitute of worthy relaters; as, by a certain fate, great acts and great eloquence have most commonly gone hand in hand, equalling and honoring each other in the same age.  468
  Yet I argue not against heaven’s hand or will, nor bate a jot of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer right onward.  469
  Zeal and duty … on occasion’s forelock watchful wait.  470

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