John Milton

Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise,
(That last infirmity of noble mind)
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Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise,
(That last infirmity of noble mind)
To scorn delights, and live laborious days;
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with th' abhorred shears,
And slits the thin-spun life.

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.

What need a man forestall his date of grief,
And run to meet what he would most avoid?

What need a man forestall his date of grief,
And run to meet what he would most avoid?

If this fail,
The pillar'd firmament is rottenness,
And earth's base built on stubble.

If this fail,
The pillar'd firmament is rottenness,
And earth's base built on stubble.

Farewell, remorse: all good to me is lost;
Evil, be thou my good.

Farewell, remorse: all good to me is lost;
Evil, be thou my good.