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.

And what is faith, love, virtue unassayed Alone, without exterior help sustained?

But all was false and hollow; though his tongue Dropp'd manna, and could make the worse appear The better reason, 4 to perplex and dash Maturest counsels.

There swift return Diurnal, merely to officiate light Round this opacous earth, this punctual spot.

Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, in every gesture dignity and love.

Fame is the last infirmity of the human mind.

Incens'd with indignation Satan stood Unterrify'd, and like a comet burn'd That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge In th' arctic sky, and from his horrid hair Shakes pestilence and war.