And Sing To Those That

No Man Who Knows Aught, Can Be So Stupid To Deny That All Men Naturally Were Born Free.

His Form Had Yet Not Lost All Her Original Brightness, Nor Appear'd Less Than Archangel Ruin'd, And Th' Excess Of Glory Obscur'd.

Of Man's First Disobedience, And The Fruit/of That Forbidden Tree, Whose Mortal Taste/brought Death Into The World, And All Our Woe,/with Loss Of Eden, Till One Greater Man/restore Us, And Regain The Blissful Seat,/sing Heavenly Muse

From Restless Thoughts, That, Like A Deadly Swarm Of Hornets Arm'd, No Sooner Found Alone, But Rush Upon Me Thronging.

Virtue Could See To Do What Virtue Would By Her Own Radiant Light, Though Sun And Moon Were In The Flat Sea Sunk. And Wisdom's Self Oft Seeks To Sweet Retired Solitude, Where With Her Best Nurse Contemplation She Plumes Her Feathers And Lets Grow Her Wings, That In The Various Bustle Of Resort Were All-to Ruffled, And Sometimes Impair'd. He That Has Light Within His Own Clear Breast May Sit I' Th' Centre And Enjoy Bright Day; But He That Hides A Dark Soul And Foul Thoughts Benighted Walks Under The Midday Sun.