Boast not of what thou would'st have done, but do.
But pain is perfect misery, the worst Of evils, and excessive, overturns All patience.
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears.
The Angel ended, and in Adam's ear So charming left his voice, that he awhile Thought him still speaking, still stood fix'd to hear.
For books are as meats and viands are; some of good, some of evil sub-stance.
Myself, and all the Angelic Host, that stand in the sight of God enthroned, our happy state hold, as you yours, while our obedience hold. On other surety none: freely we serve, because we freely love.