His form had yet not lost All her original brightness, nor appear'd Less than archangel ruin'd, and th' excess Of glory obscur'd.

Nor aught availed him now to have built in heaven high towers; nor did he scrape by all his engines, but was headlong sent with his industrious crew to build in hell.

Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul And lap it in Elysium.

Evil, be thou my good.

Ease would recant Vows made in pain, as violent and void.

Let none henceforth seek needless cause to approve The faith they owe; when earnestly they seek Such proof, conclude, they then begin to fail.

Anarchy is the sure consequence of tyranny; for no power that is not limited by laws can ever be protected by them.