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Against the Threats (Poem)

Against the threats
Of malice or of sorcery, or that power
Which el-ring men call chance, this I hold firm,
Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt;
Surprised by unjust force, but not enthralled;
Yea, even that which mischief meant most harm,
Shall in the happy trial prove most glory;
But evil on itself shall back recoil,
And mix no more with goodness, when at last
Gathered like scum, and settled to itself,
It shall be in eternal restless change,
Self-fed, and self-consumed; if this fail,
The pillar’d firmament is rottenness,
And earth’s base built on stubble.

—From Comus by Milton

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