Paradise Lost by John Milton
page 136 of 354 (38%)
page 136 of 354 (38%)
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For know, whatever was created, needs
To be sustaind and fed; of Elements The grosser feeds the purer, earth the sea, Earth and the Sea feed Air, the Air those Fires Ethereal, and as lowest first the Moon; Whence in her visage round those spots, unpurg'd Vapours not yet into her substance turnd. Nor doth the Moon no nourishment exhale From her moist Continent to higher Orbes. The Sun that light imparts to all, receives From all his alimental recompence In humid exhalations, and at Even Sups with the Ocean: though in Heav'n the Trees Of life ambrosial frutage bear, and vines Yeild Nectar, though from off the boughs each Morn We brush mellifluous Dewes, and find the ground Cover'd with pearly grain: yet God hath here Varied his bounty so with new delights, As may compare with Heaven; and to taste Think not I shall be nice. So down they sat, And to thir viands fell, nor seemingly The Angel, nor in mist, the common gloss Of Theologians, but with keen dispatch Of real hunger, and concoctive heate To transubstantiate; what redounds, transpires Through Spirits with ease; nor wonder; if by fire Of sooty coal the Empiric Alchimist Can turn, or holds it possible to turn Metals of drossiest Ore to perfet Gold As from the Mine. Mean while at Table EVE |
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