Maxioms by John Milton
And, weaponless himself,
Made arms ridiculous.
And, weaponless himself,
Made arms ridiculous.
Which, if not victory, is yet revenge.
Which, if not victory, is yet revenge.
So when the sun in bed,
Curtain'd with cloudy red,
Pillows his chin upon an orient wave.
So when the sun in bed,
Curtain'd with cloudy red,
Pillows his chin upon an orient wave.
With thee conversing I forget all time:
All seasons and their change, all please alike.
With thee conversing I forget all time:
All seasons and their change, all please alike.
