Ah, why should all mankind For one man's fault, be condemned, If guiltless?
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.
Ere the blabbing eastern scout, The nice morn, on th' Indian steep From her cabin'd loop-hole peep.
Iris all hues, roses, and jessamine Reared high their flourished heads between, and wrought Mosaic; underfoot the violet, Crocus, and hyacinth with rich inlay Broidered the ground, more coloured than with stone Of costliest emblem: other creature here Beast, bird, insect, or worm durst enter none; Such was their awe of man.
Hear all ye angels, progeny of light, Thrones, dominations, princedoms, virtues, powers.
Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures Whilst the landscape round it measures, Russet lawns and fallows grey, Where the nibbling flocks do stray, Mountains on whose barren breast The labouring clouds do often rest; Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks, and rivers wide.
The conquer'd, also, and enslaved by war, Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose.
Execute their airy purposes.
Some say no evil thing that walks by night, In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen, Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost That breaks his magic chains at curfew time, No goblin, or swart fairy of the mine, Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.
The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But, swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread: Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said; But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
By night the Glass Of Galileo ... observes Imagin'd Land and Regions in the Moon.
It was that fatal and perfidious bark, Built in th' eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark.
Assuredly we bring not innocence not the world, we bring impurity much rather: that which purifies us is trial, and trial is by what is contrary.
What needs my Shakespeare for his honour'd bones,- The labour of an age in piled stones? Or that his hallow'd relics should be hid Under a star-y-pointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name?
How charming is divine philosophy! Not harsh and crabb
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?
Cyriack, whose Grandsire on the Royal Bench Of British Themis, with no mean applause Pronounced and in his volumes taught our Laws, Which others at their Bar so often wrench
And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask, and antique pageantry, Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream.
Our torments also may in length of time Become our elements, these piercing fires As soft as now severe, our temper changed Into their temper.
A poet soaring in the high reason of his fancies, with his garland and singing robes about him.
Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves.
For God will deign to visit oft the dwellings of just men -- delighted, and with frequent intercourse -- thither will send his winged messengers on errants of supernal grace.
He touch'd the tender stops of various quills, With eager thought warbling his Doric lay.
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears.
So much I feel my genial spirits droop, My hopes all flat, nature within me seems In her functions weary of herself.
Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends
or simply: