John Milton

These false pretexts and varnished colours failing,
Rare in thy guilt how foul must thou appear.

These false pretexts and varnished colours failing,
Rare in thy guilt how foul must thou appear.

O loss of sight, of thee I most complain!
Blind among enemies, O worse than chains,
Dungeon, read more

O loss of sight, of thee I most complain!
Blind among enemies, O worse than chains,
Dungeon, or beggary, or decrepit age!

Let his tormentor conscience find him out.

Let his tormentor conscience find him out.

Towered cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men.

Towered cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men.

Her rash hand in evil hour
Forth reaching to the fruit, she pluck'd, she eat;
Earth felt read more

Her rash hand in evil hour
Forth reaching to the fruit, she pluck'd, she eat;
Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat
Sighing through all her works gave signs of woe
That all was lost.