The Works of the English Poets: Milton

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H. Hughs, 1779

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23 psl. - A shout, that tore hell's concave, and beyond Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night.
122 psl. - Unargued I obey, so GOD ordains; GOD is thy law, thou mine; to know no more Is woman's happiest knowledge and her praise.
13 psl. - Hail horrors, hail Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell, Receive thy new possessor, one who brings A mind not to be changed by place or time.
74 psl. - Thus with the year Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine ; But cloud instead, and ever-during dark Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair Presented with a universal blank Of Nature's works to me expunged and rased, And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out.
11 psl. - Thus Satan talking to his nearest mate With head uplift above the wave, and eyes That sparkling blazed; his other parts besides Prone on the flood, extended long and large, Lay floating many a rood ; in bulk as huge As whom the fables name of monstrous size, Titanian, or Earth-born, that warr'd on Jove ; Briareos or Typhon, whom the den By ancient Tarsus held ; or that seabeast Leviathan, which God of all his works Created hugest that swim the ocean stream...
31 psl. - Or dreams he sees, while overhead 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.
13 psl. - Almighty hath not built Here for his envy, will not drive us hence: 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.
145 psl. - His praise, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow, Breathe soft or loud ; and, wave your tops, ye Pines, With every plant, in sign of worship wave.
145 psl. - Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run Perpetual circle, multiform ; and mix And nourish all things ; let your ceaseless change Vary to our Great Maker still new praise.
247 psl. - She disappear'd, and left me dark: I wak'd To find her, or for ever to deplore Her loss, and other pleasures all abjure...

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