Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise

Which, if not victory, is yet revenge.

Give me the liberty to know, to utter, and to argue freely according to conscience, above all liberties.

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.

So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear,Farewell remorse: all good to me is lost;Evil,be thou my good.

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.

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