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John Milton

“  The griding sword with discontinuous wound   Pass'd through him, but th' Ethereal substance clos'd   Not long divisible, and from the gash   A stream of Nectarous humor issuing flow'd   Sanguin, such as Celestial Spirits may bleed,   And all his Armour staind ere while so bright.”

John Milton, Paradise Lost
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Paradise Lost Paradise Lost by John Milton
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