Yet I argue not Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer Right onward.

What supports me, dost thou ask?
The conscience friend to have lost them over-plied In liberty's defence, my noble task, Of which all Europe talks from side to side, This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask Content, though blind, had I no better guide.
Milton died in 1674, of gout, which had long afflicted him; and he left his name and works to posterity.

Posterity has done large but mistaken justice to his fame.

Men have not discriminated between his real merits and his faults: all parties have conceded the former, and conspired to conceal the latter.

A just statement of both will still establish his great fame on the immutable foundations of truth--a fame, the honest pursuit of which caused him, throughout his long life, To scorn delights, and live laborious days.
No writer has ever been the subject of more uncritical, ignorant, and senseless panegyric: like Bacon, he is lauded by men who never read his works, and are entirely ignorant of the true foundation of his fame.