God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts. Who

Image, God doth not need Either man’s work or his own gifts. Who

God doth not need Either man’s work or his own gifts. 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; They also serve who only stand and wait.

—John Milton

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Image, And these gems of Heav’n, her starry train.

Image, Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks and rivers wide Towers and

Image, For Spirits when they please Can either sex assume, or both; so

Image, Still paying, still to owe. Eternal woe!

Image, Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind.

Image, Should God create another Eve, and I Another Rib afford, yet loss

Image, The bird of Jove, stoop’d from his aery tour, Two birds of gayest plume before him drove.

Image, Lords are lordliest in their wine.

Image, Thy actions to thy words accord; thy words To thy large heart

Image, The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks, Safest and seemliest by her

Image, And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask, and antique pageantry, Such

Image, It is for homely features to keep home,- They had their

Image, Evil into the mind of God or man may come and go,

Image, And grace that won who saw to wish her stay.

Image, The childhood shows the man As morning shows the day. Be famous

Image, License they mean when they cry Liberty; For who loves that, must first be wise and good.

Image, And in their motions harmony divine So smoothes her charming tones, that

Image, Yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible.

Image, To be weak is miserable, Doing or suffering.

Image, Let us descend now therefore from this top Of speculation.

Image, A dungeon horrible, on all sides round, As one great furnace, flamed;

Image, As children gath’ring pebbles on the shore. Or if I would delight

Image, Now the bright morning-star, day’s harbinger, comes dancing from the east.

Image, Temper justice with mercy.

Image, Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose.

Image, He who destroys a good book kills reason itself.

Image, Chaos umpire sits And by decision more embroils the fray by which

Image, Some say no evil thing that walks by night, In fog or

Image, O shame to men! Devil with devil damned Firm concord holds, men

Image, Into this wild abyss, The womb of Nature and perhaps her grave.