But say That death be not one stroke, as I supposed, Bereaving sense, but endless misery From this day onward, which I feel begun Both in me, and without me, and so last To perpetuity; ay me, that fear Comes thund'ring back with dreadful revolution On my defenceless head; both Death and I Am found eternal, and incorporate both, Nor I on my part single, in me all Paradise Lost Posterity stands cursed: fair patrimony That I must leave ye, sons; O were I able To waste it all myself, and leave ye none!

This horror will grow mild, this darkness light.

Opinion in good men is but knowledge in the making.

Awake, arise or be for ever fall’n.

Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls his watery labyrinth, which whoso drinks forgets both joy and grief.

Goodness thinks no ill Where no ill seems.

His spear, to equal which the tallest pine Hewn on Norwegian hills to be the mast Of some great ammiral were but a wand, He walk'd with to support uneasy steps Over the burning marle.