John Milton

“ Why shouldst thou, but for som fellonious end,
In thy dark lantern thus close up the Stars
That nature hung in Heav’n, and fill’d their Lamps
With everlasting oil, to give due light
To the misled and lonely Travailer? ”

“ The vertuous mind, that ever walks attended
By a strong siding champion, Conscience.
O, welcom, pure-ey’d Faith, white-handed Hope,
Thou hovering Angel girt with golden wings,
And thou unblemish’t form of Chastity! ”

“ Whom thrift keeps up about his Country gear.
But here she comes; I fairly step aside.
And hearken, if I may, her busines here.
The Lady enters
This way the noise was, if mine ear be true,
My best guide now. Me thought it was the sound
Of Riot and ill manag’d Merriment,
Such as the jocond Flute or gamesom Pipe
Stirs up among the loose unleter’d Hinds,
VI
The Lady enters
When, for their teeming Flocks and granges full,
In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan,
And thank the gods amiss. I should be loath
To meet the rudenesse and swill’d insolence
Of such late Wassailers; yet O! ”