John Milton

His form had yet not lost
All his original brightness, not appear'd
Less than arch-angel ruined, and read more

His form had yet not lost
All his original brightness, not appear'd
Less than arch-angel ruined, and th' excess
Of glory obscured.

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

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

If by fire
Of sooty coal th' empiric alchymist
Can turn, or holds it possible to turn,
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If by fire
Of sooty coal th' empiric alchymist
Can turn, or holds it possible to turn,
Metals of drossiest ore to perfect gold.

If weakness may excuse,
What murderer, what traitor, parricide,
Incestuous, sacrilegious, but may plead it?
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If weakness may excuse,
What murderer, what traitor, parricide,
Incestuous, sacrilegious, but may plead it?
All wickedness is weakness; that plea, therefore,
With God or man will gain thee no remission.

Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts
And eloquence.

Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts
And eloquence.