John Milton

These evils I deserve, and more
. . . .
Justly, yet despair not of his final read more

These evils I deserve, and more
. . . .
Justly, yet despair not of his final pardon,
Whose ear is ever open, and his eye
Gracious to re-admit the suppliant.

And touch'd their golden harps, and hymning praised
God and his works.

And touch'd their golden harps, and hymning praised
God and his works.

Sweetest Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen
Within thy airy shell,
By slow Meander's margent green,
read more

Sweetest Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen
Within thy airy shell,
By slow Meander's margent green,
And in the violet-embroidered vale.

Incens'd with indignation Satan stood
Unterrified, and like a comet burn'd,
That fires the length of Ophiucus read more

Incens'd with indignation Satan stood
Unterrified, and like a comet burn'd,
That fires the length of Ophiucus huge
In th' artic sky, and from his horrid hair
Shakes pestilence and war.

. . . And when night
Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons
Of Belial, flown read more

. . . And when night
Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons
Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.