Long is the way and hard, that out of hell leads up to light.
O loss of sight, of thee I most complain! Blind among enemies, O worse than chains, dungeon or beggary, or decrepit age! Light, the prime work of God, to me is extinct, and all her various objects of delight annulled, which might in part my grief have eased. Inferior to the vilest now become of man or worm; the vilest here excel me, they creep, yet see; I, dark in light, exposed to daily fraud, contempt, abuse and wrong, within doors, or without, still as a fool, in power of others, never in my own; scarce half I seem to live, dead more than half.
Who overcomes by force, hath overcome but half his foe.
Apt words have power to suage the tumors of a troubled mind.
And, re-assembling our afflicted powers, consult how we may henceforth most offend.
Yet beauty, though injurious, hath strange power, After offence returning, to regain Love once possess'd.
Some say no evil thing that walks by night, In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen, Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost That breaks his magic chains at curfew time, No goblin, or swart fairy of the mine, Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.
His rod revers'd, And backward mutters of dissevering power.
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