What hath night to do with sleep?
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.
With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout, Confusion worse confounded.
Faithful found among the faithless.
So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap.
Knowledge forbidden? Suspicious, reasonless. Why should their Lord Envy them that? Can it be a sin to know? Can it be death?