JC-NRLF %afce EngU&b Classics MILTON'S MINOR POEMS L' ALLEGRO, IL PENSEROSO, COMUS, AND LYCIDAS EDITED FOR SCHOOL USB BY WILLIAM ALLAN NEILSON, M. A., Ph. D< COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY CHICAGO 8COTT, FORESMAN AND C01VIPANY COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY SCOTT, FORESMAN AND COMPANY PR'NTERS AND BINDERS, CHICAGO. OF THE ' v M '_ PREFACE In the present edition the main endeavor ht* been to provide an apparatus that should ensure the complete intelligibility of the four poems form- ing the text, and an understanding of the circum- stances in which they were written. This has made necessary not only an outline of the poet's life, but also a sketch of some of the main tenden- cies in English politics, civil and ecclesiastical, during his youth. Without some such view, it is impos- sible for the student to grasp the significance of the political allusions in Lycidas, while the other three poems all gain immensely in interest when it is seen how they are related to the Puritanism of which the poetry of Milton is the supreme literary expression. In addition to the biographical and historical material, a concise statement is given of what is known of the sources of the poems. Teachers using the book have a right to demand that this should be supplied, yet it is by no means to be understood that all students should be required to study it in detail. It is doubtful, indeed, whether the minds of young students should be burdened by more than the general bearing of such a state- ment of Milton's real or supposed debt to previous writers. More important, because more vital to * 204509 6 PREFACE the understanding of literary history, is the at- tempt to outline the development of such forms as the pastoral elegy and the masque previous to their being used by Milton. The work of aesthetic interpretation has been left almost entirely to the teacher, but a few suggestions may be made. An unusually good opportunity for bringing out the beauty of coher- ent structure in short poems is afforded by the present texts. The plan of L 'Allegro and II Pense- roso, which is roughly traced in the Introduction, should be worked out in detail by the student. Lycidas will be grasped in a much more satisfac- tory way if it is clearly brought out in class that there is a regular sequence of parts in the elegy, interrupted by digressions. On the basis of the analysis of the masque elements in Comus which will be found on pp. 63-8, the teacher may enlarge on the characteristically Miltonic elements in the poem. The main facts in connection with the versifica- tion of the poems have been stated as simply as possible. The artistic value of the lines, however, will be best imparted viva voce, and here again the opportunity is exceptional. (The alternating long and short lines at the beginning of L y Allegro and II Penseroso, and the short, rapid measure of the main parts of these poems |Khe blank verse and the lyrical passages in Comush and* the seeming irregu- larity in the arrangement of rhymes in Lycidas, -all PREFACE 7 afford admirable examples of the use a great poet makes of metrical devices, and should give rise to stimulating discussions. Attention should be drawn also to Milton 's double epithets, and the question of the justification of his coinages raised. The first two poems consist of series of pictures, and the student should be induced to test the vividness of these, one by one, by attempting to visualize them. The characteristic ethical elements which appear in all Milton 's productions might also be educed and illustrated by reference to his own life. The great mine of information on the life and times of Milton is Professor David Masson 's mag- nificent work, The Life of John Milton, narrated in connection with the political, ecclesiastical, and literary history of his time (6 vols., Macmillan & Co., new ed., Lond., 1881-94). For those to whom this is not accessible, or who desire something on a smaller scale, Mark Pattison 's Milton in the English Men of Letters series, Dr. Garnett 's in the Great Writers series, and the recent volumes on Milton by Pro- fessor Trent (Macmillan, N. Y., 1899) and Professor Raleigh (Putnam, N. Y., 1900) may be mentioned. Dr. Garnett 's book contains an excellent bibli- ography. Of annotated editions of Milton 's poems the most elaborate is again Masson 's (2d ed., 3 vols., Macmillan, Lond., 1894). Verity 's editions (Cam- bridge University Press) are very full and scholarly, and Professor Trent's edition of the poems con- tained in the present volume (Longmans, 1898) has 8 PREFACE a number of suggestive interpretative notes. Professor Corson has recently published an Intro* duction to Milton which conveniently brings to- gether the more important autobiographical pas- sages from the prose works, but its value is lessened by the lack of exact references to the sources of the texts quoted. Discussions of Milton 's versi- fication will be found in the third volume of Masson 's large edition of the poems, and in Milton 's Prosody by Robert Bridges (Clarendon Press). It is, perhaps, unnecessary to refer to the well known essays on Milton by Macaulay and Lowell. In the preparation of the introduction and notes I have freely consulted the work of previous editors, especially Masson, Verity, Browne, and Trent, and detailed acknowledgment of obligations to these and others will be found in the appropri- ate places. To Professor Masson, as author of the Life of Milton, every modern student of Milton owes an immense debt, and I have to add to this general recognition that of the more personal obligation which a student owes to an inspiring teacher. I also wish to thank, for suggestions in connection with the treatment of the masque, my friends Dr. A. H. Thorndike of Western Reserve University, and Dr. John Lester, recently of Harvard, and, for helpful criticisms throughout, Mr. L. T. Damon of thie University of Chicago. HARVARD UNIVERSITY, September, 1900. CONTENTS PAGE PREFACE ..-.... -5 INTRODUCTION I. England in Milton's Youth 11 II. The Life of Milton 20 III. U Allegro and II Penseroso 33 IV. Comus 35 V. Lycidas 43 VI. Milton's Puritanism 47 TEXT ......... 53 NOTES ....-. 115 WORD INDEX 157 INTRODUCTION I. ENGLAND IN MILTON 's YOUTH Among English men of letters there is none whose life andjvork stand in more intimate rela- tiozL_with the history of his times than those of Milton. Not only was he for a long period im- mersed in political controversy and public busi- ness, but there are few of his important works which do not become more significant in the light of contemporary events, and in turn help the understanding of these events themselves. Both by temperament and by circumstances he was destined 10 be much more than an interested on- looker during the momentous struggles which had begun to trouble the peace of England at the time he reached manhood; and it is by no accident that his most adequate biography is at the same time a history of his country for three-quarters of a century. At the time of Milton's birth in 1608, England was passing through a period of transition. Much of thaj^remarkablevigor and abundance of life whichjiad characterized the age of ElizabeffT still remained; and the drama, the most typical ex- pf ession of that age in literature, had hardly begun It' INTRODUCTION to decline. Yet, with the change of dynasty at the union of the crowns of England and Scotland in 1603, there had appeared a tendency to depart fromthg^ policy^ of toleration which HadTSade possible the united patriotism of the preceding reign. Thenew Kinj^James I., had definite pref- erences in Religious matters^ and insisted on making tEem felt. Lines of cleavage 1 , which had before been only vaguely traceable, broadened into divid- ing gulfs, ai\d the religious world began more and morg_to break up into sects and parties. The antagonisms between these, already in many cases present during the reign of Elizabeth, were strengthened when, in the time of Charles I., political issues were added to ecclesiastical; and the hostilityHand intolerance grew more and more acute, until in 1642 difference of opinion culmi- nated inlhe horrors o civil war. ^Theoretically, all Englishmen^wg Tne^w of theTStablished Church. Eutin practice there were two important groups outside the Anglican fold, the Roman Catholics and the Protestant Separatists^ Under Elizabeth, the persecution of the Roman Catholics had varied in intensity according to the requirements of the political situation. Thus, when a Catholic power like Spain threatened the national safety, considerable rigor was used to prevent Catholic risings at home. Similarly, in the reign of James, the alarm caused ENGLAND IN MILTON'S YOUTH 13 by the Gunpowder Plot in 1605 led to the exercise of oppressive measures against the same religion. On the other hand, during the negotiations with Spain for a marriage between the Infanta and Prince Charles (1617-1623), these measures were naturally relaxed; and this relaxation continued after 1624, when Charles married Henrietta Maria of France, who was, like the Infanta, a Catholic. Queen Henrietta's influence in this direction remained operative throughout her husband's reign, and had the additional effect of increasing the suspicion with which the Puritans regarded the ecclesiastical policy of the court party. At the opposite extreme from the Roman Catholic dissenters were the Protestant Separatists, who had left the church of their own accord. Many of them emigrated to Holland, and, later, to America, while others, chiefly Independents and Baptists, attempted, in defiance of the law, to follow their own modes of worship in .secret. These last sects were, numerically, unimportant. Inside the Church there were ~~~ jhe Prelatists and the Puritans. The Prelatists Vere those who were on the whole satisfied with the established Episcopacy; and at the accession oTTames" I. they probably numbered about nine- tenths of the whole Church. The attitude of the Puritans at that time is defined by a petition which they~presented to James shortly after" his 14 INTRODUCTION arrival in England. In this document they ob- jected to certain administrative abuses, sucl^ as thejnefficienqLof some of the nlergy^an^the hold- ingjrf church livings by absentees, whether clerical qr^lay, yho drew a large part of the tithes and hired a vicar on_a_small salary to care for the parish. More significant was their request to be relie^edJrom compulsor^^arjidpaition in certain of the ceremonies of the Church^ such as the wearing of surplices^Jhe u^eof_Jhe_^r^sshi h^ptisrg the ^oEJjrvation of holy days (except Saobath/which they wished to have observed more strictly), and bowing at the name of Jesus. The doctrinal -differences which became so im- portant later were not mentioned. The Puritans gained less than nothing by their petition. The next Convocation of the Clergy (1603, 4) passed a number of canons reaffirming the necessity of the ritual to which objection had been made, and denying the right to dissent. The laws against Nonconformists were more strictly enforced, and many were imprisoned or banished. The effect on the Puritans was seen in the appear- ance of numerous pamphlets, printed hi Holland or secretly in England, protesting against the action of the Prelatists, and in some cases arguing for Independency or Presbyjterianism. On the appointment .of a Low Church Arch- bishop in 1611, the struggle slackened somewhat; ENGLAND IN MILTON'S YOUTH 15 but about 1619 a new element of great importance was introduced. This was the appearance of what was called Arminianism, a doctrinal opposition to the Calvinistic beliefs that salvation was possible only for those predestined to it, and that those who were so elected by God to be saved were incapable of resisting His grace. The situation was complicated for James, who was himself a Calvinist, by the fact that the men of Arminian tendencies were those who were most zealous in the support of Prelacy and the royal prerogative. He attempted to solve the difficulty by issuing Direc- tions to Preachers, in which he forbade any clergy- man below the degree of Dean to preach on the disputed questions at all; but, as might have been expected, this interference with the liberty of discussion on both sides did little to reassure the Puritans, who saw in the Arminianism of the Prelatists only one more indication of their lean- ings towards Rome. In fact, many who had taken no part with the Puritans in the agitation against ceremonial were forced to join them by the appearance of this new theological issue. It was at this juncture that there stepped into the front rank among the leaders in church and state, a man who in a few years became, by force of the definiteness of his views and the restlessness of his energy, the chief agent in hurrying the nation towards the terrible conflict that lay before it. 16 INTRODUCTION William Laud was a man of few aims. He believed in the strictest uniformity in worship, and was willing to resort to coercion to bring it about. He was " in favor of a ceremonial of worship in which advantage should be taken of every external aid of architecture, decoration, furniture, gesture, or costume, either actually at the time allowed in the Church of England, or for which there was good precedent in more ancient ritual." 1 He "believed in the 'divine Apostolic right' of Episcopacy, and . . . .therefore, could not recognize as a true portion of the Catholic Church of Christ any community or set of men who pretended to have emancipated themselves from Bishops." 1 Thus he regarded the members of the Church of Rome as belonging to a true Church, but did not so regard the Independ- ents and Presbyterians. On the doctrine of Election he was anti-Calvinist, and he was a strong upholder of the royal prerogative in church and state. ^When Charles I. ascended the throne iiLl625, he held his father's beliefs concerning the supremacy of the crown, but in theqlogy_was inclined to the ASaJnianisnTof Laud. The history of his reign is the history, of the attempt to force these opinions upon the people of the United Kingdom. When his first Parliament met, it insisted on prosecuting the King's chaplain for Arminianism, and showed 1 Masson's Life of Hilton, ed. 1881, vol. I, p, 362. ENGLAND IN MILTON'S YOUTH 17 its distrust of the policy and advisers of the crown by restricting the usual grants of money. Charles retaliated by dissolving the Parliament. The sec- ond Parliament followed its predecessors in its protests against Arminianism and illegal taxation, and met a similar fate. Then for nearly two years (June, 1 626- March, 1628) Charles governed with- out a Parliament, and raised money by such illegal means as forced I5ans^ Meanwhile, the parly ol La;ud became more open and vigorous in its ad- vocacy of the King's supremacy, and of the doc- trine that resistance to his will was sacrilege. The phrase "absolute monarchy," which in the time of the Tudors was used to describe a government free from foreign or Papal interference, had been inter- preted by James I. in the sense of a monarchy un- restrained by law or the will of the people, 1 and the doctrine thus implied became a Watchword of the Royalist party. Forced by lack of money, the King called a third Parliament, only to be met once more with vehement protests against civil and religious grievances. He yielded, obtained a grant of subsidies, and prorogued Parliament. But the value of his supposed concessions soon ap- peared. Almost at once he relapsed into his previous arbitrary methods; Laud and other Ar- minians were promoted, and illegal taxation was 1 See Green's Short History of the English People, Lond. , 1889, chap, viii., sec. II, p. 478. \8 INTRODUCTION again exacted. When this Parliament re-assem- bled in the beginning of the following year (1629), the old discussions were renewed with greater fervor than ever. Laud had used the interval to issue a Declaration, to be prefixed to the Thirty- nine Articles, 1 reaffirming the King's supremacy in the Church, and forbidding discussion of the Articles. This Declaration became the main object of attack, but the King stood firm, the Parliament was dissolved, and Charles began a period of per- sonal government which lasted for eleven years (1629-1640). ' The period during which Charles ruled without a Parliament was marked by a development of the policy which Laud, soon to become Archbishop, had already marked out. In religious affairs, there was an increase in the restrictions on freedom of discussion by the clergy, and the new Primate's favorite ideas in matters of worship and discipline were enforced by his control of Church legislation, patronage, and organization. Con- venient instruments of coercion were found in the already existing Courts of Star Chamber and of High Commission, which were used with unsparing severity in the punishment and suppression of Separatists outside the Church, and Puritans 1 These articles of religion, originally drawn up in the reign of Edward VI, were, with little change, re- affirmed at the beginning of Elizabeth's reign, and still \emain the official statement of Anglican belief. OF FO ENGLAND IN MILTON'S YOUTH 19 within. Men guilty of preaching or writing against Laudian principles were fined, imprisoned, and mutilated in the pillory; and the persecutions were carried even into the Universities. In secular politics, the chief problem was the raising of money, and resort was had to the sale of monopolies in almost all the articles of common consumption, to the revival of obsolete taxes, to fines for a multi- tude of petty offenses, to the sale of indulgences to Catholics who wished to practice their own religion, and, finally, to Ship-money. This last was an old tax, instituted before England had a permanent navy, to provide money for ships to defend the coast towns. It was now revived, and levied, not only on the seaboard as before, but over the whole country; and it was on the refusal of John Hampden to pay this tax that the spirit of the country at last rose to resist. Meanwhile, Charles and Laud had been attempting to impose Episco- pacy on Presbyterian Scotland, but the task was beyond their power, and the Scots were already in armed rebellion. Nearly four years were to pass before the Civil War in England actually broke out; but it was the rumor of these events of the year 1638, reaching Milton in Italy, which determined him to return to bear his share in his country's struggle for freedom, and which brought to a close the period of his life that includes those of his writings with which we are more immediately concerned. 20 INTRODUCTION II. THE LIFE OF MILTON The intimate relation between the writings of Milton and the history of his times, to which allu- sion has been made, is symbolized by the coinci- dence of the periods into which his life naturally falls with the periods into which English history in the seventeenth century divides itself. The first of these extends from Milton 's birth to his return from Italy, and corresponds with that por- tion of the history which has just been outlined. The second ends with his retirement into private life in 1660, and coincides with the period of the Civil War and the Commonwealth. The third closes with his death in 1674, and falls within the period of the Restoration. This threefold classification applies also to his literary productions. The first group of these, in which the poems in this volume are the most im- portant, belongs to the period before 1639; the second, consisting chiefly of controversial works in prose, to the period between 1640 and 1660; and the third, the group containing the two great epics and Samson Agonistes, to the period of his retire- ment. (a) First Period (1608-1639) John Milton w r as born in Bread Street, London, on the ninth of December, 1608. He was the son of John Milton, a prosperous scrivener (i. e., attor- ney and law-stationer), a man of good family and THE LIFE OP MILTON 21 considerable culture, especially devoted_jto m^sic. In the education ofthe future poet the elder Milton was exceptionally generous. From child- hood-JijL destined him for the Church, and his preparation was begun at home, and continued at St. Paul's School and at Cambridge. We have abundant evidence that the boy \vas from the first a quick and diligent student, and that the late study to which he was addicted from childhood was the beginning of that injury to his eyes which ended in blindness. .He entered Christ's College, -Cambridge, in 1625, took Jbe-degggg QJLSZ2L in Ol_A. in 1632, when he left-the Uni- versity after seven years' residence. Like several other poets who have brought renown to Cam- bridge, Milton was severely critical of his Univer- sity. Yet he seems to have been highly respected while there, both for the purity of his conduct and the brilliance of his scholarship; and years after- wards he made public acknowledgment of "that more than ordinary favour and respect, which I found above any of my equals at the hands of those courteous and learned men, the fellows of that College wherein I spent some years: who at my parting . . . signified many ways how much better it would content them that I would stay." 1 1 Apology for Smectymnuus, Milton's Works, ed. Mit- ford, vol. Ill, p. 266. 22 INTRODUCTION Milton left Cambridge for his father's house at Horton in Buckinghamshire with his career still unsettled. It has been mentioned that he had been intended for the Church, but this prospect he had given up before he took his Master's degree. The reasons for the change of purpose he has himself stated in no uncertain words. " Coming to some maturity of years, and perceiving what tyranny had invaded the Church, that he who would take orders must subscribe slave, and take an oath withal, ... I thought it better to prefer a blameless silence before the sacred office of speak- ing bought and begun with servitude and fore- swearing." 1 And he refers to having been " Church- outed by the Prelates" a phrase which finds sufficient explanation in what has been said of the policy of Laud. The life to which Milton settled down at Hor- ton was one of quiet but persistent study, varied with occasional poetical production. Authorship^ indeed, seems to have taken the place of the min- istry in his vague plans for the future, though the particular form it was to take was long undefined. Even as a child he had written verses, and at the University he had produced, besides academic exercises and a number of., Latin poems, occasional poetical effusions in English, the most notable 1 The Eeasm of Church Government (1641), Works, vol. in, p. 150. THE LIFE OF MILTON 23 Boe ing the Ode on the Morning of Christ's Nativity and the enthusiastic Epitaph on Shakspere. Among all the writings of that period, however, the most interesting autobiographically is the Sonnet on his Being Arrived at the Age of Twenty-three, which may be quoted here to show how he anticipated the criticisms upon his apparent lack of purpose and achievement: How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year! My hasting days fly on with full career, But my lateWning no bud or blossom shew'th Perhaps my semblanceT^ight deceive the truth, That Lto' manhood am arrived so near; And^nward ripeness doth much less appear, That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th. Yet, be it less or more, or soon or slow, It shall be still in strictest measure even To that same lot, however mean or high, Toward which Time leads me, 'and the will of Heaven. All is, if I have grace to use it so, As ever in my great Task-Master's eye We may note implied here (besides the con- sciousness that he might seem open to reproach) an^attitude__ofawaiting without impatien-Jjie fulfilment of his~3estiny, and a determination that to whatever goal he might ultimately be led, there should be no doubt as to the principles by which he was to be governed on his road thither. Both things were profoundly characteristic. In 24 INTRODUCTION his own ultimate greatness Milton never ceased to believe: yet he looked forward to it in no vain- glorious spirit, but with a legitimate pride in the part allotted to him in the purposes of Providence- With equal certainty did he hold to the necessity of personal purity and integrity in the man who was to perform noble deeds, whether in affairs or in literature. The man who "speaks of high matters/ ' he insists, must live temperately and have "a youth chaste and free from guilt, and rigid morals, and hands without stain." 1 And again; " He who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things, ought himself to be a true poem; that is, a composition, and pattern of the best and honour ablest things; not presuming to sing high praises of heroic men, or famous cities, unless he have in himself the experience and the practice of all that which is praiseworthy." 2 Such was the spirit in which Milton prepared himself for his life-work. Among the results of the years spent at Horton between 1632 and 1638 were a Latin poem, Ad Patrem, apparently written n reply to some mild remonstrance from his father on his giving up the prospect of a regular profession in favor of scholar- ship and letters; U Allegro; II Penseroso; Arcades 1 Letter to Charles Diodati. 2 Apology for Smectymnuus, Works, ed. Mitford, vol. UI, pp, 270,1. THE LIFE OF MILTON 25 (part of an entertainment given in honor of the Dowager Countess of Derby); Comus; and Lycidas. In Milton's days and for long afterwards, no young gentleman's education was regarded as complete until he had made " the Grand Tour " of the continent. It was, then, in accordance with fashion, as well, no doubt, as with his own taste, that in 1638 Milton set out on a journey to Italy, f After some days in Paris, he passed on by way of Nice to Genoa, Leghorn, Pisa, and Florence, in which last city he spent about two months in the society of wits and men of letters. He seems to have been received with marked courtesy, and to have appreciated the reception. In or near Flor- ence he "found and visited the famous Galileo, grown old, a prisoner to the Inquisition for think- ing in Astronomy otherwise than the Franciscan and Dominican licencers thought," a martyr to truth who doubtless appealed strongly to Milton's indignation, and who would have touched him still more deeply could he have foreseen that one day they were to suffer in common the fate of blindness. After two months more spent in Rome, he visited Naples, and had intended to cross to Sicily I and go thence to Greece, when rumors of civil war I in England led him to turn his face homewards, "inasmuch," he says, "as I thought it base to be travelling at my ease for intellectual culture while my countrymen at home were fighting for liberty." 26 INTRODUCTION He may have learned that things had not gone so far as he feared, for he did not go directly to England, but paid second visits to Rome (where his boldness in religious discussion led him to run risks from the Jesuits), and to Florence, thence to Venice, Verona, Milan, and Geneva, and so by Paris to England, where we find him in August, 1639. His writings produced abroad were all in Italian or Latin, and seem to have brought him / considerable distinction among the Italian men of / letters whom he met. (6) Second Period (1640-1660) Thus was closed the period of Milton's education; and had public affairs permitted it, he might now have begun to carry out his plan for the great poem which was the most persistent of the many schemes he had meditated for literary production on a large scale. But public affairs did not permit it. Whatever view one takes of the merits of the political and religious questions involved, or of the permanent value of the prose writings which formed Milton's contribution to their settlement, it seems clear that a man of his temperament and principles could not have done otherwise than he did. There has been much not very fruitful dis- \ cussion on what he might have written in pure I literature had he turned his back^ugon thec^use y qfjiB^rtyT^e^a^^^Sose welfare waSTnsoeepest passion. Butsuch conduct in such a man would THE LIFE OF MILTON 27 have been desertion, and, according to his own principles, would have unfitted him for noble achievement in any field. Yet Milton did not plunge rashly into the con- flict. Shortly after he returned from the Conti- nent, the household at Horton was broken up, and he wea^bT^ndon to resume his studies, and I) decide on the formTa^d^ub]^c?*^fTn^gr^t poem. V Part of his time was occupied in teaching his two nephews, and afterwards he took under his care a small number of other youths, sons of his friends, T n TjH 2 ? hpuna,rri*H Mmy P"\v&\] } the daughter of an Oxfordshire Royalist. In about a month she left him and remained away for two years, at the end of which time she sought and obtained a reconciliation. She died in 1653 or 1654, leaving him three little daughters. He married a second time in 1656, but this wife lived only fifteen months after the marriage. The main occupation of his first years in London waSuXontroversy. We have said that liberty was MijtQjjVHeepestmssion, 3j^j^bGrt^?f^^urr(, up- the themej)Jns prose^ritings. There are " three species of liberty," he says, " which are essential to the happiness of social life religious, domestic, ancLcivil," and for all three Ke fought. Hislnost important prose works may, indeed, be roughly classed under these heads: \ INTRODUCTION 1. RELIGIOUS, A group of five pamphlets against Episcopacy (1641, 2). 2. DOMESTIC. This he subdivides as follows: a EDUCATION: one pamphlet (1644). b. MARRIAGE: four pamphlets on behalf of freedom of Divorce (1643-5). Milton's personal experience with his first wife seems to have first led to his consideration of this subject. c. FREE SPEECH: Areopagitica (1644), an argument in favor of unlicensed printing. This is the most important of Milton's prose writings regarded as literature. 3. CIVIL. A large number of pamphlets on questions arising out of the execution of Charles I and the establishment of a Com- monwealth (1649-1660). His prose writing continued into his last period, when he produced, among other things, a history of Britain to the Norman Conquest, and a Latin disquisition on Christian Doctrine, which is our chief source of information about his later theolog- ical opinions. Meanwhile, the crisis in national affairs was growing more acute. In 1639, the Scots had obtained from Charles, through force of arms, the temporary withdrawal of all attempts to force Episcopacy upon them. Soon, however, he had broken with them again, had called the Short THE LIFE OF MILTON 29 Parliament in order to obtain supplies, had been presented with a request for the redress of griev- ances, and had once more ordered a dissolution. A second attempt to subdue the Scotch resistance by force failed, and in November, 1640, Charles called the famous Long Parliament. This assem- bly began by instituting constitutional reforms with great energy, and later took up Church ques- tions. It was at this juncture that Milton entered the lists with his pamphlets against Episcopacy. 7 In 1642, the differences between Charles and V the Parliamentary party became so acute that civil war broke out; and after a struggle of four years it ended in the overthrow of the Realists, and the surrender of the King to the Scots aux- iliaries who had been fighting on the Parliamentary side in England. Now a new cause of controversy arose. The opponents of the King split into two parties, one desirous of establishing a strict and uniform national church on Presbyterian principles, with no toleration for dissenters, the other standing for the right of liberty of worship for those whose / consciences forbade their entering the established / Church. The latter party, supported by Cromwell V and the army, triumphed; and to this side Milton belonged. Charles, meanwhile, had been negotiated with again and again; had entered into a treaty with 30 INTRODUCTION the Scots with the result of bringing about a second civil war, which ended abruptly in the overthrow of his allies; and had finally been brought to trial by the army and the remnant of the Long Parlia- V ment, condemned, and executed (January, 1649). ^ England now became a Republic, and Milton threw himself into the task of defending the principles on which it had been established. He became officially associated with the new govern- ment as Secretary for Foreign Tongues, in which capacity he not only conducted its foreign corre- spondence, but also acted as its literary adviser and champion in the controversies by pamphlet that arose in connection with the execution of the King and the theory of the Commonwealth. It was in the midst of these activities that a great calamity fell upon him. The defence of the late King had been undertaken by the famous Dutch Latinist Salmasius in a Defensio Regia, and to Milton fell the task of replying to it. His eyesight, weakened even in childhood by overstudy, was now failing fast, and he was warned by physicians that it would go altogether if he persisted in this work. But to Milton the fight he had entered was no mere matter of professional employment as it was to his opponent, and he deliberately sacrificed what remained to him of light in the service of the cause to which he was devoted. The reply was a most effective one, but it left Milton hopelessly THE LIFE 0^ M1LTQJS 31 blind. With the aid of an assistant, however, he retained his office through the Protectorate of Cromwell, until the eve of the Restoration. (c) Third Period (1660-1674) Oliver Cromwell died in 1658, his son Richard succeeded him for a short time, and in 1660 Charles II. was restored to the throne. To the last Milton fought with tremendous earnestness against this catastrophe. For, to him, it was indeed a catas- trophe. The return of the Stuarts meant to him not only great personal danger, but, what was far more important, it meant the over- throw of all that he had for twenty years spent himself to uphold. It meant the setting up in government, in religion, and in society, of ideals and institutions that he could not but regard as the extreme of reaction and national degradation. J Almost by a miracle he escaped personal violence, v but he was of necessity forced into obscure retire- ment; and there, reduced in fortune, blind, and broken-hearted, he devoted himself to the pro- / auction of Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained. V The great schemes which in his early manhood he had planned and dreamed over, had for years been laid aside; but now at last he had a mournful leisure, and with magnificent fortitude he availed himself of the opportunity. Paradise Lost had been begun even before the King's return; in 1665 it was finished, and in 1667 32 INTRODUCTION the first edition appeared. Paradise Regained and Samson Agonistes were published in 1671. The History of Britain already mentioned, and a number of other prose works, chiefly of a personal and curious interest, were produced in the same period. In 1657, Milton's second wife, Catherine Wood- cock, had died. For about seven years after, he lived alone with his three daughters, whom he trained to read to him not merely in English, but in Latin, Greek, Italian, French, Spanish, and He- brew, though they did not understand a word of what they read. What little we know of their relations to their father is not pleasant. They seem to have been rebellious and undutiful, though doubtless there was much provocation. In 1663, Milton took a third wife, Elizabeth Minshull, who did much' to give ease and comfort to his last years, and who long survived him. The retirement in which he lived during this third period, when public affairs seemed to him to have gone all wrong, was not absolutely soli- tary. He was visited by a number of friends and admirers, men of culture and rank, and often by foreigners who wished, before they left London, to see the great Latinist who had humbled Salmasius. The harshness that appears in his controversial writings, and the somewhat unsympathetic aus- terity that seems to be indicated by his relations L' ALLEGRO AND IL PENSEROSO 33 with his first wife and his children, are to be coun- terbalanced in our minds by the impression of companionableness that we derive from the picture of the old blind poet, sought out by many who not merely admired his greatness, but found pleasure in his society, and counted it a privilege to talk with him and read to him. Stern and sad he could hardly fail to be, but his old age was peaceful and not bitter. He died on November 8, 1674, and was buried in the Church of St. Giles, Cripplegate, London. III. L 'ALLEGRO AND IL PENSEROSO jind II PmserosQjWQ believed to jiave They are com- panion studies 01 the cmiracteristic occupations of two men of different temperaments, or of the same man in two different moods. The plan of the t:wo pieces is in general the same. Both begin with an invocation and a fanciful mythological gene- alogy, and proceed to describe a series of imagined typical experiences. These follow roughly the times of the day in natural succession, but it is not to be supposed that in either case Milton meant the hero to include within one span of twenty-four hours all the occupations mentioned. : Thus L 'Allegro, the cheerful man, may rise with the lark, walk out among the blithe sounds of the early morning, observe the various occupations of 34 INTRODUCTION the country people, and in the evening sit by the fire and hear their rustic tales. Or he may spend his time among the brilliant gaieties of the court, or go to the theatre, or listen to light music. On the other hand, II Penseroso, the meditative man, hears the nightingale instead of the lark, and walking out by moonlight, he catches the sound of a far-off curfew over the waters. Or, if the evening is chill, he will sit by his fireside listening to the sounds in the street below, or studying philosophy and literature until the dawn. The congenial morning for him will be cloudy, with showers and wind, and when the sun begins to glare he will seek shades in the gloom of the forest, where he will drowse beside a murmuring stream. He will find delight, too, in the dim light of a great church, and in the solemn tones of the organ. His Jd age he would spend in the peaceful retirement of a hermitage* f Milton is supposed by some to have received suggestions for these poems from Burton's Anat- omy of Melancholy, especially the prefatory verses called The Author's Abstract of Melancholy, and from the song, Hence, all you vain delights, in Beaumont and Fletcher's The Nice Valour. In neither case is the obligation very clearly marked. Another probable source of suggestion, to which attention does not seem to have yet been called, is in John Marston's Scourge of Villainy , Satire xi; COMUS 35 Sleep, grim Reproof; my jocund Muse doth sing In other keys, to nimbler fingering. Dull-sprighted Melancholy, leave my brain- To hell, Cimmerian night! in lively vein I strive to paint, then thence all dark intent And sullen frowns! Come, sporting Merriment Cheek-dimpling Laughter, crown my very soul With jouisance, whilst mirthful jests control The gouty humours of these pride-swolTn days. 1 The resemblance of these lines, both in thought and phrasing, to the opening of U Allegro scarcely needs to be pointed out. Both poems contain the same variety of metres ,\ They open with ten liries of six and ten syllables alternately, while the main parts of the poems consist of lines of eight syllables. The accents fall as a rule on the even, but not infrequently on the odd, syllables, and' in the latter case, the line is one syllable shorter. The arrangement of rhymes in the opening lines is as follows: a b b a c d d e e c; throughout the rest of the poems the lines rhyme in pairs. IV. COMUS / During the reign of Charles I., as for a consider- 'able time previously, the government of certain outlying parts of the realm was presided over by noblemen with almost vice-regal state. Such was the position of Wentworth, afterwards Earl 1 The Works of John Marston, ed. by A. EL Bullen. London, 1887, vol. Ill, p. 371. 36 INTRODUCTION of Strafford, as Lord President of the North and later as Lord Deputy in Ireland, and such also was that of the Earl of Bridge water, who had been | created Lord President of Wales. The appoint- . ment was made in 1631, but the Earl does not seem to have actually entered upon his office until a year or tw r o later. At any rate, it was not till / the summer of 1634 that the celebrations in honor / of his inauguration were held; and it was these / celebrations that gave occasion for the writing of Comus. Mr. Henry Lawes, one of the mosc distinguished musicians of the time, and a person of experience in the presentation of court entertainments, was intimate both with the Bridgewaters to some of whom he had given instruction in music and with Milton. Indeed, he had already induced the young poet to write his Arcades for an enter- tainment to be given in honor of a member of the same noble family. It is more than probable, / then, that it was through Lawes that Milton came / to compose this work, so far his most considerable production. Lawes himself wrote the music for the songs, attended to the stage management, acted the very important part of the Attendant Spirit, and, some years later, obtained Milton's consent to the publication of the poem itself. The form of the entertainment was far from unusual at the time. The practice of dancing by COMUS 37 masked figures had existed as part of the revels 'on festive occasions in England for two or three centuries; but in the beginning of the sixteenth century, if not sooner, the additional feature of the dancing of the masquers with the spectators was introduced (from Italy, one chronicler seems to say), and the name masque was used of the performance. Throughout the reign of Elizabeth, / it underwent a considerable development, and / came to be a common episode in the regular/ drama, as well as a frequent part of the gorgeous/ entertainments in which that queen delighted.* f But it was not till the accession of James I. that, \ the* hfl.Tiffc_nf Ttem Jnrt^on^Jt took rank in Jandjis a form of literature/^ To the introductory speech and the occasional songs in which had hitherto mainly consisted the literary elements of the representation, Jonson added dialogue of varying length and the grotesque anti-masque, while the mechanical ingenuity of Inigo Jones and the musical ability of men like Lawes combined to build up those splendid and costly performances which were one of the chief sources of brilliancy in the court society of the reigns of James I. and Charles I. The form was at its point of highest V development when Milton produced Comus; and j an analysis of that performance into its most im- portant elements will sufficiently indicate the characteristics of the type. u 38 INTRODUCTION 1. The occasion was that of an important festivity in a great family. So royal accessions, progresses, weddings, and the like, were most frequently celebrated by a masque. 2. Most of the actors in Comus were members of a noble family. This was usual, and distin- guished the masque from the stage-plays performed by professional actors. 3. The long introductory speech by the At- tendant Spirit, in which the situation is explained to the audience, represents the prologue wtiich, spoken by a "presenter," was probably the first literary element to attach itself to the original masque dance. ' 4. At vv. 960 and 974 the words of the Spirit indicate courtly dancing of a different type from that of the rustics that has just taken place. This was doubtless taken part in by some members of the audience, as such mixed dances had been a feature of masques since the time of Henry VIII. at least. 5. The dance of monsters, introduced by vv. 143, 4, and the country dances referred to in vv. 951 ff. and 958, and indicated by the stage direc- tion at v. 957, are examples of the anti-masque used by Jonson to afford contrast and amusement. The anti-masque was frequently performed by professionals of whose names no records are preserved, and as Comus himself takes part in COMUS 39 the first one at v. 144, we may here have a reason why the name of the performer who acted this role has not been handed down. 6. The mythological element seen, for example, in the character and genealogy of Comus and of Sabrina,had for long been one of the characteristics of the type. The water-nymphs were especially common. 7. Since masques were usually produced in honor of some great personage, it was natural that flattering speeches and complimentary allusions should be prominent in the dialogue. Examples of this are found in Comus in the following pas- sages : a. To the Earl of Bridgewater, vv. 30-36. b. To the Bridgewater family, vv. 34, 966 - 975, and more especially to the Lady Alice Egerton, vv. 145-150, 244-264, 366 ff., 555-562, 739 ff., and her brothers, the Viscount Brackley and Mr. Thomas Egerton, vv. 297-303. c. To Mr. Henry Lawes, the musician, who acted Thyrsis, vv. 494-496. d. To the Welsh people, who were doubtless represented in the audience, v. 33. 8. The lyrics, which were added to the original dance very early in the development of the masque, are represented here by the song to Echo, vv. 230-243, the songs to Sabrina, w. 859-889, and *0 INTRODUCTION by Sabrfna, w. 890-900, as well as by the lyrical speeches of the Spirit at the end. pastoral element appears in. the disguise Spirit and Comus as shepherds, in the speeches made by them in this character, especially in such passages as w. 493-496, 540-548, and 822, 3, where reference is made to shepherds as devotees of the Muses, and in the dance of shep- herds in the second anti-masque. The presence of such features as these in this and other masques has led some critics to confuse the masque in general with the pastoral. 1 There is not, how- ever, any essential connection between the two types; though the conventions of pastoral poetry occasionally found their way into the masque as they did into other literary forms. 10., The didacticism by which^ Milton availed himself of a festive occasion to proclaim his belief in the supreme value of purity/had precedent in the practice Of Jonson. The earnestness and elevation, however, of this part of the work suggest how widely Milton's ideas of the scope and purpose of poetry differed from those of his prede- cessors in the masque and of his contemporaries * in English poetry generally. These points describe with some fullness the type of dramatic composition to which Comus be- longs. A comparison of this analysis with Milton's 1 See especially Macaulay's Essay on Milton. COMUS 41 poem as a whole shows how much its greatness depends on the use he made of the form, how little on. the form itself. The figure of_Comus, God of Cheer or of the Belly, had appeared in Ben Jonson's masque of ~fteaure Reconciled to Virtue in 1619, but the re- semblance to Milton's creation does not go much farther than what is implied in the name. Much more suggestive as a source is a curious ^ Latin work, written mostly in prose by a Dutch- man, Hendrik van der Putten. ComuSj sive Pha- gesiposia Cimmeria: Somnium, as it was called, had been published at Oxford in the year in which Comus was composed. It is " the description of a dream in which Comus, the genius of Love and Cheerfulness, appears to the author, declares him- self the lord of the whole wide realm of pleasure, and briefly expounds his idea of life." In a " won- drous structure, the palace of Comus, . . a feast is celebrated, the guests at which are masked; but those that one takes for men are Daunian and Getulian wolves, dangerous monsters by their bite, hiding their true n.ature under masks and hypocritical appearances Comus .... is found at a brilliant table surrounded by all the refinements of luxury. . . . During the feast Comus sings an ode on the mysteries of his wor- ship. . . . Then Tabutius, an old man, begins to moralize prolixly. . . . The themes which y 42 INTRODUCTION he handles are drunkenness, excess in eating, fre- quent banquets, . . . and the like." 1 \ In George Peele's Old Wives' Tale (pub. 1595), there are two brothers searching for a lost sister who has fallen into the power of an enchanter. The enchanter has learned his magic from his witch mother, and exercises it by means of a potion .which induces forge tfulness. Finally the enchantment is broken and the lady liberated. It contains also an echo-song, vaguely suggestive of the first lyric in Comus. There is no reason why Milton may not have read this play, and had one or two- of its features in mind when he constructed the plot of his masque, but the method of treat- f ment and the whole atmosphere of the two works are so utterly different that it would be a mistake to regard the Old Wives' Tale as in any important sense the original of Comus. Even less substantial are the resemblances to Fletcher's Faithful Shepherdess. This play, largely imitated from two Italian pastoral dramas, Tasso's Aminta and Guarini's Pastor Fido, is entirely different in plot from Comus, and it has no charac- ters which correspond. The resemblances chiefly consist in the fact that the virtue of chastity is the main theme of both, and in a number of small 1 Masson, Poetical Works of John Milton, Lond. and N. Y., 1894, vol. I, pp. 174-6, abridged from I. Schmidt's Milton's Comus, Berlin, 1860. LYCIDAS 43 details none of which is important enough to justify any decided statement about Milton's in- debtedness. In the Inner Temple Masque by William Browne / (1614), the chief character is Circe, whose attempts I to enchant Ulysses bear some likeness to the wiles of Comus. She is surrounded by nymphs and sirens (cf . Comus, vv. 252-257) and has a following of men in beasts' shapes who dance an anti- masque (cf. Comus, v. 144). It is probable that Milton derived suggestions from this production. Other sources of detail in Comus, such as the Circe episode from the Odyssey, are pointed out in the notes. The^ dialogue of Comus is written in the blank / verge of ten syllables with five accents, which^was/ the usual metre of the English drama. One pas- '' sage (yv. 495-512) is rhymed in couplets. There are besides two long lyrical passages (vv. 93-144 and 902-1023) in the same octosyllabic metre as the greater part of L 'Allegro and II Penseroso. The songs are made up of a variety of lines, vari- ously rhymed. V. LYCIDAS Lycidas was written in 1637, and published in the following year as the last of a collection of poems by various hands, lamenting the death of Edward King, a Fellow of Christ's College, Cam- bridge. In August, 1637, King had set out to 44 INTRODUCTION visit relatives in Ireland; but the vessel in which he was crossing the Irish Sea foundered and was lost. Milton and he had been at Christ's at the same time, and though the intimacy between them was not of such warmth as that existing between Milton and Charles Diodati, for whom he wrote his Latin elegy, (the Epitaphium Damonis) ,he yet seems to have known King well, and to have had a sincere admiration for both his character and his ability. The poem is a pastoral elegy following the tra- dition begun by Theocritus. In works of this type, the scene is laid in a fanciful Sicily or Ar- cadia, whose inhabitants are figured as shepherds, spending th^ir days watching their sheep and playing on their pipes of straw. The example of \ the Sicilian School had been followed by Vergil and other classical writers, and with the Renais- sance there had come a great revival of the pas- toral throughout western Europe. The idea had been used not only in elegy but also in prose romance and in the drama; and Milton had Eng- lish examples in such works as Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia and The Faithful Shepherdess of John Fletcher. He had already employed the pastoral fiction in Arcades and in parts of Comus, and throughout the present poem the setting and imagery are of this nature. LYCIDAS 45 The poem opens with a statement of the occasion (vv. 1-14), and this is followed by the conventional invocation of the Muses (vv. 15-22). The pastoral proper begins with v. 23, where he images the life of King and himself while students at Cambridge, following the same studies and alike x experimenting in poetr}^ as that of two young * shepherds, born on the same hillside, herding their flocks together, and piping on the oaten flute. This figure is kept up throughout the poem, ex- cept in the digressions. The first of these (vv. 64-84) deals~with Poetry and J^ame^and is very significant of the spirit in which Milton devoted himself to a poetical career. In it he rises from the lower view uf Fame as mere worldly reputation to a conception of it as the stamp of (Jivine approval The lament is then resumed (v. 85) in an attempt to fix the blame for the disaster, and at v. 108 St. Peter is introduced as the guardian of the church he founded, lamenting the death of so v promising a youth at a time when the ministry was crowded with hirelings. In this digression on the state of the English Church, the service of which King had intended to enter, we have a 1 splendid bur?t of indignation against those abuses which from Milton's point of view were bringing the Church into deeper and deeper degradation. 1 1 See Section I of this Introduction. 46 INTRODUCTION His hope that a short and effective remedy was at hand is expressed in'vv. 130, 1. The elegy proper is then taken up again (vv. 165-185), and he rises from the tone of regret that has prevailed hitherto to a triumphant assertion of his friend's immortality. In these lines he leaves the classical and pagan allusions, which, following the tradition of the pastoral, he had freely introduced in the earlier pages, and adopts the language of the New Testament. In the last eight lines we have a kind of epilogue in which Milton separates himself from the speaker in the foregoing lament, tells of the close of the shepherd's lay., and refers symbolically to his own approaching change of occupation. The metre of Lycidas consists mainly of ^ten- syllabled lines, with the accents on the even sylla- bles. It is rhymed^lrregularly^but with the most subtly musical effectTanoT^t is varied by the occasional introduction of a blank verse line and of a shorter line of three accents. 1 So successfully has Milton used this freedom that the poem ranks as one of the most varied and best sustained pieces of rhythm in the language. 1 For examples of blank verse lines, see vv. 1, 22, 39. 51, 82, 91, 161; of lines of three accents, see vv. 4, 19, 21, 33, 41, 43, 48, 56, 79, 88, 90, 95, 108, 145. MILTON'S PURITANISM 47 VI. MILTON'S PURITANISM In reading the poems of Milton contained in the present volume, it is easy to be at a loss to account for what may appear their inconsistency with Puritanism, as Puritanism is ordinarily conceived. L' Allegro and II Penseroso both show a genuine delight in_art, and a capacity for sheer pleasure which Puritanism is_supppsed to Jiava_shunn@d. Comus ^Belongs to^a type of dramatic literature which, more than any other, is associated with the pleasure-loving Cavalier society, and which is particularly identified with that Court the downfall of which the triumph of Puritanism implied. And LycidaSj in spite of the outburst on the cor- ruption in the Church, shows an anxious care for that Church itself the Church which Puritanism attempted to transform, if not to destroy. How is the author of such poems to be accounted a Puritan? The explanation lies in a clearer understanding, first, of the history of Puritanism itself; and, sec- ond, of the growth of Milton's opinions. In the first section of this Introduction, there has been indicated a gradual development of Puri- tan sentiment with regard to ritual and doctrine. This was brought about largely by the innovations of the High Church party; for, as that party at- tempted more and more effectually to introduce its views and practices into the Established 48 INTRODUCTION Church, the Puritans were led to define more clearly and emphasize more strongly their points of difference. Partly, perhaps, through the ani- mus of controversy, partly through logical neces- sity, these points of difference increased in number and apparent importance. They began to appear in fields that had at first been quite remote from the dispute. Thus, in the earlier part of the seventeenth century, there had been many English gentlemen, Puritan in theology, who were lovers of the beautiful in art, in literature, and, like Milton's father, in music; and who, whil6 rig- orously pure in their private morals, were yet gen- erous in their culture and cheerful in their attitude towards life. But it was by the Cavalier that the pleasure-giving sides of life were most assiduously cultivated; and when the Puritans found them- selves forced by the ecclesiastical and political issues of the time to take sides against the Cav- aliers, they were led by the violence of the more extreme members of their party to relegate to the background those aesthetic tastes which they held in common with the more refined men of the oppo- site party, and finally, in many cases, to regard all such things as wiles of" the devil. Thus became predominant that narrow and unlovely typ'Q of Puritanism which to-day is so often regarded as the only one; while, as a matter of fact, it was only the triumph of an extreme party brought about MILTON'S PURITANISM 49 by the open rupture with those who, whatever may have been their vices, were generous in their view of the place of beauty in life. Now Milton, by upbringing and by tempera- ment, belonged to the more moderate and cultured group of Puritans. He was brought up in a refined home, his father was a man of artistic sensibilities, and the poet himself received, as we have seen, a mo^liberal^eclujcatipn. His purpose, cherished till manhood, of becoming a clergyman, along with the passage in II Penseroso which shows his appreciation of beautiful architecture and music in the services of the Church, is sufficient to disprove any natural aversion to the English Church itself. Further, he deliberately chose an artistic career; and after the turmoil of the Puritan Revolution was over, he returned to it. For nothing are the poems in the present volume more notable than for their artistic qualities. But keen as was Milton's love of art, there were things for which he cared still more. Throughout these earlier productions we find him constantly awake to the moral questions suggested by his subject. Comus, a poem written ostensibly for the entertSmment ot a lestive gathering;, "Isf an expfessionT of his convictions on fundamental moral problems.JIK n diligence, the necessity of the strictest personal purity for the best results, whether in thinking or 50 INTRODUCTION living, the conviction that Virtue must in the long run triumph these things, and not the celebration of the inauguration of the Earl of Bridgewater, are the real themes of the masque. The passion in Lycidas rises to its highest pitch, not in ex- pressions of grief over the death of his friend, but in an almost irrelevant burst of righteous indig- nation over the degradation of the holy office, and the falsehood and hypocrisy and selfishness which were undermining the foundations of the Church. When he was on the threshold of his career, national events turned this moral enthusiasm into a new channel. The sacred principle of liberty was in danger. Without hesitation, Milton laid aside his poetry and turned to the service of the cause which seemed to him to call most loudly for help; and since the upholders of that cause had in many cases no sympathy with those other interests to which he had expected to devote himself, the period of his active association with them is al- ^n\ns,t- {wren of poetical production. Yet the old ideal was befor^ETm still; and when, old, blind, and disappointed of the .results of his long hope and endeavor, he retired to his obscure corner, it was not like Swift, " to die like a poisoned rat in a hole/' but to take up the task that he had always regarded as his, and to carry it to a glorious consummation. Paradise Lost may be the epic of MILTON'S PURITANISM 51 a dead or dying theology; Samson Agonistes may be the grim deathsong of the ruined Roundhead ; but in both Milton is the artist still, and the last- ing proof of the possibility of the combination of Puritanism and culture. L'ALLEGRO HENCE, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born In Stygian cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy! '.jzJ^ 5 Find out gome uncoSith cell, Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night-raven sings; There, under ebon shades and low-browed rocks, As ragged as thy locks, 10 In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. But come,\thou Goddess fair land free, In heaven yclept EiiphxQs^jae, And by men heart-easing Mirth, Whom lovely Venus, at a birth, is With two! sister Graces more, To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore: - Or whether (as some sager sing) e faolie wind tlmt breathes the spring, Stiyr, with Aurora playing, s met her once a-Maying, There, on beds of violets blue, And fresh-blown roses washed in dew, Filled her with thee, a daughter fair, 54 . MILTON'S MINOR POEMS Scrbuxom, blithe, and debonair. jx^Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee "Jest, and youthful , Quips and cranks ^xNods and becks and wreathed smiles, ~ * X Such as hang on Hebe's che&J?^* r * r " % *\^ \" And love to live in dimple sleek; ao Sport that wrinkled Care derides, AndLaughter holding both his sides. / I Come, and trip it, as you go, -\0n the light fantastic toe; / And in thy right hand lead with thee 35 The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty ;/ And, if I give thee honour due, Mirth, admit me of thy crew, To live with her, and live with thee, unreproved pleasures free: To hear the lark begin his flight, "^ And, singing, startle the dull night, f :>"" From his watch-tower in the skies, /-Till the dapplgd dawn doth rise; Then to come, hi spite of sorrow, & And at my window bid good-morrow, Through the sweet-briar or the vine, ^y^Or the twisted eglantine; \VTiile the cock, with lively din, Scatters the rear of darkness thin, $ / And to the stack, or the barn-door, ,, Stoutly struts his dames before: L'ALLEGRO 55 Oft listening how the hounds and horn/*' ^xCheerly rouse the slumbering morn, Y^^aT^^^ s^ From the side of some hoar hill, / Through the high wood echoing shrill: y Sometime! walking! not uijseen, By hedgqrow elmsL on hillocks green, Right atainstl tha eastern gate,, eo Where the great Sun begins his stai Robed in flames and amber light, jj^The clouds in thousand liveries dight; II N^ ' mtit '_ 1 , While the plowman, near at hand, & Whistles o'er the furrowed land, the milkmaid singeth blithe, /'And the mower whets his scythe, ^ Q* f /And every shepherd tells hiT^al^ the ha\vthorn in the dale. r Straight 'mine eye hath caught new pleasures 70 Whilst the landskip roun ^Russet lawnsj and f -/Where the nibbling flocks do stray; f .Mountains on whose barren breast The labouring clouds do often rest; ^d Meadows trim, with daisies pied; i^hallow brooks, and rivers wide; "Towers and bat%m,ents.it sees Where perhaps some beauty lies, so " v l 'ne cynosure of neighbouring eyes. Hard by a cottage chimney smokes ^ 66 MILTON'S MINOR POEMS xTYom betwixt two aged oaks, ^^* - Where Corydon and Thyrsis met feT^T. Are at their savoury dinner jSt lyH^Crvj Of herbs and other countryTmlsses, Which the neat-handed Phyllis dresses; And then in haste her bower she leaves, With Thestylis to bind the sheaves; Or, if the earlier season lead, >*To thekannedfcaykKJck inUhe_mead. * Sometimes with ^XtSometimes,! with The upland hamlets will invite, When the merry bells ring round, the jocund rebecks sound To many a youth and many a maid Dancing in the chequered shade, And young and old come forth to play x On a sunshine holiday, ^,-Till the livelong daylight fail: /Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, With stories told of many a feat, How Faery Mab the junkets eat.- was pinched and pulled, she said; And he, by Friar's lantern, led, . Tells how the drudging goblin sweat To earn his cream-bowl duly set, ^/When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn That ten day-labourers couklnot end; Then lies him down, the lubber-fiend, L'ALLEGRO 67 ^ ( And, stretched out all s Basks at the fire his hairy strength, And crop-full out of doors he flings, ^ Ere the first cock his matin pings. 115 Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, ^ ( By whispering winds soon lulled asleep.!/ ^Towered cities please us then, v- XAnd the busy hum of men, -^y Where throngs of knights and barons bold, <***Zyi*& ,., Jk*^&&r ,1 isoInsAveeds of peace, nigh friumpns hold, With storemmdies, whose bright eyes Rain influence, and judge the prize Of wit or arms, while both contend To win her grace whorn jjll < $ rlm end. There let Hymeiaottappfer ^ In saffron robe7"with taper clear, And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask and antique pageantry; Such sights as youthful poets dream 130 On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon> If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, /Warble his native wood-notes wild, 135 And ever, against eating cares, ^Lap me in soft Lydian airs, , ''JtMarried to immor^^verse, jr Such as the Tmeetrngsoul may pierce, In notes with many a winding bout 58 MILTON'S MINOR POEMS Of linked sweetness long drawn out 140 With wanton heed and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running, Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony; That Orpheus' self may heave his head 145 From golden slumber on a bed Of heaped Elysian flowers, and hear Such strains as would have won the ear Of Pluto to have quite set free His half-regained Eurydice. iso These delights if thou canst give, / Mirth, with thee I mean to live. ^* r\ IL \PENSEROSO 1 Hence, vain, deluding Joys, The brood of EoUywithout father bred! How little you bested; Or fill the fixM mind with all your toys! 6 Dwell in some, idle bram, /? . , e . X^^^ry *^f^\^ \ And fanciesvfond with^gaudy shapes) possess, As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sun-beams, Or likest ho vermg* dreams, The fickle pensi6ners*bf Morpheus' train. But, hail! thou Goddess sage and holy! Hail, divinest Melancholy! i Whose saintly/visage is too bright i ToTut^'trie 1 sense of human sigjjt, is And therefore to our O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's : Black, but such as in esteem Prince Memnon's sister might beseem, Or that starred Ethiop queen that strove 20 To set her beauty's praise above The Sea-Nymph's, and their powers offended. Yet thou art higher far descended: , Thee bright-haired Vesta long of yore ) To solitary Saturn bore; 96 His*jfaughter she; in Saturn's reign, . 60 MILTON'S MINOR POEMS Such mixture was not held a stain. Oft|in glim^nering|bowers)and glades He metiher, and' in scfcret shades Of woody Ida's inmost 1 grove. Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove. so Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure* - Sober, steadfast, and I demure, All hi a robejof daijkest grain, ' Flowing \witn (majestic tram, And sable stole^f cypress lawn 35 Over thy ofcenr^houlders. drawn ' e; but keep thy wonted ^m^7^ With even step, and musing gait, And looks commercing with the skies. Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes: 40 There, held hi holy passion still, Forget thyself to marble, till With a < gaaladen downward cast Thou fix them on the earth as fast. And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, 45 Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet, And hears the Muses in a ring Aye round about Jove's altar sing; And add to these retired Leisure, That in trim gardens takes his pleasure; sc But, first and chief est, with thee bring Him that yon soars on golden wing, ^ Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, The Cherub Contemplation; IL PENSEROSO 61 55 And the mute Silence hist along, /X'Less Philomel will deign a song,& In her sweetest saddest plight,!*^ Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, -f** While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke yeo Gently o'er th' accustomed oak. ; Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy! *- Thee, chauntress, oft the woods among I woo, to hear thy even-song; es And, missing thee, I walk unseen On the dry smooth-shaven green,-^ To behold the wandering moon, -^ Riding near her highest noon, Like one that had been led astray 70 Through the heaven's wide pathless way, "" And oft, as if her head she bowed, Stooping through a fleecy cloud. ~ Oft, on a plat of rising ground, I hear the far-off curfew sound, 75 Over some wide-watered shore, " ^* ^Swinging slow with sullen roar; y-Or, if the air will not permit, Some still removed place will fit, Where glowing embers through the room so Teach light to counterfeit a gloom, - Far from all resort of mirth, * "* - ** Save the cricket on the hearth, Or the bellman's drowsy charm +* 1 ** 62 MILTON'S MINOR POEMS To bless the doors from nightly harm. Or let my lamp, at midnight hour, Be seen in some high lonely tower, Where I may oft outwatch the Bear, With thrice great Hermes, or The spirit of Plato, to unfold What worlds or what vast regions hold The immortal mind that hath forsook Her mansion in this fleshly nook; And of those demons that are found In fire, air, flood, or underground, Whose power hath a true consent With planet or with element. Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptred pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine, r what (though rare) of later age Ennobled hath the buskined stage. But, sad Virgin! that thy power Might raise Musseus from his bower; Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what love did seek; Or call up him that left half told The story of Cambuscan bold, Of Camball, and of Algarsife, And who had Canace to wife, TJ* PFNSEKOSO That owned the virtuous ring and glass, And of the wondrous horse of brass us On which the Tartar king did ride; And if aught else great bards beside In sage and solemn tunes have sung, Of tourneys, and of trophies hung, , Of forests, and enchantments drear, 120 Where more is meant then meets the ear. Thus, .^" me m thy P a ^ e career, appear, Not tnckeoand frounced, as she was wont With the Attic boy to hunt, 125 But kerchieft in a comely cloud, - While rocking winds are piping loud, Or ushered with a shower still, When the gust hath blown his fill,- \ Ending on 4he t rustling Jeave 1T7UU *YWl fc L **T V ^"A* ' " 130 With minute-drops from on the eave , when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, - And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, 135 Of pine, or monumental oak, Where the rude axe with heaved stroke's- 'Was never heard the nymphs to daunt, for fright them from their hallowed haunt*) ; There in close covert, by some brook, i40 Where no profaner eye may look, \ Hide me from day's garish eye, 6* MILTON'S MINOR POEMS ^* While the bee with honeyed thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring, s With such consort as they keep, I4g ^ Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep. And let some strange mysterious dream ^Wave at his wings, in airy stream Of lively portraiture displaced, "Softly on my eyelids laid; . 15C And, as I wake, sweet music breathe Above, about, or underneath, Sent by some Spirit to mortals good, Or the unseen Genius of the wood. -But let my due feet never fail ^ To walk the studious cloister's pale, AII ; i vi \~-K itr i rf-r*- ,. And love the high emuowed roof, AncFstonea windows richly digrit, 'asting a dim religious light. 16C There let the pealing organ blow, To the full-voiced quire below, In service high and anthems clear, As may with sweetness, through mine ear, Dissolve me into ecstasies, 165 L. And bring all Heaven before mine eyes. pAnd may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage. t^^u. ^J^ww r\ <^ K^CSS^ Ine hairy gown and mossy cell, '' " gr / ' A ^ Q-JX- f^ Where I may sit and rightly spell o#*^* ** 170 IL PENSEROSO 65 every st^r that heaven doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew, Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain. 35 These pleasures, Melancholy, give: .And I with thee will choose to live. COMUS A MASQUE PRESENTED AT LUDLOW CASTLE, 1634, BEFORE THE EARL OF BRIDGEWATER, THEN PRESIDENT OF WALES THE PERSONS The ATTENDANT SPIRIT, afterwards in the habit of THYRSIS. COMUS, with his crew. THE LADY. FIRST BROTHER. SECOND BROTHER. SABRINA, the Nymph. The Chief Persons which presented were The LORD BRACKLEY; Mr. THOMAS EGERTON, his brother; The Lady ALICE EGERTON. The First Scene Discovers a Wild Wood The ATTENDANT SPIRIT descends or enters BEFORE the starry threshold of Jove's court My mansion is, where those immortal shapes Of bright aerial spirits live insphered In regions mild of calm and serene air, Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot \ 66 COMUS 67 Which men call Earth, and, with low-thoughted care, Confined and pestered in this pinfold here, Strive to keep up a frail and feverish being, Unmindful of the crown that Virtue gives, 10 After this mortal change, to her true servants Amongst the enthroned gods on sainted seats. Yet some there be that by due steps aspire To lay their just hands on that golden key That opes the palace of eternity. 15 To such my errand is; and, but for such, I would not soil these pure ambrosial weeds With the rank vapours of this sin-worn mould. But to my task. Neptune, besides the sway Of every salt flood and each ebbjng strain,* 20 Took in by lot, 'twixt high and neffier Imperial rule of all the sea-girt isles That, like to rich and various gems, inlay The unadorned bosom of the deep; Which he, to grace his tributary gods, 25 By course commits to several government, And gives them leave to wear their sapphire crowns And wield their little tridents. But this Isle, The greatest and the best of all the main, He quarters to his blue-haired deities; 30 And all this tract that fronts the falling sun 4^ioble Peer of mickle trust and power "~ Has in his charge, with tempered awe to guide 68 MILTON'S MINOR POEMS An old and haughty nation, proud in arms: Where his fair offspring, nursed in princely lore, I Are coming to attend their father's state, 35 And new-intrusted sceptre. But their way /Lies through the perplexed paths of this drear wood, The nodding horror of whose shady brows Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger; And here their tender age might suffer peril, 48 But that, by quick command from sovran Jove, I was dispatched for their defence and "guard: And listen why; for I will tell you now What never yet was heard in tale or song, From old or modern bard, in hall or bower. 45 Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape "Crushed the sweet poison of misused wine, I After the Tuscan mariners transformed, / Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listed, >0n Circe's island fell. (Who knows not Circe, 50 ^SThe daughter of the Sun, whose charmed cup Whoever tasted lost his upright shape, And downward fell into a grovelling swine?) This Nymph, that gazed upon his clustering locks, With ivy berries wreathed, and his blithe youth, 55 Had by him, ere he parted thence, a son I Much like his father, but his mother more, \Whom therefore she brought up, and Comus named: Who, ripe and frolic of his full-grown age, COMUS 69 eo Roving the Celtic and Iberian fields, At last betakes him to this ominous wood, And, in thick shelter of black shades imbowered, Excels his mother at her mighty art; Offering to every weary traveller 65 His orient liquor in a crystal glass, To quench the drouth of Phoebus; which as they taste (For most do taste through fond intemperate thirst), Soon as the potion works, their human count 'nance. The express resemblance of the gods, is changed 70 Into some brutish form of wolf or bear, Or ounce or tiger, hog, or bearded goat, All other parts remaining as they were. And they, so perfect is their misery, Not once perceive their foul disfigurement, 75 But boast themselves more comely than before, And all their friends and native home forget, To roll with pleasure in a sensual sty. Therefore, when any favoured of high Jove Chances to pass through this adventurous glade, so Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star I shoot from heaven, to give him safe convoy, ASJLQW I do. But first I must put off These my sky-robes, spun out of Iris' woof, And take the weeds and likeness of a swain 85 That to the service of this house belongs, Who, with his soft pipe and smooth-dittied song, 70 MILTON'S MINOR POEMS / \ Well knows to still ;the wild winds when they roar, And hush the waving woods; nor of less faith, And in this office of his mountain watch Likeliest, and nearest to the present aid gc Of this occasion. But I hear the tread Of hateful steps; I must be viewless now. COMUS enters , with a charming-rod in one hand, his glass in the other: with him a rout of monsters, headed like sundry sorts of wild beasts, but other- wise like men and women, their apparel glistering. They come in making a riotous and unruly noise, with torches in their hands. Comus. The star that bids the shepherd fold, Now the top of heaven doth hold; Ami the gilded car of_day_ 95 His glowing axle doth allay In the steep Atlantic stream; And the slope sun his upward beam Shoots against the dusky pole, Pacing toward the other goal 100 Of his chamber in the east. Meanwhile, welcome joy and feast, Midnight shout and revelry, Tipsy dance and jollity. Braid your locks with rosy twine, leg Dropping odours, dropping wine. Rigor now is gone to bed; And Advice with scrupulous head, COMUS 71 Strict Age, and sour Severity, 110 With their grave saws, in slumber lie. We, that are of purer fire, Imitate the starry quire, Who, in their nightly watchful spheres, I Lead in swift round the months and years. us The sounds and seas, with all their finny drove, Now to the moon in wavering morrice move; And on the tawny sands and shelves Trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves; By dimpled brook and fountain-brim, 120 The wood-nymphs, decked with daisies trim, Their merry wakes and pastimes keep : What hath night to do with sleep? Night hath better sweets to prove; Venus now wakes, and wakens Love. 125 Come, let us our rites begin; ; Tis only daylight that makes sin, Which these dun shades will ne'er report. (Hail, goddess of nocturnal sport, Dark- veiled Cotytto, to whom the secret flame 130 Of midnight torches burns! mysterious dame, That ne'er art called but when the dragon womb Of Stygian darkness spets her thickest gloom, And makes one blot of all the air! Stay thy cloudy ebon chair, 135 Wherein thou ridest with Hecat', and befriend Us thy vowed priests, till utmost end Of all thy dues be done, and none left out; 72 MILTON'S MINOR POEMS Ere the blabbing eastern scout, The nice Morn on the Jndian_steep, From her cabined loop-hole peep, no And to the tell-tale Sun descry Our concealed solemnity. Come, knit hands, and beat the ground In a light fantastic round.) The Measure Break off, break off! I feel the different pace 145 Of some chaste footing near about this ground. Run to your shrouds within these brakes and trees; Our number may affright. Some virgin sure (For so I can distinguish by mine art) Benighted in these woods! Now to my charms, 150 And to my wily trains: I shall ere long Be well stocked with as fair a herd as grazed About my mother Circe. Thus I hurl My dazzling spells into the spongy air, Of power to cheat the eye with blear illusion, 155 And give it false preserftments, lest the place And my quaint hffiitsbreed astonishment, And put the damsel to suspicious flight; Which must not be, for that's against my course. I, under fair pretence of friendl^ends, ieo And well-placed words of glozing courtesy, Baited with reasons not unplausible, Wind me into the easy-hearted man, COMUS 73 And hug him into snares. When once her eyj 165 Hath met the virtue of this magic dust, I shall appear some hamiless villager, Whom thrift keeps < up*atx)ut his country g^ar. But here she comes; I fairly step aside, And hearken, if I may her business hear. The LADY enters 170 Lady. This way the noise was, if mine ear be true, My best guide now. Methought it was the sound Of riot and ill-managed merriment, Such as the jocund flute or gamesome pipe Stirs up among the loose unlettered hinds, 175 When, for their teeming flocks and granges full, In wanton^ dance they praise the bounteous Pan, And thank the gods amiss. I should be loth To meet the rudeness and swilled insolence Of such late wassailers; yet, oh! where else iso Shall I inform my unacquainted feet In the blind mazes of this tangled wood? My brothers, when they saw me wearied out With this long way, resolving here to lodge (Under the spreading favour of these pines,) 185 Stepped, as they said, to the next thicket-side To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit As the kind hospitable woods provide. They left me then, when the grey-hooded Even, Like a sad votarist in palmer's weed, 74 MILTON'S MINOR POEMS Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus' wain. 190 But where they are, and why they came not back, Is now the labour of my thoughts. Tis likeliest They had engaged their wandering steps too far; And envious darkness, ere they could return, Had stole them from me. Else, thievish Night, 195 Why shouldst thou, but for some felonk)ii end, In thy dark lantern thus close up the stars That Nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps With everlasting oil to give due light /To the misled and lonely traveller? ) 200 This is the place, as well as I may guess, Whence even now the tumult of loud mirth Was rife, and P e ^^^_^Y listening ear; Yet nought but smgJ^oa^^ss do I find. What might this be? A thousand fantasies 205 Begin to throng into my memory, Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names On sands and shores and desert wildernesses. These thoughts may startle well, but not astound 210 The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended By a strong-siding champion, Conscience. Oh, welcome, pure-eyed Ijjith. white-handed Hoge, Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings, And thou, unblemished form of Chastity! 215 I see ye visibly, and now believe That He, the Supreme Good, to whom all things ill COMUS 75 Are but as slavish officers of vengeance, Would send a glistering guardian, if need were, 220 To keep my life and honour unassailed .... Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud (Turn forth her silver lining on the night? \ I did not err: there does a sable cloud Turn forth her silvei lining on the night, 225 And casts a gleam over this tufted grove.") I can not hallo to my brothers, but Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest I'll venture; for my new-enlivened spirits Prompt me, and they perhaps are not far off. Song 230 Sweet Echo, sweetest n YffiP]i i that liv'st unseen Within thy ajry^lhdl^^ / j if i * ^^^ By slow Meander's marg&nt*green, And in the violet-embroidered vale Where the love-lorn nightingale 235 Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well: Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair That likest thy Narcissus are? 0, if thou have Hid them in some flowery cave, 240 Tell me bi^where,^ Sweet Queen ofTParley,Daughter of the Sphere! So may'st thou be translated to the skies, And give resounding grace to all Heaven's har- monies. 76 MILTON'S MINOR POEMS Comus. Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment? 345 Sure something holy lodges in that breasi, And with-ihese raptures moves the vocal air To testify^ hidden residence. How sweetly did they float upon the wings Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night, 250 At everylallsmoothing the raven down Of darkness till it smiled! I have oft heard My mother Circe with the Siren*three, Amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades, Culling their potent herbs and baleful drugs, 255 Who, as they sung, would take the prisoned soul, And lap it in Elysium: Scylla wept, And chid her barking waves into attention, And fell Charybdis murmured soft applause. Yet they in pleasing slumber lulled the sense, see And in sweet madness robbed it of itself; But such a sacred and home-felt delight, Such sober certainty of waking bliss, I never heard till now. I'll speak to her, And she shall be my queen. Hail, foreign wonder! 265 Whom, certain, these rough shades did never breed, Unless the goddess that in rural shrine Dwell'st here with Pan or Sylvan, by blest song Forbidding every bleak unkindly fog To touch the prosperous growth of this tall wood. 270 COMUS 77 Lady. Nay, gentle shepherd 111 is lost that praise That is addressed to unattending ei Not any boast of skill, but extigmeshift How to regain my severed company, 275 Compelled me to awake the courteous Echo To give me answer from her mossy couch. Comus. What chance, good Lady, hath bereft you thus? Lady. Dim darkness, and this leavy labyrinth* Comus. Could that divide you from near- ushering guides? ^f***f >***<*^***&*i 280 Lady. They left me weary on a grassy turf. Comus. By falsehood, or discourtesy, or why? Lady. To seek i' the valley some cool friendly spring. Comus. And left your fair side all unguarded, Lady? .Lady. They were but twain, and purposed quick return. 285 Comus. Perhaps forestalling night prevented them. Lady. How easy my misfortune is to hit! Comus. Imports their loss, beside thejpresent npprl? *L fcflu^* -te~*- vv^%>*^t>^^ llCt/Ll. *J* ****** Lady. No less than if I should my brothers lose. Comus. Were they of manly prime, or youthful bloom? 29c Lady. As smooth as Hebe's their unrazored lips 78 MILTON'S MINOR POEMS Comus. Two such I saw, what time the laboured ox In his loose traces from the furrow came, And the swinked hedger at his supper sat. I saw them under a green mantling vine, That crawls along the side of yon small hill, 295 Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots: ^^^fcAxV^ Their port wafc more than human, as they stood. I took it for a faery vision Of some gay creatures of the ele$"en% That in the colours of the rainbow live, soo And play i' the *pn^ea clouds. I was awe- strook, And, as I passed, I worshiped. If those you seek, It were a journey like the path to Heaven To help you find them. Lady. Gentle villager, What readiest way would bring me to that place? 305 Comus. Due west it rises from this shrubby point. Lady. To find that out, good shepherd, I sup- pose, In such a scant allowance of star-light, Would overtask the best land-pilot's art, Without the sure guess of well-practised feet. ao Comus. I know each lane, and every alley green, Dingle, or bushy dell, of this wild wood, QJ- t.-nj\i M*( f}\'~~* f ~ And every oosky bffnrnTrom side to side, My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood; COMUS 79 315 AncLifYOur stray attendance be yet lodged, Or^nromwithin these limits, I shall kiiow Ere morrow wake, or the low-roosted lark From her thatched pallet rouse. If otherwise, I can conduct you, Lady, to a low 320 But loyal cottage, where you may be safe Till further quest. Lady. Shepherd, I take thy word, And trust thy honest-offered courtesy; Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds, With smoky rafters, than in tapestry halls 325 And courts of princes, where it first was named, And yet is most pretended.^ In a place |*1K