s OF T II R tt n ;( II' I 8 ill ;PO & T sS. , \\- rr [[ I > i ( )'( ; R A P H.I c A i , and ( ' \\ t T t < .\ L P p. K ?AC i% -s . i^ v JD'f A^^ir ;)<)>', P P. [>'T.E!> I i ! IT. ADVERTISEMENT. IHE object of this Work, which is entirely new, is to comprise, within a single volume, a chronolo- gical series of our classical Poets, from Ben Jonson to Beattie, without mutilation or abridgement, with Biographical and Critical notices of their Authors. The contents of this volume are so comprehensive, that few poems, it is believed, are omitted, except such as are of secondary merit, or unsuited to the perusal of youth. The Work, within these bounds, may be termed a " Library of Classical English Poetry," and may safely be recommended to the heads of Schools in general, and to the libraries of Young Persons. Printed by A. and 11. Spottiswoode, CONTENTS. Page BEN JONSON. o William Camden ' 2 om Cynthia's Revels ib. -om the Silent Woman ib. ags ib. pitaph on the Countess of Pembroke, Sister to Sir Philip Sidney ib. n Lucy Countess of Bedford 3 mg to Celia ib. 5 the Same ib. om the Shepherd's Holiday ib. 3ve, a little Boy. From the Masque on Lord Haddington's Marriage ib. pitaph on Elizabeth L.H 4 COWLEY. ie Motto. Tentnnda via estj &c 6 onour ib. f Myself ib. ie Chronicle. A Ballad ib. tiacreontics : or some Copies of Verses, trans- lated paraphrastically out of Anacreon. I. Love ' 7 IT. Drinking ib. Ill, Beauty ib. V. Age 8 VII. Gold ib. III. The Epicure ib. IX. Another ib. X. The Grasshopper ib. XL The Swallow ib. egy upon Anacreon ; who was choaked by a Grape-stone. Spoken by the God of Love 9 Ie, from Catullus. Acme and Septimius... 10 ie Complaint ib. ymn to Light 11 'ainst Hope 12 r Hope 13 audian's Old Man of Verona, ib. ie Wish ib. om the Davideis 14 MILTON. 'Allegro 17 Penseroso 18 ycidas 19 ins 21 ami Page Paradise Lost. In Twelve Books. Book 1 29 II 35 III 43 IV 49 V 57 VI 64 VII 70 VIII 75 IX 80 X 89 XI 97 XII 104 Paradise Regained. In Four Books. Book 1 109 II 113 III 117 IV. 120 Samson Agonistes; a Dramatic Poem 126 Christmas Hymn 140 WALLER. To Amoret 143 To the Same ib. Of Love ib. Of the Marriage of the Dwarfs 144 A Panegyric to my Lord Protector, of the Present Greatness, and Joint Interest, of his Highness and this Nation ib. Of English Verse 146 The Story of Phrebus and Daphne applied ... ib. Song ib. To Phyllis ib. On a Girdle 147 To Zelinda ib. To a Lady ib. DRYDEN. 149 Annus Mirabilis : the Year of Wonders, 1 666. Alexander's Feast : or, the Power of Music, An Ode in honour of St. Cecilia's Day ... 160 Palamon and Arcite : or, the Knight's Tale. In Three Books. Book 1 162 IL 166 III. 171 The Wife of Bath, her Tale 179 The Character of a Good Parson 183 Theodore and Honoria 184 Religio Laici. An Epistle 187 IV CONTENTS. To Sir Godfrey Kneller, principal Painter to His Majesty The Cock and the Fox : or, the Tale of the Nun's Priest The Flower and the Leaf: or, the Lady in the Arbour Cymon and Iphigenia J. PHILIPS. The Splendid Shilling Cyder : a Poem, in two Books. Book I II. PARNELL. iA Fairy Tale, in the ancient English Style ' Night-Piece on Death The Hermit. Hesiod : or, The Rise of Woman An Allegory on Man The Book. Worm . 191 192 198 203 208 209 215 221 223 ->24 226 227 228 Page ROWE. Colin's Complaint. A Song 230 The Contented Shepherd. To Mrs. A D > afterwards his Wife 231 A Song, Ah! Willow. To the Same in her Sickness ib. ADDISON. A Letter from Italy to the Right Hon. Charles Lord Halifax, in the year 1701 232 -The Campaign. A Poem 234 To Sir Godfrey Kneller, on his Picture of the King 237 Paraphrase on Psalm XXIII. 238 PRIOR. Henry and Emma. A Poem, upon riie Model of the Nut- Brown Maid. 240 Alma : or, the Progress of the Mind. In Three Cantos. Canto I 246 II 249 III 253 Solomon on the Vanity of the World. A Poem, in Three Books. Book I. Knowledge 258 II. Pleasure 264 III. Power 272 The Thief and the Cordelier. A Ballad 279 Song ib. The Garland 280 An English Padlock ib. A Song 281 The Female Ph>"' ,n :K The Despan An Ode .' ib. The Lady's Looking- Glass, In imitation of a Greek Idyllium 282 j GAY. Rural Sports. A Georgic. In Two Cantos. Canto I II Trivia : or, the Art of walking the Streets London. In Three Books. Book I. Of the Implements for Walking the Streets, and Signs of the Weather II. Of Walking the Streets by Day III. Of Walking the Streets by Night Sweet William's Farewell to Black-eyed Susan A Ballad,, from the What-d'ye-call-it Fable. The Goat without a Beard Fable. The Universal Apparition Fable. The Jugglers Fable. The Hare and many Friends The Shepherd's Week. In Six Pastorals Monday; or, the Squabble Tuesday; or, the Ditty Wednesday; or, the Dumps Thursday ; or, the Spell Friday ; or, the Dirge Saturday; or, the Flights Fable. The Farmer's Wife and the Raven... Fable. The Turkey and the Ant 284 16 287 289 y 294y -fr f 257 ib. 298 ib. 299 ib. 301 302 303 305 306 308- 309 ib. GREEN. The Spleen. An Epistle to Mr. Cuthbert Jackson 310 On Barclay's Apology for the Quakers 317 The Seeker ib. The Grotto. Written by Mr. Green, under the name of Peter Drake, a fisherman of Brentford 318 The Sparrow and Diamond. A Song 320 TICKELL. Colin and Lucy. A Ballad To the Earl of Warwick, on the Death of Mr. Addison An Imitation of the Prophesy of Kerens. From Horace. Book II. Ode XV An Epistle from a Lady in England to a Gentleman at Avignon An Ode, inscribed to the Earl of Sunderland At Windsor HAMMOND. Elegy SOMERVILE. The Chase. In Four Books. Rook I II .................... . III ............ ! IV. 321 322 323 325 326 323 331 340 POPE. CONTENTS. Page Tie Rape of the Lock. An Heroi- Comical Poem. In Five Cantos. Canto 1 346 II 347 111 348 IV 349 V 351 Wogue to Mr. Addison's Tragedy of Cato Uoisa to Abelard Tie Temple of Fame 355 Tie Fable of Dryope. From Ovid's Meta- morphoses, Book IX 359 'ertumnus and Pomona. From the same, Book IV. 360 .n Essay on Man. In Four Epistles. Epistle I. Of the Nature and State of Man with respect to the Universe 361 II. Of the Nature and State of Man with respect to Himself, as an Individual 363 II L Of the Nature and State of Man with respect to Society 366 IV. Of the Nature and State of Man with respect to Happiness ... 368 [oral Essays. In Five Epistles to several Persons. Epistle I. Of the Knowledge and Cha- racters of Men UJ72 II. Of the Characters of Women Stt III. On the Use of Riches 376 IV. Of the Use of Riches 379 V. To Mr. Addison, occasioned by his Dialogues on Medals... 381 pistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, being the Prologue to the Satires 382 essiah, a Sacred Eclogue, in imitation of Virgil's Pollio .385. legy to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lad/ 386, itire Tb. pistle to Robert Earl of Oxford and Earl Mortimer 388 SWIFT. idenus and Vanessa 390 ella's Birth-day (97 ic Journal of a Modern Lady, in a Letter to a Person of Quality ib. i the Death of Dr. Swift -. j~39& tucis and Philemon. On the ever-lamented""*"^ loss of the two Yew-trees in the Parish of Chilthorne, Somerset. Imitated from the Eighth Book of Ovid 403 Description of the Morning 405 le Grand Question Debated : Whether Ha- milton's Bawn should be turned into a Bar- rack or a Malt-house ib. i Poetry: a Rhapsody 406 Description of a City- Shower, in imitation _^ of Virgil's Georgics (410 arace, Book III. Ode II. To the Earl oF- Oxford, late Lord Treasurer. Sent to him when in the Tower 411 rs. Harris's Petition ib. the Earl of Peterborow, who commanded the British Forces in Spain 419 ie Progress of Poetry ib THOMSON. Page The Seasons : Spring Summer Autumn Winter The Castle of Indolence : an Allegorical Poem. In Two Cantos. Canto I II Ancient and Modern Italy compared . being the First Part of " Liberty" a Poem Greece : being the Second Part of " Liberty" Rome : being the Third Part of " Liberty" Britain : being the Fourth Part of "Liberty," The Prospect : being the Fifth Part of 1 Liberty," Ode The Happy Man Song Song Ode Hymn on Solitude To the Rev. Mr. Murdoch, Rector of Strad dishall, in Suffolk ........................... 415 424 437 447 457 463 469 472 477 482 492 \ 498 ib. ib. 499 ib. ib, ib. A. PHILIPS. To the Earl of Dorset 500 A Hymn to Venus, from the Greek of Sappho 501 A Fragment of Sappho ib. COLLINS. Ode to Pity 502 Ode to Fear 503 Ode, written in the year 17-16 ib. Ode to a Lady, on the Death of Col. Charles Ross, in the Action at Fontenoy 504 Ode to Evening ib. Ode to Liberty 505 The Passions, an Ode for Music 50 < Dirge in Cymbeline 507 An Ode on the popular Superstitions of the Highlands of Scotland ; considered as the Subject of Poetry ib. Ode on the Death of Mr. Thomson 509, DYER. Grongar Hill 511 The Ruins of Rome 512 SH EN STONE. f > The School- Mistress. In Imitation of Spenser 517 Elegy, describing the sorrow of an ingenuous mind, on the melancholy event of a licen- tious amour 520 iA Pastoral Ballad. In Four Parts. Part I. Absence 521 II. Hope ib. III. Solicitude 522 IV. Disappointment ib. Tin- Dvinjr Kid .. . ~^Z VI CHURCHILL. CONTENTS. Page I LYTTELTON. Page The Rosciad 524 YOUNG. A Paraphrase on Part of the Book of Job 533 The Complaint : or, Night- Thoughts. Night the First : on Lite, Death, and Ira- mortality 537 Night the Second : on Time, Death, and Friendship 540 Night the Third : Narcissa 545 Night the Fourth : the Christian Triumph : 549 Night the Fifth : the Relapse 555 Night the Sixth : the Infidel Reclaimed. In Two Parts. Part I . 563 Night the Seventh : the Infidel Reclaimed. Part II 570 Night the Eighth : Virtue's Apology ; or, the Man of the World answered 582 Night the Ninth and Last : the Consola- tion 592 Love of Fame, the Universal Passion. In Seven Characteristical Satires. Satire I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. 610 612 614 616 618 623 627 AKENSIDE. ^ The Pleasures of Imagination. A Poem, in Three Books. Book I f31 II 635 III 641 Ode to the Right Honourable Francis Earl of Huntingdon 646 A Hymn to the Naiads 648 Ode to the Right Rev. Benjamin, Lord Bishop of Winchester ... 650 GRAY. Hymn to Adversity 653 Elegy written in a Country Church- Yard ... ib. The Progress of Poesy. A Pindaric Ode.... ^54 Ode on the Spring 655 Ode for Music 656 Ode on the Death of a favourite Cat, drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes 657 Ode on a distant Prospect of Eton College ... ib. The Bard. A Pindaric Ode 658 The Fatal Sisters. An Ode 660 The Descent of Odin. An Ode 661 The Triumphs of Owen. A Fragment ib. The Progress of Love. In Four Eclogues. Eclogue I. Uncertainty ........................ 666 II. Hope ............................. 667 III. Jealousy ........................... 668 IV. Possession .............. . ......... 669 To the Rev. Dr. Ayscough, at Oxford ......... ib. Song ................................................... 67O Song .............................................. 671 Song ................. . .............................. ib. To the Memory of the first Lady Lyttelton. A Monody ....................................... ib. GOLDSMITH. The Traveller: or, a Prospect of Society ... 675 The Deserted Village ........................... 678 The Hermit A Ballad ........................ 681 Retaliation. A Poem ..................... :.... 682 Stanzas on Woman. From the Vicar of Wake- field ................................................ 684 Song ................................................ ib. JOHNSON. London : a Poem. In imitation of the Third Satire of Juvenal ............................. 686 The Vanity of Human Wishes. In imitation of the Tenth Satire of Juvenal ............... 688 Prologue, spoken by Mr. Garrick, at the open- ing of the Theatre- Royal, Drury -lane, 1747, 691 On the Death of Mr. Robert Levet, a Practiser in Physic ......................................... ib. ARMSTRONG. The Art of preserving Health. In Four Books. Book I. Air .................................... 693 II. Diet ................................... 69G III. Exercise .............................. 700 IV. The Passions ........................ 704 J. WARTON. Ode to Fancy ....................................... 710 Verses, written at Montauban in France ...... 711 T. WARTON. 13 Ode to the First of April^. Ode. The Crusade ..7 ........................... ib. The Progress of Discontent ..................... 714 Inscription in a Hermitage, at Ansley Hall, in Warwickshire ........... ,. ..................... 715 Ode. The Hamlet ............................... 716 Ode sent to a Friend, on his leaving a fa- vourite Village in Hampshire ............... ib. The Pleasures of Melancholy ......... , ........ 717 MASON. / i * TVT ... 720 oMUL,.Lii, i 1, 66'J Ode to Independency..,. Eley on the Death of a Lady ... 721 ... .722 Ode to Leven- Water ib. Epitaph on Mrs. Mason, in the Cathedral of ib. COWPER. An Ode the Receipt of my Mother's Picture out of Norfolk, the Gift of my Cousin Ann Bod- endship tirement e Task. In Six Books. Book I. The Sofa II. The Time- Piece III. The Garden IV. The Winter Evening V. The Winter-Morning Walk VI. The Winter Walk at Noon . ociniuin : or, a Review of Schools . CONTENTS. vii Page Table-Talk 779 Conversation 784 724 Verses supposed to be written by Alexander ib. Selkirk, during his solitary Abode in the Island of Juan Fernandez 791 John Gilpin 792 725 An Epistle to Joseph Hill, Esq 704 726 Yardley Oak ib. 727 The Cast-awav 7!K> 733 739 746 752 758 764 772 BEATTIE. The Minstrel : or, The Progress of Genius. In Two Books. Book 1 793 II. . .. 802 BENJAMIN JONSON. DEKJAMIN JONSON, (or Johnson,) a poet, who, uring life, attained a distinguished character, was le posthumous son of a clergyman in Westminster, -here he was born in 1574, about a month after his tther's decease. His family was originally from cotland, whence his grandfather removed to Car- sle, in the reign of Henry VIII. Benjamin received his education under the learned 'amden, at Westminster school ; and had made ;traordinary progress in his studies, when his mo- ier, who had married a bricklayer for her second isband, took him away to work under his step- .ther. From this humble employment he escaped, f enlisting as a soldier in the army, then serving in e Netherlands against the Spaniardsi An exploit hich he here performed, of killing an enemy in rigle combat, gave him room to boast ever after of degree of courage which has not often been found alliance with poetical distinction. On his return, Jonson entered himself at St. >hn's College, Cambridge, which he was shortly liged to quit from the scanty state of his finances, e then turned his thoughts to the stage, and plied for employment at the theatres ; but his lents, as an actor, could only procure for him mission at an obscure playhouse in the suburbs, ere he had the misfortune to kill a fellow-actor a duel, for which he was thrown into prison, le state of mind to which he was here brought, ve the advantage to a Popish priest in converting n to the Catholic faith, under which religion he ntinued for twelve years. After his liberation from prison, he married, and plied in earnest to writing for the stage, in which appears to have already made several attempts, is comedy of " Every Man in his Humour," the it of his acknowledged pieces, was performed with plause in 1596 ; and henceforth he continued to nish a play yearly, till his time wa"s occupied by ; composition of the masques and other enter- nments, by which the accession of James was ebrated. Dryden, in his Essay on Dramatic etry, speaks of him as the " most learned and licious writer which any theatre ever had," and give's a particular examination of his " Silent Wo- man," as a model of perfection. He afterwards, however, seems to make large deductions from this commendation. " You seldom (says Dryden) find him making love in any of his scenes, or endeavour- ing to move the passions ; his genius was too sullen and saturnine to do it gracefully. Humour was his proper sphere ; and in that he delighted most to represent mechanics." Besides his comedies, Jonson composed two tragedies, Sejanus and Catiline, both formed upon ancient models, and full of trans- lations ; and neither of them successful. His dra- matic compositions, however, do not come within the scope of the present publication. In 1616, he published a folio volume of his works, which procured for him a grant from his majesty of the salary of poet-laureat for life, though he did not take possession of the post till three years after. With high intellectual endowments, he had many unamiable traits in his character, having a high de- gree of pride and self-conceit, with a disposition to abuse and disparage every one who incurred his jealousy or displeasure. Jonson was reduced to necessitous circumstances in the latter part of his life, though he obtained from Charles I. an ad- vance of his salary as laureat. He died in 1637, at the age of 63, being at that time considered as at the head of English poetry. He was interred in West- minster Abbey, where an inscription was placed over his grave, familiarly expressive of the reputation he had acquired among his countrymen : it was, " O rare Ben Jonson." Six months after his death, a collection of poems to his honour, by a number of the most eminent writers and scholars in the na- tion, was published, with the title of " Jonsonius Virbius ; or the memory of Ben Jonson, revived by the Friends of the Muses." Although, as a general poet, Jonson for the most part merits the character of harsh, frigid, and tedious ; there are, however, some strains in which he appears with singular elegance, and may be placed in com- petition with some of the most favoured writers of that class. JONSON. TO WILLIAM CAMDEN. , most reverend head, to whom I owe All that I am in arts, all that I know. (How nothing 's that !) to whom my country owes The great renown, and name wherewith she goes. Than thee the age sees not that thing more grave, More high, more holy, that she more would crave. What name, what skill, what faith hast thou in things ! What sight in searching the most antique springs ! What weight, and what authority in thy speech ! Man scarce can make that doubt, but thou canst teach. Pardon free truth, and let thy modesty, Which conquers all, be once o'er-come by thee. Many of thine this better could, than I, But for their powers, accept my piety. FROM CYNTHIA S REVELS. QUEEN and huntress, chaste and fair, Now the Sun is laid to sleep ; Seated in thy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep ; Hesperus intreats thy light, Goddess excellently bright. Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose ; Cynthia's shining orb was made Heaven to clear, when day did close ; Bless us then with wished sight, Goddess excellently bright. Lay thy bow of pearl apart, And thy crystal-shining quiver ; Give unto the flying heart Space to breathe, how short soever : Thou that mak'st a day of night, Goddess excellently bright. FROM THE SILENT WOMAN. STILL to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast ; Still to be powdered, still perfum'd : Lady, it is to be presum'd, Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace ; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free : Such sweet neglect more taketh me, Than all th' adulteries of art ; They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. 1. I HAVE been, all day, looking after A raven, feeding upon a quarter ; And, soon as she turn'd her beak to the south, 1 snatch'd this morsel out of her mouth. 2. I have been gathering wolves' hairs, The mad-dogs' foam, and the adders' ears ; The spurgings of a dead-man's eyes, And all since the evening-star did rise. 3. I, last night, lay all alone O' the ground, to hear the mandrake groan ; And pluck'd him up, though he grew full low ; And, as I had done, the cock did crow. 4. And I ha' been choosing out this skull, From charnel-houses, that were full ; From private grots, and public pits, And frighted a sexton out of his wits. 5. Under a cradle I did creep, By day ; and, when the child was asleep, At night, I suck'd the breath ; and rose, And pluck'd the nodding nurse by the nose. 7. A murderer, yonder, was hung in chains, The sun and the wind had shrunk his veins ; I bit off a sinew, I clipp'd his hair, I brought off his rags, that danc'd i' the air. 8. The screech-owls' eggs, and the feathers black, The blood of the frog, and the bone in his back, I have been getting ; and made of his skin A purset, to keep sir Cranion in. 9. And I ha' been plucking (plants among) Hemlock, henbane, adder's tongue, Night-shade, moon-wort, libbard's bane ; And twice by the dogs, was like to be ta'en. 10. I, from the jaws of a gardener's bitch, Did snatch these bones, and then leap'd the ditch ; Yet went I back to the house again, Kill'd the black cat, and here 's the brain. 11. I went to the toad breeds under the wall, I charm'd him out, and he came at my call ; I scratch' d out the eyes of the owl before, I tore the bat's wing : what would you have more ? Yes, I have brought (to help our vows) Horned poppy, cypress boughs, The fig-tree wild, that grows on tombs, And juice, that from the larch-tree comes, The basilisk's blood, and the viper's skin : And, now, our orgies let 's begin. EPITAPH j ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE, SISTER TO SIR PHILIP UNDERNEATH this marble herse Lies the subject of all verse, Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother; Death, ere thou hast slain another, Learn'd, and fair, and good as she, Time shall throw his dart at thee, MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. ON LUCY COUNTESS OF BEDFORD. THIS morning, timely rapt with holy fire, I thought to form unto my zealous Muse, What kind of creature I could most desire, To honour, serve, and love ; as poets use. I meant to make her fair, and free, and wise, Of greatest blood, and yet more good than great I meant the day-star should not brighter rise, Nor lend like influence from his lucent seat. I meant she should be courteous, facile, sweet, Hating that solemn vice of greatness, pride ; I meant each softest virtue there should meet, Fit in that softer bosom to reside. Only a learned, and a manly soul I purpos'd her ; that should, with even pow'rs, The rock, the spindle, and the sheers controul Of Destiny, and spin her own free hours. Such when I meant to feign, and wish'd to see, My Muse bade, Bedford write, and that was she. SONG. TO CELIA. Kiss me, sweet : the wary lover Can your favours keep, and cover, When the common courting jay All your bounties will betray. Kiss again : no creature comes. Kiss, and score up wealthy sums On my lips, thus hardly sund'red, While you breathe. First give a hundred, Then a thousand, then another Hundred, then unto the tother Add a thousand, and so more : Till you equal with the store, All the grass that Romney yields, Or the sands in Chelsea fields, Or the drops in silver Thames, Or the stars, that gild his streams, In the silent summer nights, When youths ply their stol'n delights. That the curious may not know How to tell 'em as they flow, And the envious, when they find What their number is, be pin'd. TO THE SAME. DRINK to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine ; ' Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And 111 not look for wine. The thirst, that from the soul doth rise, Doth ask a drink divine : But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine. I sent thee, late, a rosy wreath, Not so much honouring thee, As giving it a hope, that there It could not withered be. But thou thereon did'st only breathe, And sent'st it back to me : Since when, it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself, but thee. FROM THE SHEPHERD S HOriDAT. NYMPH I. THUS, thus, begin the yearly rites Are due to Pan on these bright nights ; His morn now risetli, and invites To sports, to dances, and delights : All envious, and prophane away, This is the shepherd's holiday. NYMPH II. Strew, strew, the glad and smiling ground, With every flower, yet not confound The primrose drop, the spring's own spouse, Bright daisies, and the lips of cows, The garden-star, the queen of May, The rose, to crown the holiday. NYMPH III. Drop, drop you violets, change your hues, Now red, now pale, as lovers use, And in your death go out as well As when you lived unto the smell : That from your odour all may say, This is the shepherd's holiday. LOVE, A LITTLE BOY. FROM THE MASQUE ON LORD, UADDINGTOX's MARRIAGE. FIRST GRACE. BEAUTIES, have ye seen this toy, Called Love, a little boy, Almost naked, wanton, blind, Cruel now ; and then as kind ? If he be amongst ye, say ; He is Venus' run-away. SECOND GRACE. She, that will but now discover Where the winged wag doth hover, Shall, to-night, receive a kiss, How, or where herself would wish : But, who brings him to his mother, Shall have that kiss, and another. THIRD GRACE. He hath of marks about him plenty : You shall know him among twenty. All his body is a fire. And his breath a flame entire, That being shot, like lightning, in, Wounds the heart, but not the skin. FIRST GRACE. At his sight, the Sun hath turned, Neptune in the waters, burned ; Hell hath felt a greater heat : Jove himself forsook his seat : From the centre, to the sky, Are his trophies reared high. SECOND GRACE. Wings he hath, which though ye clip, He will leap from lip to Up, B 2 JONSON. Over liver, lights, and heart, But not stay in any part ; And, if chance his arrow misses, He will shoot himself, in kisses. THIRD GRACE. He doth bear a golden bow, And a quiver, hanging low, Full of arrows, that out-brave Dian's shafts : where, if he have Any head more sharp than other, With that first he strikes his mother FIRST GRACE. Still the fairest are his fuel. When his days are to be cruel, Lovers' hi-arts are all his food ; And his baths their warmest blood : Nought but wounds his hand doth And he hates none like to Reason. SECOND GRACE. Trust him not : his words, though sweet, Seldom with his heart do meet. All his practice is deceit ; Every gift it is a bait ; Not a kiss, but poison bears ; And most treason in his tears. THIRD GRACE. Idle minutes are his reign ; Then, the straggler makes his gain, By presenting maids with toys, And would have ye think them joys : 'Tis the ambition of the elf, To have all childish, as himself. FIRST GRACE. If by these ye please to know him, Beauties, be not nice, but show him. SECOND GRACE. Though ye had a will to hide him, Now, we hope, you'll not abide him. THIRD GRACE. Since ye hear his falser play ; And that he is Venus' run-away. EPITAPH ON ELIZABETH L. H. UNDERNEATH this stone doth lie As much beauty as could die : Which in life did harbour give To more virtue than doth live. ABRAHAM COWLEV ABRAHAM COWLEY, a poet of considerable dis- tinction, was born at London, in 1618. His father, who was a grocer by trade, died before his birth ; but his mother, through the interest of her friends, procured his admission into Westminster school, as a king's scholar. He has represented himself as so deficient in memory, as to have been unable to retain the common rules of grammar : it is, however, certain that, by some process, he be- came an elegant and correct classical scholar. He early imbibed a taste for poetry ; and so soon did it germinate in his youthful mind, that, while yet at school, in his fifteenth or sixteenth year, he pub- lished a collection of verses, under the appropriate title of Poetical Blossoms. In 1636 he was elected a scholar of Trinity col- lege, Cambridge. In this favourable situation he ob- tained much praise for his academical exercises ; and he again appeared as an author, in a pastoral comedy, called Love's Riddle, and a Latin comedy, entitled, Naufragium Joculare ; the last of which was acted before the university, by the members of Trinity college. He continued to reside at Cam- oridge till 1643, and was a Master of Arts when he was ejected from the university by the pu- ritanical visiters. He thence removed to Oxford, and fixed himself in St. John's college. It was here that he engaged actively in the royal cause, and was present in several of the king's journeys and expeditions, but in what quality, does not appear. He ingratiated himself, however, with the principal persons about the court, and was particularly honoured with the friendship of Lord Falkland. When the events of the war obliged the queen- mother to quit the kingdom, Cowley accompanied her to France, and obtained a settlement at Paris, in the family of the Earl of St. Alban's. During an absence of nearly ten years from his native country, he took various journeys into Jersey, Scot- land, Holland, and Flanders ; and it was princi- pally through his instrumentality that a corre- spondence was maintained between the king and his consort. The business of cyphering and decypher- ing their letters was entrusted to his care, and often occupied his nights, as well as his days. It is no wonder that, after the Restoration, he long com- plained of the neglect with which he was treated. In 1656, having no longer any affairs to transact abroad, he returned to England ; still, it is sup- posed, engaged in the service of his party, as a me- dium of secret intelligence. Soon after his arrival, he published an edition of his poems, containing most of those which now appear in his works. In a search for another person, he was apprehended by the messengers of the ruling powers, and committed to custody ; from which he was liberated, by that generous and learned physician, Dr. Scarborough, who bailed him in the sum of a thousand pounds. This, however, was possibly the sum at which he was rated as a physician, a character he assumed by virtue of a degree which he obtained, by mandamus, from Oxford, in December, 1657. After the death of Cromwell, Cowley returned to France, and resumed his station as an agent in the royal cause, the hopes of which now began to revive. The Restoration reinstated him, with other royalists, in his own country ; and he naturally expected a reward for his long services. He had been promised, both by Charles I. and Charles II., the Mastership of the Savoy, but was unsuccessful in both his applications. He had also the misfortune of displeasing his party, by his revived comedy of " The Cutter of Coleman-street," which was con- strued as a satire on the cavaliers. At length, through the interest of the Duke of Buckingham and the Earl of St. Alban's, he obtained a lease of a farm at Chertsey, held under the queen, by which his income was raised to about 3001. per annum. From early youth a country retirement had been a real or imaginary object of his wishes ; and, though a late eminent critic and moralist, who had himself no sensibility to rural pleasures, treats this taste with severity and ridicule, there seems little reason to decry a propensity, nourished by the favourite strains of poets, and natural to a mind long tossed by the anxieties of business, and the vicissitudes of an unsettled condition. Cowley took up his abode first at Barn-elms, on the banks of the Thames ; but this place not agree- ing with his health, he removed to Chertsey. Here his life was soon brought to a close. According to his biographer, Dr. Sprat, the fatal disease was an affection of the lungs, the consequence of staying too late in the fields among his labourers. Dr. Warton, however, from the authority of Mr. Spence, gives a different account of the matter. He says, that Cowley, with his friend Sprat, paid a visit on foot to a gentleman in the neighbourhood of Chert- sey, which they prolonged, in free conviviality, till midnight ; and that missing their way on their re- turn, they were obliged to pass the night under a hedge, which gave to the poet a severe cold and fever, which terminated in his death. He died on July 28. 1667, and was interred, with a most ho- nourable attendance of persons of distinction, in Westminster-abbey, near the remains of Chaucer and Spenser. King Charles II. pronounced his eulogy, by declaring, " that Mr. Cowley had not left a better man behind him in England." At the time of his death, Cowley certainly ranked as the first poet in England ; for Milton lay under a cloud, nor was the age qualified to taste him. And although a large portion of Cowley's cele- brity has since vanished, there still remains enough to raise him to a considerable rank among the British poets. It may be proper here to add, that as a prose-writer, particularly in the department of essays, there are few who can compare with him in elegant simplicity. COWLEY. THE MOTTO. TENTANDA VIA EST, &C. W HAT shall I do to be for ever known, And make the age to come my own ? I shall, like beasts or common people, die, Unless you write my elegy ; Whilst others great, by being born, are grown ; Their mothers' labour, not their own. In this scale gold, in th' other fame does lie, The weight of that mounts this so high. These men are Fortune's jewels, moulded bright ; Brought forth with their own fire and light : If I, her vulgar stone, for either look, Out of myself it must be strook. Yet I must on. What sound is't strikes mine ear ? Sure I Fame's trumpet hear : It sounds like the last trumpet ; for it can Raise up the buried man. Unpast Alps stop me ; but I'll cut them all, And march, the Muses' Hannibal. Hence, all the flattering vanities that lay Nets of roses in the way ! Hence, the desire of honours or estate, And all that is not above Fate ! Hence, Love himself, that tyrant of my days ! Which intercepts my coming praise. Come, my best friends, my books ! and lead me on ; "Tis time that I were gone. Welcome, great Stagyrite ! and teach me now All I was born to know : Thy scholar's victories thou dost far out-do ; He conquer'd th' earth, the whole world you. Welcome, learn'd Cicero ! whose blest tongue and wit Preserves Rome's greatness yet : Thou art the first of orators ; only he Who best can praise thee, next must be. Welcome the Mantuan swan, Virgil the wise ! Whose verse walks highest, but not flies ; Who brought green Poesy to her perfect age, And made that art which was a rage. Tell me, ye mighty Three ! what shall I do To be like one of you ? But you have climb'd the mountain's top, there sit On the calm flourishing head of it, And, whilst with wearied steps we upwards go, See us, and clouds, below. HONOUR, SHE loves, and she confesses too ; There's then, at last, no more to do ; The happy work's entirely done ; Enter the town which thou hast won ; The fruits of conquest now begin ; lo, triumphe ! enter in. What's this, ye gods ! what can it be ? Remains there still an enemy ? Bold Honour stands up in the gate, And would yet capitulate ; Have I o'ercome all real foes, And shall this phantom me oppose ? Noisy nothing ! stalking shade ! By what witchcraft wert thou made ? Empty cause of solid harms ! But I shall find out counter-charms Thy airy devilship to remove From this circle here of love. Sure I shall rid myself of thee By the night's obscurity, And obscurer secrecy ! Unlike to every other sprite, Thou attempt' st not men to fright, Nor appear'st but in the light. OF MYSELF. THIS only grant me, that my means may lie Too low for envy, for contempt too high. Some honour I would have, Not from great deeds, but good alone ; Th' unknown are better than ill known : Rumour can ope the grave. Acquaintance I would have, but when't depends Not on the number, but the choice, of friends. Books should, not business, entertain the light, And sleep, as undisturb'd as death, the night. My house a cottage more Than palace ; and should fitting be For all my use, no luxury.' My garden painted o'er With Nature's hand, not Art's ; and pleasures yield, Horace might envy in his Sabin field. Thus would I double my life's fading space ; For he, that runs it well, twice runs his race. And in this true delight, These unbought sports, this happy state, I would not fear, nor wish, my fate j But boldly say each night, To-morrow let my sun his beams display, Or in clouds hide them ; I have liv'd to-day. THE CHRONICLE. A BALLAD. MARGARITA first possest, If I remember well, my breast, Margarita first of all ; But when awhile the wanton maid With my restless heart had play'd, Martha took the flying ball. Martha soon did it resign To the beauteous Catharine. Beauteous Catharine gave place (Though loth and angry she to part With the possession of my heart) To Eliza's conquering face. Eliza till this hour might reign, Had she not evil counsels ta'en. Fundamental laws she broke, ANACREONTICS. And still new favourites she chose, Till up in arms my passions rose, And cast away her yoke. Mary, then, and gentle Anne, Both to reign at once began ; Alternately they sway'd, And sometimes Mary was the fair, And sometimes Anne the crown did wear, And sometimes both I obey'd. Another Mary then arose, And did rigorous laws impose ; A mighty tyrant she ! Long, alas ! should I have been Under that iron-scepter 'd queen, Had not Rebecca set me free. When fair Rebecca set me free, 'Twas then a golden time with me : But soon those pleasures fled j For the gracious princess dy'd, In her youth and beauty's pride, And Judith reigned in her stead. One month, three days, and half an hour, Judith held the sovereign power : Wondrous beautiful her face ! But so weak and small her wit, That she to govern was unfit, And so Susanna took her place. But when Isabella came, Arm'd with a resistless flame, And th' artillery of her eye ; Whilst she proudly march'd about, Greater conquests to find out, She beat out Susan by the by. But in her place I then obey'd Black-ey'd Bess, her viceroy-maid ; To whom ensued a vacancy : Thousand worse passions then possest The interregnum of my breast ; Bless me from such an anarchy ! Gentle Henrietta then, And a third Mary, next began ; Then Joan, and Jane, and Audria; And then a pretty Thomasine, And then another Catharine, And then a long et cattera. But should I now to you relate The strength and riches of their state ; The powder, patches, and the pins, The ribbons, jewels, and the rings, The lace, the paint, and warlike things, That make up all their magazines ; If I should tell the politic arts To take and keep men's hearts ; The letters, embassies, and spies, The frowns, and smiles, and flatteries The quarrels, tears, and perjuries, (Numberless, nameless, mysteries !) And all the little lime-twigs laid, By Machiavel the waiting maid ; I more voluminous should grow (Chiefly if I like them should tell All change of weathers that befell. ) Than Holinshed or Stow. But I will briefer with them be, Since few of them were long with me. An higher and a nobler strain My present emperess does claim, Heleonora, first o' th* name ; Whom God grant long to reign ! ANACREONTICS OR, SOME COPIES OF VERSES, TRANSLATED PARAFHRASTICALLY OUT OF ANACREOK. I'M, sing of heroes and of kings, In mighty numbers, mighty things. Begin, my Muse ! but lo ! the strings To my great song rebellious prove ; The strings will sound of nought but love. I broke them all, and put on new ; 'Tis this or nothing sure will do. These, sure, (said I) will me obey ; These, sure, heroic notes will play. Straight I began with thundering Jove, And all th' immortal powers ; but Love, Love smil'd, and from m' enfeebled lyre Came gentle airs, such as inspire Melting love and soft desire. Farewell, then, heroes ! farewell, kings And mighty numbers, mighty things ! Love tunes my heart just to my strings. II. DRINKING. THE thirsty earth soaks up the rain, And drinks, and gapes for drink again, The plants suck-in the earth, and are With constant drinking fresh and fair ; The sea itself (which one would think Should have but little need of drink) Drinks twice ten thousand rivers up, So fill'd that they o'erflow the cup. The busy Sun (and one would guess By's drunken fiery face no less) Drinks up the sea, and, when he 'as done, The Moon and Stars drink up the Sun : They drink and dance by their own light ; They drink and revel all the night. Nothing in nature 's sober found, But an eternal health goes round. Fill up the bowl, then, fill it high, Fill all the glasses there ; for why Should every creature drink but I ; Why, man of morals, tell me why ? III. BEAUTY. LIBERAL Nature did dispense To all things arms for their defence j And some she arms with sinewy force, And some with swiftness in the course ; Some with hard hoofs or forked claws, And some with horns or tusked jaws : B 4 COWLEY. And some with scales, and some with wings, And some with teeth, and some with stings, Wisdom to man she did afford, Wisdom for shield, and wit for sword. What to beauteous womankind, What arms, what armour, has sh' assign'd ? Beauty is both ; for with the fair What arms, what armour, can compare ? What steel, what gold, or diamond, More impassible is found ? And yet what flame, what lightning, e'er So great an active force did bear ? They are all weapon, and they dart Like porcupines from every part. Who can, alas ! their strength express, Arm'd, when they themselves undress, Cap-a-pie with nakedness? OFT am I by the women told, Poor Anacreon ! thou grow'st old : Look how thy hairs are falling all ; Poor Anacreon, how they fall ! Whether I grow old or no, By th' effects, I do not know ; This, I know, without being told, 'Tis time to live, if I grow old ; 'Tis time short pleasures now to take, Of little life the best to make, And manage wisely the last stake. A MIGHTY pain to love it is, And 'tis a pain that pain to miss ; But, of all pains, the greatest pain It is to love, but love in vain. Virtue now, nor noble blood, Nor wit by love is understood ; Gold alone does passion move, Gold monopolizes love. A curse on her, and on the man Who this traffic first began 1 A curse on him who found the ore ! A curse on him who digg'd the store \ A curse on him who did refine it ! A curse on him who first did coin it ! A curse, all curses else above, On him who us'd it first in love ! Gold begets in brethren hate ; Gold in families debate ; Gold does friendships separate j Gold does civil wars create. These the smallest harms of it ! Gold, alas ! does love beget. Vni. THE EPICURE. FILL the bowl with rosy wine ! Around our temples roses twine! And let us cheerfully awhile, Like the wine and roses, smile. Crown'd with roses, we contemn Gyges' wealthy diadem, To day is ours, what do we fear ? To day is ours ; we have it here : Let's treat it kindly, that it may Wish at least, with us to stay. Let's banish business, banish sorrow ; To the gods belongs to-morrow. IX. ANOTHER. UNDERNEATH this myrtle shade, On flowery beds supinely laid, With odorous oils my head o'er-flowing, And around it roses growing, What should I do but drink away The heat and troubles of the day ? In this more than kingly state Love himself shall on me wait. Fill to me, Love ; nay fill it up ; And mingled cast into the cup Wit, and mirth, and noble fires, Vigorous health and gay desires. The wheel of life no less will stay In a smooth than rugged way : Since it equally doth flee, Let the motion pleasant be. Why do we precious ointments sliow'r ? Nobler wines why do we pour ? Beauteous flowers why do we spread, Upon the monuments of the dead ? Nothing they but dust can show, Or bones that hasten to be so. Crown me with roses whilst I live, Now your wines and ointments give ; After death I nothing crave, Let me alive my pleasures have, All are Stoics in the grave. X. THE GRASSHOPPER. HAPPY Insect ! what can be In happiness compar'd to thee ? Fed with nourishment divine, The dewy Morning's gentle wine ! Nature waits upon thee still, And thy verdant cup does fill ; ' Tis fill'd wherever thou dost tread, Nature's self's thy Ganymede. Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing ; Happier than the happiest king ! All the fields which thou dost see, All the plants, belong to thee j All that summer-hours produce, Fertile made with early juice. Man for thee does sow and plow ; Farmer he, and landlord thou ! Thou dost innocently joy ; Nor does thy luxury destroy ; The shepherd gladly heareth thee, More harmonious than he. Thee country liinds with gladness hear, Prophet of the ripen'd year ! Thee Phrebus loves, and does inspire ; Phoebus is himself thy sire. To thee, of all things upon earth, Life is no longer than thy mirth. Happy insect, happy thou ! Dost neither age nor winter know ; But, when thou'st drunk, and danc'd, and sung Thy fill, the flow'ry leaves among, (Voluptuous, and wise withal, Epicurean animal !) Sated with thy summer feast, Thou retir'st to endless rest XI. THE SWALLOW. FOOLISH Prater, what dost thou So early at my window do, ELEGY UPON ANACREON. Vith thy tuneless serenade ? Veil 't had been had Tereus made fhee as dumb as Philomel ; fhere his knife had done but well. n thy undiscovered nest Thou dost all the winter rest, Vnd dreamest o'er thy summer joys, ? ree from the stormy seasons' noise, h, my master and my god ! 'or 'tis true, most mighty poet ! Though I like not men should know it) am in naked Nature less, ,ess by much, than in thy dress. .11 thy verse is softer far lian the downy feathers are if my wings, or of my arrows, f my mother's doves or sparrows, weet as lovers' freshest kisses, >r their riper following blisses, Graceful, cleanly, smooth, and round, 11 with Venus' girdle bound ; nd thy life was all the while and and gentle as thy style, he smooth-pac'd hours of every day lided numerously away. ike thy verse each hour did pass ; weet and short, like that, it was. Some do but their youth allow me, ist what they by Nature owe me, he time that's mine, and not their own, he certain tribute of my crown : Then they grow old, they grow to be oo busy, or too wise, for me. hou wert wiser, and didst know one too wise for love can grow ; ove was with thy life entwin'd, lose as heat with fire is join'd ; powerful brand prescrib'd the date f thine, like Meleager's, fate, h' antiperistasis of age [ore enflam'd thy amorous rage ; hy silver hairs yielded me more han even golden curls before. Had I the power of creation, As I have of generation, Where I the matter must obey. And cannot work plate out of clay, My creatures should be all like thee, 'Tis thou should'st their idea be : They, like thee, should thoroughly hate Business, honour, title, state ; Other wealth they should not know, But what my living mines bestow ; The pomp of kings, they should confess, At their crownings, to be less Than a lover's humblest guise, When at his mistress' feet he lies. Rumour they no more should mind Than men safe landed do the wind ; Wisdom itself they should not hear, W r hen it presumes to be severe ; Beauty alone they should admire, Nor look at Fortune's vain attire. Nor ask what parents it can shew ; With dead or old 't has nought to do. They should not love yet all, or any, But very much and very many : All their life should gilded be With mirth, and wit, and gaiety ; Well remembering and applying The necessity of dying. Their cheerful heads should always wear All that crowns the flowery year : They should always laugh, and sing, And dance, and strike th' harmonious string , Verse should from their tongue so flow, As if it in the mouth did grow, As swiftly answering their command, As tunes obey the artful hand. And whilst I do thus discover Tli' ingredients of a happy lover, 'Tis, my Anacreon ! for thy sake I of the Grape no mention make. Till my Anacreon by thee fell, Cursed Plant ! I lov'd thee well ; And 'twas oft my wanton use To dip my arrows in thy juice. Cursed Plant ! 'tis true, I see, The old report that goes of thee That with giants' blood the Earth Stain'd and poison'd gave thee birth ; And now thou wreak'st thy ancient spite On men in whom the gods delight. Thy patron, Bacchus, 'tis no wonder, Was brought forth in flames and thunder ; In rage, in quarrels, and in fights, Worse than his tigers, he delights ; In all our Heaven I think there be No such ill-natur'd god as he. Thou pretendest, traitorous Wine ! To be the Muses' friend and mine : With love and wit thou dost begin, False fires, alas ! to draw us in ; Which, if our course we by them keep, Misguide to madness or to sleep : Sleep were well, thou'st learnt a way To death itself now to betray. It grieves me when I see what fate Does on the best of mankind wait. Poets or lovers let them be, 'Tis neither love nor poesy Can arm, against Death's smallest dart, The poet's head or lover's heart ; / 10 COWLEY. But when their life, in its decline, Touches th' inevitable line, All the world's mortal to them then, And wine is aconite to men ; Nay, in Death's hand, the grape-stone proves As strong as thunder is in Jove's. ODE, FROM CATULLUS. ACME AND SEFTIMIUS. WHILST on Septimius' panting breast (Meaning nothing less than rest) Acme lean'd her loving head, Thus the pleas' d Septimius said : " My dearest Acme, if I be Once alive, and love not thee With a passion far above All that e'er was called love ; In a Libyan desert may I become some lion's prey ; Let him, Acme, let him tear My breast, when Acme is not there.' The god of love, who stood to hear him (The god of love was always near him) Pleas'd and tickled with the sound, Sneez'd aloud ; and all around The little Loves, that waited by, Bow'd, and blest the augury. Acme, enflam'd with what he said, Rear'd her gently-bending head ; And, her purple mouth with joy Stretching to the delicious boy, Twice (and twice could scarce suffice) She kist his drunken rolling eyes. " My little life, my all !" (said she) So may we ever servants be To this best god, and ne'er retain Our hated liberty again ! So may thy passion last for me, As I a passion have for thee, Greater and fiercer much than can Be conceiv'd by thee a man ! Into my marrow is it gone, Fixt and settled in the bone ; It reigns not only in my heart, , But runs, like life, through every part." She spoke ; the god of love aloud Sneez'd again ; and all the crowd Of little Loves, that waited by, Bow'd, and bless'd the augury. This good omen thus from Heaven Like a happy signal given, Their loves and lives (all four) embrace, And hand in hand run all the race. To poor Septimius (who did now Nothing else but Acme grow) Acme's bosom was alone The whole world's imperial throne ; And to faithful Acme's mind Septimius was all human-kind. If the gods would please to be But advis'd for once by me, I'd advise them, when they spy Any illustrious piety, To reward her, if it be she To reward him, if it be he With such a husband, such a wife ; With Acme's and Septimius* life. THE COMPLAINT. IN a deep vision's intellectual, scene, Beneath a bower for sorrow made, Th' uncomfortable shade Of the black yew's unlucky green, Mixt with the mourning willow's careful grey, Where reverend Cham cuts out his famous way, The melancholy Cowley lay : And lo ! a Muse appear'd to 's closed sight, (The Muses oft in lands of vision play,) Body'd, array'd, and seen, by an internal light. A golden harp with silver strings she bore ; A wondrous hieroglyphic robe she wore, In which all colours and all figures were, That Nature or that Fancy can create, That Art can never imitate ; And with loose pride it wanton'd in the air. In such a dress, in such a well-cloth'd dream, She us'd, of old, near fair Ismenus' stream, Pindar, her Theban favourite, to meet ; A crown was on her head, and wings were on hei feet. She touch'd him with her harp, and rais'd him from the ground; The shaken strings melodiously resound. " Art thou return'd at last," said she, " To this forsaken place and me ? Thou prodigal ! who didst so loosely waste Of all thy youthful years the good estate ; Art thou return'd here, to repent too late, And gather husks of learning up at last, Now the rich harvest-time of life is past, And Winter marches on so fast ? But, when I meant t'adopt thee for my son, And did as learn' d a portion assign, As ever any of the mighty Nine Had to their dearest children done ; When I resolv'd t' exalt thy anointed name, Among the spiritual lords of peaceful fame ; Thou, changeling ! thou, bewitch'd with noise and show, Would' st into courts and cities from me go ; Would' st see the world abroad, and have a share In all the follies and the tumults there : Thou would'st, forsooth, be something in a state, And business thou would'st find, and would'sl create ; Business ! the frivolous pretence Of human lusts, to shake off innocence ; Business ! the grave impertinence ; Business ! the thing which I of all things hate ; Business ! the contradiction of thy fate. " Go, renegado ! cast up thy account, And see to what amount Thy foolish gains by quitting me : The sale of knowledge, fame, and liberty, The fruits of thy unlearn'd apostacy. Thou thought'st, if once the public storm were past. HYMN TO LIGHT. 11 All thy remaining life should sunshine be ; Behold ! the public storm is spent at last, The sovereign's tost at sea no more, And thou, with all the noble company, Art got at last to shore. But, whilst thy fellow-voyagers I see All march' d up to possess the promis'd land, Thou, still alone, alas ! dost gaping stand Upon the naked beach, upon the barren sand ! " As a fair morning of the blessed spring, After a tedious stormy night, Such was the glorious entry of our king ; Enriching moisture drop'd on every thing : Plenty he sow'd below, and cast about him light ! But then, alas ! to thee alone, One of old Gideon's miracles was shown ; For every tree and every herb around With pearly dew was crown'd, And upon all the quicken'd ground The fruitful seed of Heaven did brooding lie, And nothing but the Muse's fleece was dry. It did all other threats surpass, When God to his own people said ( The men whom through long wanderings he had led) That he would give them ev'n a heaven of brass : They look'd up to that Heaven in vain, That bounteous Heaven, which God did not re- strain Upon the most unjust to shine and rain. " The Rachel, for which twice seven years and more Thou didst with faith and labour serve, And didst (if faith and labour can) deserve, Though she contracted was to thee, Given to another thou didst see Given to another, who had store Of fairer and of richer wives before, And not a Leah left, thy recompense to be ! Go on ; twice seven years more thy fortune try ; Twice seven years more God in his bounty may Give thee, to fling away Into the court's deceitful lottery : But think how likely 'tis that thou, With the dull work of thy unwieldy plough, Should'st in a hard and barren season thrive, Should' st even able be to live ; Thou, to whose share so little bread did fall, In that miraculous year, when manna rain'd on all." Thus spake the Muse, and spake it with a smile, That seem'd at once to pity and revile. And to her thus, raising his thoughtful head, The melancholy Cowley said " Ah, wanton foe ! dost thou upbraid The ills which thou thyself hast made ? When in the cradle innocent I lay, Thou, wicked spirit ! stolest me away, And my abused soul didst bear Into thy new-found worlds, I know not where, Thy golden Indies in the air ; And ever since I strive in vain My ravish'd freedom to regain ; Still I rebel, still thou dost reign ; Lo ! still in verse against thee I complain. There is a sort of stubborn weeds, Which, if the earth but once, it ever, breeds ; No wholesome herb can near them thrive, No useful plant can keep alive : The foolish sports I did on thee bestow, Make all my art and labour fruitless now; Where once such fairies dance, no grass doth ever grow. " When my new mind had no infusion known, Thou gav'st so deep a tincture of thine own, That ever since I vainly try To wash away th' inherent dye : Long work perhaps may spoil thy colours quite j But never will reduce the native white : To all the ports of honour and of gain, I often steer my course in vain ; Thy gale comes cross, and drives me back again. Thou slack'nest all my nerves of industry, By making them so oft to be The tinkling strings of thy loose minstrelsy. Whoever this world's happiness would see, Must as entirely cast off thee, As they who only Heaven desire Do from the world retire. This was my error, this my gross mistake. Myself a demi-votary to make. Thus, with Sapphira and her husband's fate, (A fault which I, like them, am taught too late,) For all that I gave up I nothing gain, And perish for the part which I retain. " Teach me not then, O thou fallacious Muse ! The court, and better king, t'accuse : The heaven under which I live is fair, The fertile soil will a full harvest bear : Thine, thine is all the barrenness ; if thou Mak'st me sit still and sing, when I should plough. When I but think how many a tedious year Our patient sovereign did attend His long misfortunes' fatal end ; How cheerfully, and how exempt from fear, On the Great Sovereign's will he did depend ; I ought to be accurst, if I refuse To wait on his, O thou fallacious Muse ! Bangs have long hands, they say ; and, though I be So distant, they may reach at length, to me. However, of all the princes, thou Should'st not reproach rewards for being small or slow; Thou ! who rewardest but with popular breath, And that too after death." HYMN TO LIGHT. FIRST-BORN of Chaos, who so fair didst come From the old Negro's darksome womb ! Which, when it saw the lovely child, The melancholy mass put on kind looks and smil'd ; Thou tide of glory, which no rest dost know, But ever ebb and ever flow ! Thou golden shower of a true Jove ! Who does in thee descend, and Heaven to Earth make love ! Hail, active Nature's watchful life and health 1 Her joy, her ornament, and wealth ! Hail to thy husband, Heat, and thee ! Thou the world's beauteous bride, the lusty bride- groom he ! 12 COWLEY. Say, from what golden quivers of the sky Do all thy winged arrows fly ? Swiftness and Power by birth are thine : From thy great sire they came, thy sire, the Word Divine, 'Tis, I believe, this archery to show, That so much cost in colours thou, And skill in painting, dost bestow, Upon thy ancient arms, the gaudy heavenly bow. Swift as light thoughts their empty career run, Thy race is finish'd when begun ; Let a post-angel start with thee, And thou the goal of Earth shalt reach as soon as he. Thou in the Moon's bright chariot, proud and gay, Dost thy bright wood of stars survey ! And all the year dost with thee bring Of thousand flowery lights thine own nocturnal spring. Thou, Scythian-like, dost round thy lands above The Sun's gilt tents for ever move, And still, as thou in pomp dost go. The shining pageants of the world attend thy show. Nor amidst all these triumphs dost thou scorn The humble glow-worms to adorn, And with those living spangles gild (O greatness without pride!) the bushes of the field. Night, and her ugly subjects, thou dost fright, And Sleep, the lazy owl of night ; Asham'd, and fearful to appear, They screen their horrid shapes with the black hemisphere. With them there hastes, and wildly takes th' alarm, Of painted dreams a busy swarm : At the first opening of thine eye The various clusters break, the antic atoms fly The guilty serpents, and obscener beasts, Creep, conscious, to their secret rests : Nature to thee does reverence pay, III omens and ill sights removes out of thy way. At thy appearance, Grief itself is said To shake his wings, and rouse his head : And cloudy Care has often took A gentle beamy smile, reflected from thy look. At thy appearance, Fear itself grows bold ; Thy sun-shine melts away his cold. Encouraged at the sight of thee, To the cheek colour comes, and firmness to the knee. Ev'n Lust, the master of a harden'd face, Blushes, if thou be'st in the place, To Darkness' curtains he retires ; In sympathising night he rolls his smoky fires. When, goddess ! thou lift'st up thy waken'd head, Out of the morning's purple bed, Thy quire of birds about thee play And all the joyful world salutes the rising day. The ghosts, and monster-spirits, that did presum A body's privilege to assume, Vanish again invisibly, And bodies gain again their visibility. All the world's bravery, that delights our ejes, Is but thy several liveries ; Thou the rich dye on them bestow'st, Thy nimble pencil paints this landscape as tli go'st. A crimson garment in the rose thou wear'st ; A crown of studded gold thou bear'st ; The virgin-lilies, in their white, Are clad but with the lawn of almost naked ligh The violet, Spring's little infant, stands Girt in thy purple swaddling-bands On the fair tulip thou dost doat ; Thou cloth'st it in a gay and party-colour'd coat With flame condens'd thou do'st thy jewels fix, And solid colours in it mix : Flora herself envies to see Flowers fairer than her own, and durable as she. Ah, goddess ! would thou could' st thy hand withhc And be less liberal to gold ! Did'st thou less value to it give, Of how much care, alas ! might' st thoih poor ir relieve ! To me the Sun is more delightful far, And all fair days much fairer are. But few, ah ! wondrous few, there be, Who do not gold prefer, O goddess ! ev'n to thei Through the soft ways of Heaven, and air, and se Which open all their pores to thee, Like a clear river thou dost glide, And with thy living stream through the close chi nels slide. But, where firm bodies thy free course oppose, Gently thy source the land o'erflows ; Takes there possession, and does make, Of colours mingled light, a thick and standing la But the vast ocean of unbounded day, In th' empyraean Heaven does stay. Thy rivers, lakes, and springs, below, From thence took first their rise, thither at 1 must flow. AGAINST HOPE. HOPE ! whose weak being ruin'd is, Alike, if it succeed, and if it miss ; Whom good or ill does equally confound, And both the horns of Fate's dilemma wound : Vain shadow ! whidh does vanish quite, Both at full noon and perfect night ! The stars have not a possibility Of blessing thee ; If things then from their end we happy call, 'Tis hope is the most hopeless thing of all. Hope ! thou bold taster of delight, [qui Who, whilst thou should'st but taste, devour'st THE WISH. 13 Diou bring'st us an estate, yet leav'st us poor, By clogging it with legacies before ! The joys which we entire should wed, Come deflower 'd virgins to our bed ; Sood fortunes without gain imported be, Juch mighty custom's paid to thee. For joy, like wine, kept close does better taste ; [f it take air before, its spirits waste. Hope ! Fortune's cheating lottery ! IVhere for one prize an hundred blanks there be ; Fond archer, Hope ! who tak'st thy aim so far, Fhat still or short or wide thine arrows are ! Thin, empty cloud, which th' eye deceives With shapes that our own fancy gives ! \. cloud, which gilt and painted now appears, But must drop presently in tears ! >Vhen thy false beams o'er Reason's light prevail, 3y ignes fatui for north-stars we sail. Brother of Fear, more gayly clad ! Hie merrier fool o' th' two, yet quite as mad : >ire of Repentance ! child of fond Desire ! fhat blow'st the chymics', and the lovers', fire, Leading them still insensibly on By the strange witchcraft of " anon !" 3y thee the one does changing Nature, through Her endless labyrinths, pursue ; ^nd th' other chases woman, whilst she goes tfore ways and turns than hunted Nature knows. FOR HOPE. IOPE ! of all ills that men endure, lie only cheap and universal cure ! ?hou captive's freedom, and thou sick man s health ! ?hou loser's victory, and thou beggar's wealth ! Thou manna, which from Heaven we eat, To every taste a several meat ! liou strong retreat ! thou sure-entail'd estate, Vhich nought has power to alienate ! liou pleasant, honest flatterer ! for none 'latter unhappy men, but thou alone ! Hope ! thou first-fruits of happiness ! liou gentle dawning of a bright success ! 3iou good preparative, without which our joy )oes work too strong, and, whilst it cures, destroy ! Who out of Fortune's reach dost stand, And art a blessing still in hand ! VTiilst thee, her earnest-money, we retain, We certain are to gain, Vhether she her bargain break or else fulfil ; 3iou only good, not worse for ending ill ! Brother of Faith ! 'twixt whom and thee lie joys of Heaven and Earth divided be ! though Faith be heir, and have the fixt estate, 3iy portion yet in moveables is great. Happiness itself 's all one In thee, or in possession ! )nly the future's thine, the present liis ! Thine's the more hard and noble bliss : Jest apprehender of our joys ! which hast lo long a reach, and yet canst hold so fast ! Hope ! thou sad lovers' only friend ! CTiou Way, that may'st dispute it with the End ! tor love, I fear, 's a fruit that does delight rhe taste itself less than the smell and sight. Fruition more deceitful is Than thou canst be, when thou dost miss ; Men leave thee by obtaining, and straight flee Some other way again to thee ; And that's a pleasant country, without doubt, To which all soon return that travel out. ! """""""""" | CLAUDIAN'S OLD MAN OF VERONA. DE SENE VERONENSI, QUI SUBURBIUM NUNQUAM EGRESSUS EST. FELIX, qui patriis, &c. HAPPY the man, who his whole time doth bound Within th' enclosure of his little ground. Happy the man, whom the same humble place (Th' hereditary cottage of his race) From his first rising infancy has known, And by degrees sees gently bending down, With natural propension, to that earth Which both preserv'd his life, and gave him birth. Him no false distant lights, by fortune set, Could ever into foolish wanderings get. He never dangers either saw or fear'd : i The dreadful storms at sea he never heard. | He never heard the shrill alarms of war, i Or the worse noises of the lawyers' bar. [ No change of consuls marks to him the year, The change of seasons is his calendar. The cold and heat, winter and summer shows ; Autumn by fruits, and spring by flowers, he knows ; He measures time by land-marks, and has found For the whole day the dial of his ground. A neighbouring wood, born with himself, he sees, And loves his old contemporary trees. He 'as only heard of near Verona's name, And knows it, like the Indies, but by fame. Does with a like concernment notice take Of the Red-sea, and of Benacus' lake. Thus health and strength he to a third age enjoys, And sees a long posterity of boys. About the spacious world let others roam, The voyage, life, is longest made at home. THE WISH. WELL, then ; I now do plainly see This busy world and I shall ne'er agree ; The very honey of all earthly joy Does of all meats the soonest cloy ; And they, methinks, deserve my pity, Who for it can endure the stings, The crowd, and buzz, and murmurings, Of this great hive, the city. Ah, yet, ere I descend to th' grave, May I a small house and large garden have ! And a few friends, and many books, both true, Both wise, and both delightful too ! And, since love ne'er will from me flee, A mistress moderately fair, And good as guardian-angels are Only belov'd, and loving me ! Oh, fountains ! when in you shall I Myself, eas'd of unpeaceful thoughts, espy ? Oh fields ! oh woods ! when, when shall I be made The happy tenant of your shade ? 14- COWLEY. Here's the spring-head of Pleasure's flood ; Where all the riches lie, that she Has coin'd and stamp'd for good. Pride and ambition here Only in far-fetch'd metaphors appear ; Here nought but winds can hurtful murmurs scatter, And nought but Echo flatter. The gods, when they descended, hither From Heaven did always chuse their way j And therefore we may boldly say, That 'tis the way too thither. How happy here should I, And one dear she, live, and embracing die ! She, who is all the world, and can exclude In deserts solitude. I should have then this only fear Lest men, when they my pleasures see, Should hither throng to live like me, And so make a city here. FROM THE DAVIDEIS. AWAKE, awake, my Lyre ! And tell thy silent master's humble tale In sounds that may prevail ; Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire : Though so exalted she, And I so lowly be, Tell her, such different notes make all thy liar- mony. Hark ! how the strings awake : And, though the moving hand approach not near, Themselves with awful fear, A kind of numerous trembling make. Now all thy forces try, Now all thy charms apply, Revenge upon her ear the conquests of her eye. Weak Lyre ! thy virtue sure Is useless here, since thou art only found To cure, but not to wound, And she to wound, but not to cure. Too weak too wilt thou prove My passion to remove, Physic to other ills, thou'rt nourishment to love. Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre ! For thou canst never tell my humble tale In sounds that will prevail ; Nor gentle thoughts in her inspire : All thy vain mirth lay by, Bid thy strings silent lie, Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre ; and let thy master die. ir, JOHN MILTON. J OHK MILTON, a poet of the first rank in eminence, was descended from an ancient family, settled at Milton, in Oxfordshire. His father, whose de- sertion of the Roman Catholic faith was the caule of his disinheritance, settled in London as a scri- vener, and marrying a woman of good family, had two sons and a daughter. John, the eldest son, was borti in Bread-street, on December 9. 1608. He received the rudiments of learning from a domestic tutor, Thomas Young, afterwards chap- lain to the English merchants at Hamburg, whose merits are gratefully commemorated by his pupil, in a Latin elegy. At a proper age he was sent to St. Paul's school, and there began to distinguish himself by his intense application to study, as well as by his poetical talents. In his sixteenth year he was removed to Christ's college, Cambridge, where he was admitted a pensioner, under the tuition of Mr. W. Chappel. Of his course of studies in the university little is known ; but it appears, from several exercises pre- served in his works, that he had acquired extraor- dinary skill in writing Latin verses, which are of a purer taste than any preceding compositions of the kind by English scholars. * He took the degrees both of Bachelor and Master of Arts ; the latter in 1632, when he left Cambridge. - He renounced his original intention of entering the church, for which he has given as a reason, that, " coming to some maturity of years, he had perceived what tyranny had invaded it ;" which denotes a man early habitu- ated to think and act for liimself. He now returned to his father, who had retired from business to a residence at Horton, in Buck- inghamshire ; and he there passed five years in the study of the best Roman and Grecian authors, and in the composition of some of his finest miscella- neous poems. This was the period of his Allegro and Penseroso, his Comus and Lycidas. That his learning and talents had at this time attracted con- siderable notice, appears from an application made to him from the Bridgewater family, which pro- duced his 'admirable masque of " Comus," per- formed in 1634, at Ludlow Castle, before the Earl of Bridgewater, then Lord President of Wales; and also by his " Arcades," part of an entertainment presented to the Countess Dowager of Derby, at Harefield, by some of her family. In 1638, he obtained his father's leave to improve himself by foreign travel, and set out for the con- tinent. Passing through France, he proceeded to Italy, and spent a considerable time in that seat of the arts and of literature. At Naples he was kindly received by Manso, Marquis of Villa, who had long before deserved the gratitude of poets by his patronage of Tasso; and, in return for a laudatory distich of Manso, Milton addressed to him a Latin poem, of great elegance. He left Italy by the way of Geneva, where he contracted an acquaintance with two learned divines, John Diodati and Frederic Spanheim ; and he returned through France, having been absent about a year and three months. On his arrival, Milton found the nation agitated by civil and religious disputes, which threatened a crisis ; and as he had expressed himself impatient to be present on the theatre of contention, it has been thought extraordinary that he did not immediately place himself in some active station. But his turn was not military ; his fortune precluded a seat in parliament ; the pulpit he had declined ; and for the bar he had made no preparation. His taste and habits were altogether literary ; for the present, therefore, he fixed himself in the metropolis, and undertook the education of his sister's two sons, of the name of Philips. Soon after, he was applied to by several parents to admit their children to the benefit of his tuition. He therefore took a com- modious house in Aldersgate-street, and opened an academy. Disapproving the plan of education in the public schools and universities, he deviated from it as widely as possible. He put into the hands of his scholars, instead of the common classics, such Greek and Latin authors as treated on the arts and sciences, and on philosophy ; thus expecting to in- stil the knowledge of things with that of words. We are not informed of the result of his plan ; but it will appear singular that one who had himself drunk so deeply at the muse's fount, should withhold the draught from others. We learn, however, that he per- formed the task of instruction with great assiduity. Milton did not long suffer himself to lie under the reproach of having neglected the public cause in his private pursuits; and, in 1641, he published four treatises relative to church-government, in which he gave the preponderance to the presbyte- rian form above the episcopalian. Resuming the same controversy in the following year, he num- bered among his antagonists such men as Bishop Hall and Archbishop Usher. His father, who had been disturbed by the king's troops, now came to live with him ; and the necessity of a female head of such a house, caused Milton, in 1643, to form a con- nection with the daughter of Richard Powell, Esq., a magistrate of Oxfordshire. This was, in several respects, an unhappy marriage ; for his father-in- law was a zealous royalist, and his wife had ac- customed herself to the jovial hospitality of that party. She had not, therefore, passed above a month in her husband's house, when, having pro- cured an invitation from her father, she went to pass the summer in his mansion. Milton's invitations for her return were treated with contempt ; upon which, regarding her conduct as a desertion which broke the nuptial contract, he determined to punish 16 MILTON. it by repudiation. In 1 644 he published a work on "The Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce;" and, in the next year, it was followed by " Te- trachordon, or Expositions upon the four chief Places in Scripture which treat of Marriage." He further reduced his doctrine into practice, by pay- ing his addresses to a youi.g lady of great accom- plishments ; but, as he was paying a visit to a neigh- bour and kinsman, he was surprised with the sud- den entrance of his wife, who threw herself at his feet, and implored forgiveness. After a short struggle of resentment, he took her to his bosom ; and he sealed the reconciliation by opening his house to her father and brothers, when they had been driven from home by the triumph of the re- publican arms. In the progress of Milton's prose works, it will be right to mention his " Areopagitica ; aSpeech of Mr. John Milton, for the Liberty of Unlicensed Printing," a work, published in 1644, written with equal spirit and ability, and which, when reprinted in 1 738, was affirmed by the editor to be the best de- fence that had ever then appeared of that essential article of public liberty. In the following year he took care that his poetical character should not be lost to the world, and published his juvenile poems, Latin and English. Milton's principles of the origin and end of government carried him to a full approbation of the trial and execution of the king ; and, in order to conciliate the minds of the people to that act, he published, early in 1649, a work entitled, " The Tenure of Kings and Magistrates ; proving that it is lawful, and hath been so held through all ages, for any who have the power, to call to account a tyrant or wicked king ; and, after due con- viction, to depose and put him to death, if the ordi- nary magistrate have neglected or denied to do it." Certainly, it would not be easy to express, in stronger terms, an author's resolution to leave no doubts concerning his opinion on this important topic. His appointment to the Latin Secretaryship to the Council of State was, probably, the conse- quence of his decision. The learned Frenchman, Salmasius, or Saumaise, having been hired by Charles II., while in Holland, to write a work in favour of the royal cause, which he entitled, " Defensio Regia," Milton was employed to answer it ; which he did in 1651, by his celebrated " Defensio pro Populo Anglicano," in wlu'ch he exercised all his powers of Latin rhetoric, both to justify the republican party, and to confound and vilify the famous scholar against whom he took up the pen. By this piece he acquired a high repu- tation, both at home and abroad ; and he received a present of a thousand pounds from the English government. His book went through several edi- tions ; while, on the other hand, the work of Sal- masius was suppressed by the States of Holland, in whose service he lived as a professor at Leyden. Milton's intense application to study had, for some years preceding, brought on an affection of the eyes, which gradually impaired his sight ; and, before he wrote his " Defensio," he was warned by his physicians that the effort would probably end in total blindness. This opinion was soon after justi- fied by a gutta serena, which seized both his eyes, and subjected the remainder of his life to those pri- vations which he has so feelingly described in some passages of his poems. His intellectual powers, however, suffered no eclipse from this loss of his sensitive faculties ; and he pursued, without inter - nission, both his official and his controversial occu- pations. Cromwell, about this time, having assumed the supreme power, with the title of Protector, Milton acted with a subservience towards this usurper which is the part of his conduct that it is the most difficult to justify. It might have been expected, that when the wisest and most conscien- tious of the republicans had become sensible of his arts, and opposed his ambitious projects, the mind of Milton would neither have been blinded by his hypocrisy, nor overawed by his power. Possibly the real cause of his predilection for Cromwell, was that he saw no refuge from the intolerance of the Presbyterians, but in the moderation of the Pro- tector. And, in fact, the very passage in which he addresses lu'm with the loftiest encomium, contains a free and noble exhortation to him to respect that public liberty, of which he appeared to be the guardian. Cromwell at length died ; and so zealous and san- guine was Milton, to the very last, that one of his latest political productions was, " A ready and easy Way to establish a free Commonwealth." It was in vain, however, to contend, by. pamphlets, with the national inclination ; and Charles II. returned in triumph. Milton was discharged from his office, and lay for some time concealed in the house of a friend. The House of Commons desired that his Majesty would issue a proclamation to call in Mil- ton's Defences of the People, and Iconoclastes, to- gether with a book of Goodwyn's. The books were accordingly burnt by the common hangman ; but the authors were returned as having absconded ; nor, in the act of indemnity, did the name of Milton appear among those of the excepted persons. He now, in reduced circumstances, and under the discountenance of power, removed to a private habitation near his former residence. He had buried his first wife ; and a second, the daughter of a Captain Woodcock, in Hackney, died in childbed. To solace liis forlorn condition, he desired his friend, Dr. Paget, to look out a third wife for him, who recommended a relation of his own, named Eliza- beth Minshull, of a good family in Cheshire. His powerful mind, now centered in itself, and un- disturbed by contentions and temporary topics, opened to those great ideas which were continually filling it, and the result was, Paradise Lost. Much discussion has taken place concerning the original conception of this grand performance ; but what- ever hint may have suggested the rude outline, it is certain that all the creative powers of a strong imagination, and all the accumulated stores of a life devoted to learning, were expended in its com- pletion. Though he appears, at an early age, to have thought of some subject in the heroic times of English history, as peculiarly calculated for English verse, yet his religious turn, and assiduous study of the Hebrew Scriptures, produced a final preference of a story derived from the Sacred Writings, and giving scope to the introduction of his theological system. It would be superfluous, at this time, to weigh the merits of Milton's great work, which stands so much beyond competition ; but it may be affirmed, that whatever his other poems can ex- hibit of beauty in some parts, or of grandeur in others, may all be referred to Paradise Lost as the most perfect model of both. L'ALLEGRO. 17 Milton, not exhausted by this great effort, fol- lowed it in 1670 by " Paradise Regained," written upon a suggestion of the Quaker El wood's, and ap- parently regarded as the theological completion of the Paradise Lost. Although, in point of inven- tion, its inferiority is plainly apparent, yet modern criticism has pronounced that there are passages in it by no means unworthy of the genius of Milton, allowance being made for the small compass of the subject, and his purpose in writing it. Together with it appeared his tragedy of " Sampson Ago- nistes," composed upon the model of antiquity, and never intended for the stage. With this work his poetical account closes ; and a few pieces in prose can scarcely claim particular no- tice. He sunk tranquilly under an exhaustion of the vital powers in November, 1674, when he had nearly completed his 66th year. His remains were carried from his house in Bunhill- Fields to the church of St. Giles, Cripplegate, with a numerous and splendid attendance. No monument marked the tomb of this great man, but his memory was honoured with a tomb in 1737, in Westminster Abbey, at the expense of Auditor Benson. The only family whom he left were daughters. L'ALLEGRO. -TlEVCK, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn, [holy i 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights un- Find out some uncouth cell, [wings, Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous And the night-raven sings ; There under ebon shades, and low-brow'd rocks, As ragged as thy locks, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. But come, thou goddess fair and free, In Heaven yclep'd Euphrosyne, And by men, heart-easing Mirth ; Whom lovely Venus, at a birth, With two sister Graces more, To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore : Or whether (as some sager sing) The frolic wind, that breathes the spring, Zephyr, with Aurora playing, As he met her once a-maying ; There on beds of violets blue, And fresh-blown roses wash'd in dew, FilFd her with thee a daughter fair, So buxom, blithe, and debonair. Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest and youthful Jollity, Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles, Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek ; Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And laughter holding both liis sides. Come, and trip it, as you go, On the light fantastic toe ; And in thy right hand lead with thee The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty ; And, if I give thee honour due, Mirthj admit me of thy crew, To live with her, and live with thee, In unreproved pleasures free. To hear the lark begin his flight, And singing startle the dull Night, From his watch-tower in the skies, Till the dappled Dawn doth rise ; Then to come, in spite of sorrow, And at my window bid good morrow, Through the sweet-brier, or the vine, Or the twisted eglantine : While the cock, with lively din, Scatters the rear of Darkness thin. And to the stack, or the barn-door Stoutly struts his dames before : Oft listening how the hounds and horn Cheerly rouse the slumbering Morn, From the side of some hoar hill, Through the high wood echoing shrill : Some time walking, not unseen, By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green, Right against the eastern-gate Where the great Sun begins his state, Rob'd in flames, and amber light, The clouds in thousand liveries dight ; While the ploughman, near at hand, Whistles o'er the furrow'd land, And the milkmaid singeth blithe, And the mower whets his sithe, And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale. Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures, Whilst the landscape round it measures; Russet lawns, and fallows gray, Where the nibbling flocks do stray ; Mountains, on whose barren breast, The labouring clouds do often rest ; Meadows trim with daisies pide, Shallow brooks, and rivers wide : Towers and battlements it sees Bosom'd high in tufted trees, Where perhaps some beauty lies, The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes. Hard by, a cottage chimney smoaks, From betwixt two aged oaks, Where Corydon and Thyrsis, met, Are at their savoury dinner set Of herbs and other country messes, Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses ; And then in haste her bower she leaves, With Thestylis to bind the sheaves ; Or, if the earlier season lead, To the tann'd havcock in the mead. 18 Sometimes with secure delight The upland hamlets will invite, When the merry bells ring round, And the jocund rebecks sound To many a youth, and many a maid. Dancing in the chequer' d shade ; And young and old come forth to play On a sun-shine holiday, Till the live-long day-light fail : Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, With stories told of many a feat, How faery Mab the junkets eat ; She was pinch' d, and pull'd, she sed ; And he, by friars lantern led, Tells how the drudging goblin swet, To earn his cream-bowl duly set, When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn, That ten day-labourers could not end ; Then lies him down the lubbar fiend, And, stretch'd out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength ; And crop-full out of doors he flings, Ere the first cock his matin rings. Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, By whispering winds soon lull'd asleep. Tower'd cities please us then, And the busy hum of men, Where throngs of knights and barons bold, In weeds of peace, high triuraphs hold, With store of ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence, and judge the prize Of wit, or arms, while both contend To win her grace, whom all commend. There let Hymen oft appear In saffron robe, with taper clear, And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask, and antique pageantry ; Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakspeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild. And ever, against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse ; Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes, with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out, With wanton heed and giddy cunning ; The melting voice through mazes running, Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony j That Orpheus' self may heave his head From golden slumber on a bed Of heap'd Elysian flowers, and hear Such strains as would have won the ear Of Pluto, to have quite set free His half-regain'd Eurydice. These delights if thou canst give, Mirth, with thee I mean to live. IL PENSEROSO. HENCE, vain deluding Joys, The brood of Folly, without father bred ! How little you bested, Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys ! MILTON. Dwell in some idle brain, And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sun-beams; Or likest hovering dreams, The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train. But hail, thou goddess, sage and holy, Hail, divinest Melancholy ! Whose saintly visage is too bright To hit the sense of human sight, And therefore to our weaker view O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue; Black, but such as in esteem Prince Memnon's sister might beseem, Or that starr'd Ethiop queen that strove To set her beauty's praise above The sea-nymphs, and their powers offended: Yet thou art higher far descended : Thee bright-hair' d Vesta, long of yore, To solitary Saturn bore ; His daughter she ; in Saturn's reign, Such mixture was not held a stain : Oft in glimmering bowers and glades He met her, and in secret shades Of woody Ida's inmost grove, Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove. Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure, Sober, stedfast, and demure, All in a robe of darkest grain, Flowing with majestic train, And sable stole of Cyprus lawn, Over thy decent shoulders drawn. Come, but keep thy wonted state, With even step, and musing gait ; And looks commercing with the skies, Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes : There, held in holy passion still, Forget thyself to marble, till With a sad leaden downward cast Thou fix them on the earth as fast : And join with thee calm Peace, and Quiet, 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 : But first, and chiefest, with thee bring, Him that yon soars on golden wing, Guiding the fiery- wheeled throne, The cherub Contemplation ; And the mute Silence hist along, 'Less Philomel will deign a song, In her sweetest saddest plight, Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke, Gently o'er the accustom'd oak : Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy ! Thee, chantress, oft, the woods among, I woo, to hear thy even-song ; 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 Through the Heaven's wide pathless way ; And oft, as if her head she bow'd, Stooping through a fleecy cloud. Oft, on a plat of rising ground, I hear the far-off Curfeu sound, LYCIDAS. 19 Drcr some wide- water 'd shore, swinging slow with sullen roar : 3r, if the air will not permit, Some still removed place will fit, Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom ; ^ ,/ ?ar from all resort of mirth, Save the cricket on the hearth, 3r the belman's drowsy charm, To bless the doors from nightly harm. 3r let my lamp at midnight hour, 3e seen in some high lonely tower, Vhere I may oft out-watch the Bear, * Vith thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere Oie spirit of Plato, to unfold Vhat worlds or what vast regions hold Hie immortal mind, that hath forsook ler mansion in this fleshly nook : Ind of those demons that are found n fire, air, flood, or under ground, Vhose power hath a tnie c6nsent Vith planet, or with element. Jometime let gorgeous Tragedy n scepter'd pall come sweeping by r 'resenting Thebes, or Pelops* line, )r the tale of Troy divine ; )r what (though rare) of later age Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage. But, O sad virgin, that thy power light raise Musajus from his bower ! )r bid the soul of Orpheus sing uch notes, as, warbled to the string, )rew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, Vnd made Hell grant what love did seek ! )r call up him that left half-told lie story of Cambuscan bold, )f Camball, and of Algarsife, ^nd who had Canace to wife, Tiat own'd the virtuous ring and glass ; ind of the wondrous horse of brass. )n which the Tartar king did ride : i nd if aught else great bards beside n sage and solemn tunes have sung, )fturneys, and of trophies hung, )f forests, and enchantments drear, Vhere more is meant than meets the ear. Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career, 'ill civil-suited Morn appear, Jot trick'd and frounc'd as she was wont Vith the Attic boy to hunt, !ut kercheft in a comely cloud, Vhile rocking winds are piping loud, )r ushered with a shower still Vhen the gust hath blown his fill, Ending on the russl ing leaves, Vith minute drops from oiF the eaves, aid, when the Sun begins to fling lis flaring beams, me, goddess, bring b arched walks of twilight groves, .nd shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, >f pine, or monumental oak, Vhere the rude axe, with heaved stroke, Vas never heard the nymphs to daunt, >r fright them from their hallow'd liaunt. 'here in close covert by some brook, /here no profaner eye may look, lide me from day's garish eye, Vhile the bee with honied thigh, 1iat at her flowery work doth sing, .nd the waters murmuring, With such consort as they keep, Entice the dewy feather'd Sleep ; And let some strange mysterious dream Wave at his wings in aery stream Of lively portraiture display'd, Softly on my eye-lids laid. And, as I wake, sweet music breathe Above, about, or underneath, Sent by some spirit to mortal good, Or the unseen genius of the wood. But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloysters pale, And love the high-embowed roof, With antic pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light : There let the pealing organ blow, To the full-voic'd quire below, In service high and anthems clear, As may with sweetness, through mine ear, Dissolve me into ecstacies, And bring all Heaven before mine eyes. And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every star that Heaven doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew; Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain. These pleasures, Melancholy, give, And I with thee wfll choose to live. LYCIDAS. YET once more, O ye laurels, and once more, Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never-sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude : And, with forc'd fingers rude, Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year : Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear, Compels me to disturb your season due : For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer : Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew 10 Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. He must not float upon his watery bier Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, Without the meed of some melodious tear. Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well, That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring ; Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse : So may some gentle Muse With lucky words favour my destin'd urn ; 20 And, as he passes, turn And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud. For we were nurs'd upon the self-same hill, Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, and rill. Together both, ere the high lawns appear'd Under the opening eye-lids of the Morn, We drove afield, and both together heard What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn, Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night, Oft till the star, that rose, at evening bright, 30 Toward Heaven's descent had slop'd his westering wheel. C 2 20 MILTON. Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute, Temper'd to the oaten flute; Rough Satyrs danc'd, and Fawns with cloven heel From the glad sound would not be absent long ; And old Damoetas lov'd to hear our song. But, O the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone, and never must return ! Thee, shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, And all their echoes, mourn : 4O The willows, and the hazel copses green, Shall now no more be seen Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. As killing as the canker to the rose, Or taint- worm to the weanling herds that graze, Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear, When first the white-thorn blows ; Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherds' ear. Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep Clos'd o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas? 51 For neither were ye playing on the steep, Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream : Ay me ! I fondly dream ! Had ye been there for what could that have done ? What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, The Muse herself, for her enchanting son, W r hom universal Nature did lament, 60 When, by the rout that made the hideous roar, His gory visage down the stream was sent, Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore ? Alas ! what boots it with incessant care To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd's trade, And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? Were it not better done, as others use, To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair ? Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) 71 To scorn delights and live laborious days ; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears, And slits the thin-spun life. " But not the praise," Phoebus replied, and touch'd my trembling ears ; " Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, Nor in the glistering foil Set off' to the world, nor in broad rumour lies : But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes, And perfect witness of all-judging Jove ; 81 As he pronounces lastly on each deed, Of so much fame in Heaven expect thy meed." O fountain Arethuse, and thou honour'd flood, Smooth-sliding Mincius, crown'd with vocal reeds ! That strain I heard was of a higher mood : But now my oat proceeds, And listens to the herald of the sea That came in Neptune's plea ; 90 He ask'd the waves, and ask'd the felon winds, What hard mishap hath doom'd this gentle swain? And question'd every gust of rugged wings That blows from off each beaked promontory : They knew not of his story ; And sage Hippotades their answer brings, That not a blast was from his dungeon stray'd ; The air was calm, and on the level brine Sleek Panope with all her sisters play'd. It was that fatal and perfidious bark, 100 Built in the eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark, That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe. " Ah ! who hath reft" (quoth he) " my dearest pledge?" Last came, and last did go, The pilot of the Galilean lake ; Two massy keys he bore of metals twain, 1 10 (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain,) He shook his miter 'd locks, and stern bespake : " How well could I have spared for thee, young swain, Enow of such, as for their bellies' sake ^ Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold ? Of other care they little reckoning make,^- Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast, ^ And shove away the worthy bidden guest; Blind mouths ! that scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook, or have learn'd aught else the least That to the faithful herdman's art belongs ! 1 'J 1 What recks it them? What need they? They are sped ; And, when they list, their lean and flashy songs Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw ; The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But, swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw r , Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread : Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing sed : But that two-handed engine at the door ] 30 Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more." Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past, That shrunk thy streams ; return, Sicilian Muse, And call the vales, and bid them hither cast Their bells, and flowerets of a thousand hues. Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks, On whose fresh lap the swart-star sparely looks ; Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes, That on the green turf suck the honied showers, And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, 142 The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freak'd with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well-attired wood-bine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears : Bid Amaranthus all liis beauty shed, And daffodillies fill their cups with tears, 150 To strew the laureat herse where Lycid lies. For, so to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise ; Ay me ! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurl'd. Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, Where thou, perhaps, under the whelming tide, Visit' st the bottom of the monstrous world ; Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied, Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old, 1 60 Where the great vision of the guarded mount Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold ; Look homeward, angel, now, and melt with ruth : And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth. COMUS. Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor ; So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, 169 A nd tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky : So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, Through the dear might of him that walk'd the waves ; Where, other groves and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, And hears the unexpressive nuptial song, In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. There entertain him all the saints above, In solemn troops, and sweet societies, That sing, and, singing in their glory, move, And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes. Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more; 180 Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore, In thy large recompense, and shalt be good To all that wander in that perilous flood. Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills, While the still Morn went out with sandals gray ; He touch'd the tender stops of various quills, With eager thought warbling his Doric lay ; And now the Sun had stretch'd out all the hills, And now was dropt into the western bay : 191 At last he rose, and twitch'd his mantle blue : To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new. COMUS. 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, who 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 aereal spirits live inspher'd In regions mild of calm and serene air, Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot, Which men call earth ; and, with low-thoughted care Confin'd and pester'd in this pin-fold here, Strive to keep up a frail and feverish being, Unmindful of the crown that Virtue gives, After this mortal change, to her true servants, 10 Amongst the enthron'd 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 : 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 ebbing stream, Took in by lot 'twixt high and nether Jove 20 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, 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-hair'd deities ; And all tliis tract that fronts the falling Sun 30 A noble peer of mickle trust and power Has in his charge, with temper'd awe to guide An old and haughty nation, proud in arms : Where liis fair offspring, nurs'd in princely lore, Are coming to attend their father's state, And new-entrusted sceptre : but their way Lies through the perplex'd paths of this drear wood, The nodding horrour of whose shady brows Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger ; And here their tender age might suffer peril, 40 But that by quick command from sovran Jove I was dispatch'd 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. Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape Crush'd the sweet poison of misused wine, After the Tuscan mariners transform'd, Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listed, On Circe's island fell : (Who knows not Circe, 50 The daughter of the Sun, \vhose charmed cup Whoever tasted, lost his upright shape, And downward fell into a grovelling swine ?) This nymph, that gaz'd upon his clustering locks With ivy berries wreath'd, and his blithe youth, Had by him, ere he parted thence, a son Much like his father, but his mother more, Whom therefore she brought up, and Comus nam'd : Who, ripe and frolic of his full grown age, Roving the Celtic and Iberian fields At last betakes him to this ominous wood ; And, in thick shelter of black shades imbower'd, Excels his mother at her mighty art, Offering to every weary traveller His orient liquor in a crystal glass, To quench the drought of Phosbus ; which as they . taste (For most do taste through fond intemperate thirst : ) Soon as the potion works, their human countenance., The express resemblance of the gods, is chang'd Into some brutish form of wolf, or bear, 70 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, But boast themselves more comely than before ; And all their friends and native home forget, To roll with pleasure in a sensual stye. Therefore when any, favour'd of high Jove, Chances to pass through this adventurous glade, Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star 80 I shoot from Heaven, to give him safe convoy, MILTON. As now 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 That to the service of this house belongs, Who with his soft pipe, and smooth-dittied song, 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 90 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 otherwise like men and women, their apparel glistering ; they come in making a riotous and unruly noise t with torches in their hands. COMUS. The star, that bids the shepherd fold, Now the top of Heaven doth hold ; And the gilded car of day His glowing axle doth allay In the steep Atlantic stream ; And the slope Sun his upward beam Shoots against the dusky pole, Pacing towards 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, Dropping odours, dropping wine. Rigour now is gone to bed, And advice with scrupulous head. Strict Age and sour Severity, With their grave saws, in slumber lie, 110 We, that are of purer fire, Imitate the starry quire, Who, in their nightly watchful spheres, Lead in swift round the months and years. The sounds and seas, with all their finny drove, Now to the Moon in wavering morrice move ; And, on the tawny sands and shelves, 119 Trip the pert faeries and the dapper elves, By dimpled brook and fountain brim, The wood-nymphs, deck'd 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. Come, let us our rites begin ; . 'Tis only day-light that makes sin, Which these dun shades will ne'er report : Hail, goddess of nocturnal sport, 128 Dark-veil'd Cotytto! to whom the secret flame Of midnight torches burns ; mysterious dame, That ne'er art call'd, but when the dragon woom Of Stygian darkness spets her thickest gloom, And makes one blot of all the air ; Stay the cloudy ebon chair, Wherein thou rid'st with Hecat', and befriend Us thy vow'd priests, till utmost end Of all thy dues be done, and none left out; Ere the babbling eastern scout, The nice Morn, on the Indian steep From her cabin'd loop-hole peep, 140 And to the tell-tale Sun descry tconceal'd solemnity. Come, knit hands, and beat the ground In a light fantastic round. THE MEASURE. Break off, break off, I feel the different pace 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) 149 Benighted in these woods Now to my charms. And to my wily trains : I shall ere long Be well-stocked with as fair a herd as graz'd About my mother Circe. Thus I hurl My dazzling spells into the spungy air, Of power to cheat the eye with blear illusion, And give it false presentments, lest the place And my quaint habits breed astonishment, And put the damsel to suspicious flight ; Which must not be, for that's against my course : I, under fair pretence of friendly ends, 1GO And well-plac'd words of glozing courtesy Baited with reasons not unplausible, Wind me into the easy-hearted man, And hug liim into snares. When once her eye Hath met the virtue of this magic dust, I shall appear some harmless villager, Whom thrift keeps up about his country gear. But here she comes ; I fairly step aside, And hearken, if I may, her business here. THE LADY enters. This way the noise was, if mine ear be true, 1 70 My best guide now; methought it was the sound Of riot and ill-manag'd merriment, Such as the jocund flute, or gamesome pipe, Stirs up among the loose unletter'd hinds ; 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 swill'd insolence, Of such late wassailers ; yet, O ! where else Shall I inform my unacquainted feet 180 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, Stept, 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 gray-hooded Even, Like a sad votarist in palmer's weed, 189 Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus' wain. But where they are, and why they came not back, Is now the labour of my thoughts ; 'tis likeliest They had engag'd their wandering steps too far ; And envious darkness, ere they could return, Had stole them from me : else, O thievish Night, Why should'st thou, but for some felonious end, In thy dark lantern thus close up the stars, That Nature hung in Heaven, and fill'd 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 perfect in my listening ear ; Yet nought but single darkness do I find. What this might be ? A thousand fantasie.> Begin to Uirong into my memory, COMUS. 23 Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire, And aery tongues, that syllable men's names 208 On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses. These thoughts may startle well, but not astound, The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended .By a strong siding champion, Conscience. welcome pure-ey'd Faith, white-handed Hope, Thou hovering angel, girt with golden wings, And thou, unblemish'd form of Chastity ! 1 see ye visibly, and now believe That he, the Supreme Good, to whom all things ill Are but as slavish officers of vengeance, Would send a glistering guardian, if need were, To keep my life and honour unassail'd. 220 Was I deceiv'd, 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 silver lining on the night, And casts a gleam over this tufted grove : I cannot halloo to my brothers, but Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest I'll venture ; for my new-enliven'd spirits Prompt me ; and they perhaps are not far off. SWEET Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen Within thy aery shell, 231 By slow Meander's margent green, And in the violet-embroider'd vale, Where the love-lorn nightingale Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well ; Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair That likest thy Narcissus are ? O, if thou have Hid them in some flowery cave, Tell me but where, 240 Sweet queen of parley, daughter of the sphere ! So may'st thou be translated to the skies, And give resounding grace to all Heaven's har- Enter COMUS. Comus, Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment ? 245 Sure something holy lodges in that breast, And with these raptures moves the vocal air To testify his hidden residence. How sweetly did they float upon the wings Of silence, through the empty vaulted night. At every fall smoothing the raven-down 251 Of darkness, till it smil'd ! I have oft heard My mother Circe with the Syrens three, Amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades, Culling their potent herbs and baleful drugs ; Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul, And lap it in Elysium : Scylla wept, And chid her barking waves into attention, And fell Charybdis murmur'd soft applause : Yet they in pleasing slumber lull'd the sense, And in sweet madness robb'd it of itself; 261 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 ! 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 tliis tall wood. Lad. Nay, gentle shepherd, ill is lost that praise That is address'd to unattending ears ; Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift How to regain my sever' d company, Compell'd me to awake the courteous Echo 275 To give me answer from her mossy couch. Com. What chance, good lady, hath bereft you thus? Lad. Dim darkness, and this leafy labyrinth. Com. Could that divide you from near-ushering guides ? Lad. They left me weary on a grassy turf. 280 Com. By falsehood, or discourtesy, or why ? Lad. To seek i' the valley some cool friendly spring. Com. And left your fair side all unguarded, lady ? Lad. They were but twain, and purpos'd quick return. Com. Perhaps forestalling night prevented them. Lad. How easy my misfortune is to hit ! Com. Imports their loss, beside the present need ? Lad. No less than if I should my brothers lose. Com. Were they of manly prime, or youthful bloom ? 289 Lad. As smooth as Hebe's their unrazor'd lips. Com. Two such I saw, what time the labour'd ox In his loose traces from the furrow came, And the swink'd hedger at his supper sat ; I saw them under a green mantling vine, That crawls along the side of yon small hill. Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots ; Their port was more than human, as they stood : I took it for a faery vision Of some gay creatures of the element, That in the colours of the rainbow live, 300 And play i' the plighted clouds. I was aw-struck, And, as I past, I worshipt ; if those you seek, It were a journey like the path to Heaven, To help you find them. Lad. Gentle villager, What readiest way would bring me to that place ? Com. Due west it rises from this shrubby point. Lad. To find out that, good shepherd, I suppose, In such a scant allowance of star-light, Would overtask the best land-pilot's art, Without the sure guess of well-practis'd feet. 31O Com. I know each lane, and every alley green, Dingle, or bushy dell of this wild wood, And every bosky bourn from side to side, My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood ; And if your stray attendants be yet lodg'd, 315 Or shroud within these limits, I shall know Ere morrow wake, or the low roosted lark From her thatch'd pallet rouse ; if otherwise I can conduct you, lady, to a low, But loyal cottage, where you may be safe Till further quest. Lad. Shepherd, I take thy word And trust thy honest offer'd courtesy, Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds With smoky rafters, than in tap'stry halls In courts of princes, where it first was nam'd 325 And yet is most pretended : in a place Less warranted than this, or less secure, I cannot be, that I should fear to change it. - Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial To my proportion'd strength. Shepherd, lead on. [Exeunt.] 24= MILTON. Enter The Two BROTHERS. EL Br. Unmuffle, ye faint stars; and thou, fair Moon, That wont'st to love the traveller's benison, Stoop thy pale visage through an amber cloud, And disinherit Chaos, that reigns here In double night of darkness and of shades ; 335 Or, if your influence be quite damm'd up With black usurping mists, some gentle taper, Though a rush-candle from the wicker hole Of some clay habitation, visit us With thy long-levell'd rule of streaming light ; And thou shalt be our star of Arcady, Or Tyrian Cynosure. Sec. Br. Or, if our eyes Be barr'd that happiness, might we but hear The folded flocks penn'd in their wattled cotes, Or sound of pastoral reed with oaten stops, 345 Or whistle from the lodge, or village cock Count the night watches to his feathery dames, 'Twould be some solace yet, some little cheering, In this close dungeon of innumerous boughs. But, O that hapless virgin, our lost sister ! Where may she wander now, whither betake her From the chill dew, among rude burs and tliistles ? Perhaps some cold bank is her bolster now, Or 'gainst the rugged bark of some broad elm Leans her unpillow'd head, fraught with sad fears. 355 What, if in wild amazement and affright ? Or, while we speak, within the direful grasp Of savage hunger, or of savage heat ? El. Br. Peace, brother : be not over-exquisite To cast the fashion of uncertain evils : For grant they be so, while they rest unknown, What need a man forestall his date of grief, And run to meet what he would most avoid ? Or, if they be but false alarms of fear, How bitter is such self-delusion ! 365 I do not think my sister so to seek, Or so unprincipled in Virtue's book, And the sweet peace that goodness bosoms ever, As that the single want of light and noise (Not being in danger, as I trust she is not,) Could stir the constant mood of her calm thoughts, And put them into misbecoming plight. Virtue could see to do what virtue would By her own radiant light, though Sun and Moon Were in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdom's self Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude ; 376 Where, with her best nurse, Contemplation, She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings, That in the various bustle of resort Were ail-to ruffled, and sometimes impair'd. He that has light within his own clear breast, May sit i' the centre, and enjoy bright day : But he, that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts, Benighted walks under the mid-day Sun ; Himself is his own dungeon. 385 Sec. Br. 'Tis most true, That musing Meditation most affects The pensive secrecy of desert cell, Far from the cheerful haunt of men and herds,, And sits as safe as in a senate-house ; For who would rob a hermit of his weeds, His few books, or his beads, or maple dish, Or do his gray hairs any violence ? But Beauty, like the fair Hesperian tree with blooming gold, had need the guard 395 Of dragon-watch, wkh unenchanted eye, To save her blossoms, and defend her fruit, From the rash hand of bold Incontinence. You may as well spread out the unsunn'd heaps Of misers' treasure by an outlaw's den, And tell'me it is safe, as bid me hope Danger will wink on Opportunity, And let a single helpless maiden pass Uninjur'd in this wild surrounding waste. Of night, or loneliness, it recks me not ; I fear the dread events that dog them both, 405 Lest some ill-greeting touch attempt the person Of our unowned sister. El. Br. I do not, brother, Infer, as if I thought my sister's state Secure, without all doubt or controversy ; Yet, where an equal poise of hope and fear Does arbitrate the event, my nature is That I incline to hope, rather than fear, And gladly banish squint suspicion. My sister is not so defenceless left As you imagine ; she has a hidden strength, 415 Which you remember not. Sec. Br. What hidden strength, Unless the strength of Heaven, if you mean that? El. Br. I mean that too, but yet a hidden strength, Which, if Heaven gave it, may be term'd her own; 'Tis Chastity, my brother, Chastity : She, that has that, is clad in complete steel ; And, like a quivered nymph with arrows keen, May trace huge forests, and unharbour'd heaths, Infamous hills, and sandy perilous wilds ; Where, through the sacred rays of Chastity, 425 No savage fierce, bandite, or mountaineer, Will dare to soil her virgin purity : Yea there, where very Desolation dwells, By grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid shades. She may pass on with unblench'd majesty, Be it not done in pride, or in presumption. Some say, no evil thing that walks by night In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen, Blue meager hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost That breaks his magic chains at Curfeu time, No goblin, or swart faery of the mine, 436 Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity. Do ye believe me yet, or shall I call Antiquity from the old schools of Greece To testify the arms of Chastity ? Hence had the huntress Dian her dread bow, Fair silver-shafted queen, for ever chaste, Wherewith she tam'd the brinded lioness And spotted mountain-pard, but set at nought The frivolous bolt of Cupid; gods and men Fear'd her stern frown, and she was queen o' the woods. What was that snaky-headed Gorgon shield, That wise Minerva wore, unconquer'd virgin, Wherewith she freez'd her foes to congeal'd stone, But rigid looks of chaste austerity, 45O And noble grace, that dash'd brute violence With sudden adoration and blank awe ? So dear to Heaven is saintly Chastity, That, when a soul is found sincerely so, A thousand liveried angels lackey her, Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt j And, in clear dream and solemn vision, Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear ; Till oft converse with heavenly habitants COMUS. 3cgin to cast a beam on the outward shape, Fhe unpolluted temple of the mind, ind turns it by degrees to the soul's essence, 460 Till all be made immortal : but when Lust, 3y unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk, Jut most by lewd and lavish act of sin, ^ets in defilement to the inward parts, lie soul grows clotted by contagion, mbodies, and imbrutes, till she quite lose The divine property of her first being. luch are those thick and gloomy shadows damp, )ft seen in charnel vaults and sepulchres 471 jngering, and sitting by a new made grave, Is loth to leave the body that it lov'd, Ind link'd itself by carnal sensuality !V> a degenerate and degraded state. 'ec. Br. How charming is divine philosophy ! Jot harsh, and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, Jut musical as is Apollo's lute, ind a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets, Vhere no crude surfeit reigns. 11. Br. List, list ; I hear ome far off* halloo break the silent air. 481 ec. Br. Methought so too ; what should it be ? 11. Br. For certain lither some one like us night-founder'd here, )r else some neighbour woodman, or, at worst, ome roving robber, calling to his fellows. ec. B. Heaven keep my sister. Again, again, and near ! est draw, and stand upon our guard. ?/. B. I'll halloo : f he be friendly, he comes well ; if not, )efence is a good cause, and Heaven be for us. Enter the Attendant Spirit, habited like a sheplierd.'] Tiat halloo I should know ; what are you ? speak ; 'ome not too near, you fall on iron stakes else. oir. What voice is that? my young lord ? speak again. 492 ?c. B. O brother, 'tis my father's shepherd, sure. 7. B. Thyrsis ? Whose artful strains have oft del ay 'd "he huddling brook to hear his madrigal, .nd sweeten'd every muskrose of the dale ? low cam'st thou here, good swain ? hath any ram lipt from the fold, or young kid lost his dam, >r straggling wether the pent flock forsook ? Cow could'st thou find this dark sequester'd nook? nV. O my lov'd master's heir, and his next joy, came not here on such a trivial toy 502 .s a stray'd ewe, or to pursue the stealth >f pilfering wolf; not all the fleecy wealth, 'hat doth enrich these downs, is worth a thought 'o this my errand, and the care it brought, lut, O my virgin lady, where is she? [ow chance she is not in your company ? 7. B. To tell thee sadly, shepherd, without blame, >r our neglect, we lost her as we came. 510 rir. Ay me unhappy ! then my fears are true. 7. B. What fears, good Thyrsis ? Pr'ythee briefly show. rir. I'll tell ye ; 'tis not vain or fabulous, fhough so csteem'd by shallow ignorance,) Vliat the sage poets, taught by the heavenly Muse, toried of old in high immortal verse, >f dire chimeras, and enchanted isles, .nd rifted rocks whose entrance leads to Hell ; or such there be, but unbelief is blind. 25 520 Within the navel of this hideous wood, Immur'd in cypress shades a sorcerer dwells, Of Bacchus and of Circe born, great Coraus, Deep skill'd in all his mother's witcheries ; And here to every thirsty wanderer By sly enticement gives his baneful cup, With many murmurs mix'd, whose pleasing poison The visage quite transforms of him that drinks, And the inglorious likeness of a beast Fixes instead, unmoulding reason's mintage Character 'd in the face : this have I learnt 530 Tending my flocks hard by i' the hilly crofts., That brow this bottom-glade ; whence night by night He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl, Like stabled wolves, or tigers at their prey, Doing abhorred rites to Hecate In their obscured haunts of inmost bowers. Yet have they many baits, and guileful spells, To inveigle and invite the unwary sense Of them that pass unweeting by the way. This evening late, by then the chewing flocks Had ta'en their supper on the savoury herb 54 1 Of knot-grass dew-besprent, and were in fold, I sat me down to watch upon a bank With ivy canopied, and interwove With flaunting honey-suckle, and began, Wrapt in a pleasing fit of melancholy, To meditate my rural minstrelsy, Till fancy had her fill ; but, ere a close, The wonted roar was up amidst the woods, And fill'd the air with barbarous dissonance ; 550 At which I ceas'd, and listen'd them a while, Till an unusual stop of sudden silence Gave respite to the drowsy frighted steeds, That draw the litter of close-curtain' d Sleep ; At last a soft and solemn-breathing sound Rose like a steam of rich distill'd perfumes, And stole upon the air, that even Silence Was took ere she was 'ware, and wish'd she might Deny her nature, and be never more, Still to be so displac'd. I was all ear, 560 And took in strains that might create a soul Under the ribs of Death : but O ! ere long, Too well I did perceive it was the voice Of my most honour'd lady, your dear sister. Amaz'd I stood, harrow'd with grief and fear, And, O poor hapless nightingale, thought I, How sweet thou sing'st, how near the deadly snare ! Then down the lawns I ran with headlong haste, Through paths and turnings often trod by day, Till, guided by mine ear, I found the place, 570 Where that damn'd wisard, hid in sly disguise, (For so by certain signs I knew,) had met Already, ere my best speed could prevent, The aidless innocent lady, his wish'd prey ; Who gently ask'd if he had seen such two, Supposing him some neighbour villager. Longer I durst not stay, but soon I guess'd Ye were the two she meant ; with that I sprung Into swift flight, till I had found you here ; But further know I not. Sec. Br. O night, and shades ! 580 How are ye join'd with Hell in triple knot Against the unarm'd weakness of one virgin, Alone and helpless ! Is this the confidence You gave me, brother ? EL Br. Yes, and keep it still ; Lean on it safely ; not a period MILTON. Shall be unsaid for mo : against the threats Of malice, or of sorcery, or that power Which erring men call Chance, this I hold firm, Virtue may be assail'd, but never hurt, Surpris'd by unjust force, but not enthrall'd : 590 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 Gather'd like scum, and settled to itself, It shall be in eternal restless change Self-fed, and self-consum'd : if this fail, The pillar'd firmament is rottenness, And Earth's base built on stubble. But come, let's on. Against the opposing will and arm of Heaven 600 May never this just sword be lifted up ; But for that damn'd magician, let him be girt With all the grissly legions that troop Under the sooty flag of Acheron, Harpies and Hydras, or all the monstrous forms 'Twixt Africa and Ind, I'll find him out, And force him to return his purchase back, Or drag him by the curls to a foul death, Curs'd as his life. Spir. Alas ! good venturous youth, I love thy courage yet, and bold emprise ; 610 But here thy sword can do thee little stead ; Far other arms and other weapons must Be those, that quell the might of hellish charms : He with his bare wand can unthread thy joints, And crumble all thy sinews. El. Br. Why pr'ythee, shepherd, How durst thou then thyself approach so near, As to make this relation ? Sjrir. Care, and utmost sliifts, How to secure the lady from surprisal, Brought to my mind a certain shepherd lad, Of small regard to see to, yet well skill'd 620 In every virtuous plant, and healing herb, That spreads her verdant leaf to th' morning ray : He lov'd me well, and oft would beg me sing ; Which when I did, he on the tender grass Would sit and hearken even to ecstasy, And in requital ope his leathern scrip, - And show me simples of a thousand names, Telling their strange and vigorous faculties : Amongst the rest a small unsightly root, But of divine effect, he cull'd me out ; 630 The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it, But in another country, as he said, Bore a bright golden flower, but not in this soil : Unknown, and like esteem'd, and the dull swain Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon : And yet more med'cinal is it than that moly, That Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave ; He call'd it hamony, and gave it me, , And bade me keep it as of sovran use ' Gainst all enchantments, mildew, blast, or damp, Or ghastly furies' apparition. 641 I purs'd it up, but little reckoning made, Till now that this extremity compell'd : But now I find it true ; for by this means I knew the foul enchanter though disguis'd, Entcr'd the very lime-twigs of his spells, And yet came off: if you have this about you, As (I will give you when we go) you may Boldly assault the necromancer's hall ; Where if he be, with dauntless hardihood, 650 And brandish' d blade, rush on him ; break his glass, And shed the luscious liquor on the ground. But seize his wand; though he and his curs' d crew Fierce sign of battle make, and menace high, Or like the sons of Vulcan vomit smoke, Yet will they soon retire, if he but shrink. El. Br. Thyrsi s, lead on apace, I'll follow thee ; And some good angel bear a shield before us. T/ie Scene changes to a stately palace, set out with all manner of deliciousness : soft music, tables spread with all dainties. Comus appears with his rabble, and the Lady set in an enchanted chair, to whom he offers his glass, which s/it; jmts by, and goes about to rise. COMUS. Nay, lady, sit ; if I but wave this wand, Your nerves are all chain'd up in alabaster, 660 And you a statue, or, as Daphne was, Root-bound, that fled Apollo. Lad. Fool, do not boast ; Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind With all thy charms, although this corporal rind Thou hast immanacled, while Heaven sees good. Com. Wliy are you vex'd, lady? Why do you frown ? Here dwell no frowns, nor anger ; from these gates Sorrow flies far : see, here be all the pleasures, That fancy can beget on youthful thoughts, When the fresh blood grows lively, and returns Brisk as the April buds in primrose-season. 671 And first, behold this cordial julep here, That flames and dances in his crystal bounds, With spirits of balm and fragrant syrops mix'd ; Not that nepenthes, which the wife of Thone In Egypt gav6 to Jove-born Helena, Is of such power to stir up joy as this, To life so friendly, or so cool to thirst. Why should you be so cruel to yourself, And to those dainty limbs, which Nature lent 680 For gentle usage and soft delicacy ? But you invert the covenants of her trust, And harshly deal like an ill borrower With that which you receiv'd on other terms ; Scorning the unexempt condition, By which all mortal frailty must subsist, Refreshment after toil, ease after pain, That have been tir'd all day without repast, And timely rest have wanted ; but, fair virgin, This will restore all soon. Lad. - 'Twill not, false traitor ! 690 'Twill not restore the truth and honesty, That thou hast banished from thy tongue with lies. Was this the cottage, and the safe abode, Thou toldst me of ? What grim aspects are these, These ugly-headed monsters ? Mercy guard me ! Hence with thy brew'd enchantments, foul de- ceiver ! Hast thou betray'd my credulous innocence With visor' d falsehood and base forgery ? And wouldst thou seek again to trap me here With lickerish baits, fit to ensnare a brute? 700 Were it a draught for Juno when she banquets, I would not taste thy treasonous offer ; none But such as are good men can give good things ; And that which is not good, is not delicious To a well-govern'd and wise appetite, Com. O foolishness of men ! that lend their ears COM US. 27 ose budge doctors of the Stoic fur, 'etch their precepts from the Cynic tub, ng the lean and sallow Abstinence. sfore did nature pour her bounties forth 710 such a full and unvvithdrawing hand, ing the Earth with odours, fruits, and flocks, ging the seas with spawn innumerable, 11 to please and sate the curious taste ? et to work millions of spinning worms, n their green-shops weave the smooth-hair'd silk, ck her sons ; and that no corner might cant of her plenty, in her own loins lutch'd the all-worshipt ore, and precious gems, >re her children with : if all the world 720 d in a pet of temperance feed on pulse, . the clear stream, and nothing wear but frieze, Vll-giver would be unthank'd, would be un- prais'd, alf his riches known, and yet despis'd : ve should serve him as a grudging master, oenurious niggard of his wealth ; ive like Nature's bastards, not her sons, would be quite surcharg'd with her own weight, .trangled with her waste fertility ; Sarth cumber'd, and the wing'd air dark'd with plumes, 730 crds would over-multitude their lords, 33 o'erfraught would swell, and the unsought diamonds 1 so imblaze the forehead of the deep, bestud with stars, that they below 1 grow inur'd to light, and come at last ze upon the Sun with shameless brows, ady : be not coy, and be not cosen'd that same vaunted name, Virginity. y is Nature's coin, must not be hoarded, lust be current ; and the good thereof 740 its in mutual and partaken bliss, oury in the enjoyment of itself ; i let slip time, like a neglected rose lers on the stalk with languished head, y is nature's brag, and must be shown irts, at feasts, and high solemnities, 3 most may wonder at the workmanship ; :>r homely features to keep home, had their name thence ; coarse complexions, heeks of sorry grain, will serve to ply 750 impler, and to tease the huswife's wooL need a vermeil-tinctur'd lip for that, darting eyes, or tresses like the Morn ? was another meaning in these gifts ; what, and. be advis'd ; you are but young yet. I had not thought to have unlock' d my lips s unhallow'd air, but that this juggler 1 think to charm my judgment, as mine eyes, ding false rules prank'd in reason's garb, when Vice can bolt her arguments, 760 Virtue has no tongue to check her pride. tor ! do not charge most innocent Nature, she would her children should be riotous her abundance ; she, good cateress, s her provision only to the good, live according to her sober laws, loly dictate of spare Temperance : If every just man, that now pines with want, Had but a moderate and beseeming share Of that which lewdly pamper'd Luxury 77 J Now heaps upon some few with vast excess, Nature's full blessings would be well dispens'd In unsuperfluous even proportion, And she no whit encumber'd with her store ; And then the Giver would be better thank'd, His praise due paid : for swinish Gluttony Ne'er looks to Heaven amidst 'his gorgeous feast, But with besotted base ingratitude Crams, and blasphemes his feeder. Shall I go on ? Or have I said enough ? To him that dares 780 Arm his profane tongue with contemptuous words Against the sun-clad power of Chastity, Fain would I something say, yet to what end ? Thou hast nor car, nor soul, to apprehend The sublime notion, and high mystery, That must be utter' d to unfold the sage And serious doctrine of Virginity; And thou art worthy that thou shouldst not know More happiness than this thy present lot. Enjoy your dear wit, and gay rhetoric, 79O That hath so well been taught her dazzling fence ; Thou art not fit to hear thyself con vinc'd : Yet, should I try, the uncontrolled worth Of this pure cause would kindle my rapt spirits To such a flame of sacred vehemence, That dumb things would be mov'd to sympathize, And the brute Earth would lend her nerves, and shake, Till all thy magic structures, rear'd so high, Were shatter'd'into heaps o'er thy false head. Com. She fables not; I feel that I do fear 80C Her words set oft* by some superior power; And though not mortal, yet a cold shuddering de\r Dips me all o'er, as when the wrath of Jove Speaks thunder, and the chains of Erebus, To some of Saturn's crew. I must dissemble, And try her yet more strongly. Come, no more ; Tliis is mere moral babble, and direct, Against the canon-laws of our foundation ; I must not suffer this : yet 'tis but the lees And settlings of a melancholy blood : 810 But this will cure all straight : one sip of this Will bathe the drooping spirits in delight, Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise and taste. The Brothers rush in with swords drawn, wrest his glass out of his hand, and break it against the ground; his rout make sign of resistance ; but are all driven in. Tlie Attendant Spirit comes in. SPIRIT. What, have you let the false enchanter 'scape ? O ye mistook, ye should have snatch'd his wand, And bound him fast ; without his rod revers'd, And backward mutters of dissevering power, We cannot free the Lady that sits here In stony fetters f.x'd, and motionless : 819 Yet stay, be not disturb'd ; now I bethink me, Some other means I have which may be us'd, Which once of Melibceus old I learnt, The soothest shepherd that e'er pip'd on plains. There is a gentle nymph not far from hence, That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream, Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure ; 28 MILTON. Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine, That had tl*e sceptre from his father brute. She, guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuit Of her enraged stepdame Guendolen, 830 Commended her fair innocence to the flood, That sjtaid her flight with his cross-flowing course. The water-nymphs, that in the bottom play'd, Held up their pearled wrists, and took her in, Bearing her straight to aged Nereus' hall ; Who, piteous of her woes, rear'd her lank head, And gave her to his daughters to imbathe In nectar'd lavers, strew'd with asphodel ; And through the porch and inlet of each sense Dropt in ambrosial oils, till she reviv'd, 840 And underwent a quick immortal change, Made goddess of the river : still she retains Her maiden gentleness, and oft at eve Visits the herds along the twilight meadows, Helping all urchin blasts, and ill-luck signs That the shrewd meddling elfe delights to make, Which she with precious vial'd liquors heals ; For which the shepherds at their festivals Carol her goodness loud in rustic lays, And throw sweet garland wreaths into her stream Of pansies, pinks, and gaudy daffodils. 851 And, as the old swain said, she can unlock The clasping charm, and thaw the numming spell, If she be right invok'd in warbled song ; For maidenhood she loves, and will be swift To aid a virgin, such as was herself, In hard-besetting need ; this will I try, And add the power of some adjuring verse. Sabrina fair, Listen where thou art sitting 860 Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave, In twisted braids of lilies knitting The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair ; Listen for dear honour's sake, Goddess of the silver lake, Listen, and save. Listen, and appear to us, In name of great Oceanus ; By the Earth-shaking Neptune's mace, And Tethys' grave majestic pace, 870 By hoary Nereus' wrinkled look, And the Carpathian wisard's hook, By scaly Triton's winding shell, And old sooth-saying Glaucus' spell, By Leucothea's lovely hands, And her son that rules the strands, By Thetis' tinsel-slipper'd feet, And the songs of Syrens sweet, By dead Parthenope's dear tomb, And fair Ligea's golden comb, 880 Wherewith she sits on diamond rock, Sleeking her soft alluring locks ; By all the nymphs that nightly dance Upon thy streams with wily glance. Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head, From thy coral-paven bed, And bridle in thy headlong wave, Till thou our summons answer'd have. Listen, and save. SABRINA rises, attended by water-nymphs, and sings. By the rushy-fringed bank, 890 Where grows the willow, and the ozier dank, My sliding chariot stays, Thick set with agate, and the azurn sheen Of turkis blue, and emerald green, That in the channel strays ; Whilst from off the waters fleet Thus I set my printless feet O'er the cowslip's velvet head, That bends not as I tread ; Gentle swain, at thy request, I am here. Sp. Goddess dear, We implore thy powerful hand To undo the charmed band Of true virgin here distrest, Through the force, and through the wile, Of unblest enchanter vile. Sabr. Shepherd, 'tis my office best To help ensnared chastity : Brightest lady, look on me ; Thus I sprinkle on thy breast Drops, that from my fountain pure I have kept, of precious cure ; Thrice upon thy finger's tip Thrice upon thy rubied lip : Next this marble venom'd seat, Smear'd with gums of glutinous heat, I touch with chaste palms moist and cold : Now the spell hath lost his hold ; And I must haste, ere morning hour, To wait in Amphitrite's bower. 9C 91 92 Sabrina descends, and the Lady rises out of her sea, Sp. Virgin, daughter of Locrine Sprung of old Anchises' line, May thy brimmed waves for this Their full tribute never miss From a thousand petty rills, That tumble down the snowy hills : Summer drought, or singed air, Never scorch thy tresses fair, Nor wet October's torrent flood 93 Thy molten crystal fill with mud ; May thy billows roll ashore The beryl and the golden ore ; May thy lofty head be crown'd With many a tower and terrace round, And here and there thy banks upon With groves of myrrh and cinnamon. Come, lady, while Heaven lends us grace, Let us fly this cursed place, Lest the sorcerer us entice 94 With some other new device. Not a waste or heedless sound, Till we come to holier ground ; I shall be your faithful guide Through this gloomy covert wide, And not many furlongs thence Is your father's residence, Where this night are met in state Many a friend to gratulate His wish'd presence ; and beside 95 All the swains, that there abide, With jigs and rural dance resort ; We shall catch them at their sport, And our sudden coming there Will double all their mirth and cheer : Come, let us haste, the stars grow high, But night sits monarch yet in the mid sky. PARADISE LOST. Scene changes, presenting Ludlow town and the esident's castle ; then come in country dancers, l .er them the Attendant Spirit, vatk the two rothers, and the Lady. Back, shepherds, back ; enough your play, next sun-shine holiday : i be, without duck or nod, 9GO r trippings to be trod ighter toes, and such court guise vlercury did first devise, i the mincing Dryades, :he lawns, and on the leas. second Song presents them to their Father and Mother. oble lord, and lady bright, /e brought ye new delight ; i behold so goodly grown :e fair branches of your own ; ven hath timely tried their youth, 970 r faith, their patience, and their truth, sent them here through hard assays i a crown of deathless praise, ) triumph in victorious dance sensual Folly and Intemperance. he dances [being'] ended, the Spirit epilognizcs. . To the ocean now I fly, those happy climes that lie re day never shuts liis eye, n the broad fields of the sky : e I suck the liquid air 980 imidst the gardens fair lesperus, and his daughters three sing about the golden tree : tg the crisped shades and bowers 4s the spruce and jocund Spring ; Graces, and the rosy-bosom'd Hours, ler all their bounties bring ; e eternal Summer dwells, west-winds, with musky wing, 990 it the cedar'd alleys fling I and cassia's balmy smells. ;here with humid bow ;rs the odorous banks, that blow ers cf more mingled hew i her purfled scarf can show ; drenches with Elysian dew , mortals, if your ears be true) . of hyacinth and roses, re young Adonis oft reposes, ing well of his deep wound 1000 umber soft, and on the ground f sits the Assyrian queen : far above in spangled sheen itial Cupid, her fam'd son, advanc'd, Is his dear Psyche sweet entranc'd. r her wandering labours long, free consent the Gods among e her his eternal bride, from her fair unspotted side blissful twins are to be born, 1010 .h and Joy : so Jove hath sworn, at now my task is smoothly done, i fly, or I can run, :kly to the green earth's end, re the bov.-'d welkin slow doth bend ; And from thence can soar as soon To the corners of the Moon. Mortals that would follow me, Love Virtue ; she alone is free : She can teach ye how to climb 1020 Higher than the sphery chime ; Or if Virtue feeble were, Heaven itself would stoop to her. PARADISE LOST. BOOK I. The Argument. The first Book proposes, first in brief, the whole subject, Man's disobedience, and the loss there- upon of Paradise wherein lie was placed : then touches the prime cause of his fall, the Serpent, or rather Satan in the serpent ; who, revolting from God, and drawing to his side many legions of angels, was, by the command of God, driven out of Heaven, with all his crew, into the great deep. Which action passed over, the poem hastens into the midst of tilings, presenting Satan with his angels now falling into Hell described here, not in the center (for Heaven and Earth may be sup- posed as yet not made, certainly not yet accursed) but in a place of utter darkness, fitliest called Chaos : here Satan with his angels lying on the burning lake, thunder-struck and astonished, after a certain space recovers, as from confusion, calls up him who next in order and dignity lay by him : they confer of their miserable fall ; Satan awakens all his legions, who lay till then in the same man- ner confounded. They rise ; their numbers ; array of battle ; their chief leaders named, accord- ing to the idols known afterwards in Canaan and the countries adjoining. To these Satan directs his speech, comforts them with hope yet of regain- ing Heaven, but tells them lastly of a new world and new kind of creature to be created, according to an ancient prophecy, or report in Heaven ; for, that angels were long before this visible creation, was the opinion of many ancient Fathers. To find out the truth of this prophecy, and what to determine thereon, he refers to a full council. What his associates thence attempt. Pandemo- nium, the palace of Satan, rises, suddenly built out of the deep : the infernal peers there sit in council. OF Man's first disobedience, and the fruit Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste Brought death into the world, and all our woe, With loss of Eden, till one greater Man Restore us, and regain the blissful seat, Sing, heavenly Muse, that on the secret top Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire That shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed, In the beginning, how the Heavens and Earth Rose out of Chaos : Or, if Sion hill Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flow'd Fast by the oracle of God ; I thence Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song, That with no middle flight intends to soar Above the Aonian mount, while it pursues Tilings unattempted yet in prose or rhyme. 30 MILTON. BOOK And chiefly thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer Before all temples the upright heart and pure, Instruct me, for thou know'st ; thou from the first Wast present, and, with mighty wings out-spread, Dove-like sat'st brooding on the vast abyss, And mad'st it pregnant : what in me is dark Illumine ; what is low, raise and support ; That to the height of this great argument I may assert eternal Providence, And justify the ways of God to men. Say first, for Heaven hides nothing from thy view, Nor the deep tract of Hell ; say first, what cause Mov'd our grand parents, in that happy state, Favour'd of Heaven so highly, to fall off From their Creator, and transgress liis will For one restraint, lords of the world besides? Who first seduc'd them to that foul revolt ? The infernal Serpent ; he it was, whose guile, Stirr'd up with envy and revenge, decciv'd The mother of mankind, what time his pride Had cast him out from Heaven, with all liis host Of rebel angels ; by whose aid, aspiring To set himself in glory above his peers, He trusted to have equalled the Most High, If he oppos'd ; and, with ambitious aim Against the throne and monarchy of God, Rais'd impious war in Heaven, and battle proud, With vain attempt. Him the Almighty power, Hurl'd headlong flaming from the ethereal sky, With hideous ruin and combustion, down To bottomless perdition ; there to dwell In adamantine chains and penal fire, Who durst defy the Omnipotent to arms. Nine times the space that measures day and night To mortal men, he with his horrid crew Lay vanquished, rolling in the fiery gulf, Confounded, though immortal : but his doom Reserv'd him to more wrath ! for now the thought Both of lost happiness and lasting pain Torments him : round he throws his baleful eyes, That witness'd huge affliction and dismay, Mix'd with obdurate pride and stedfast hate ; At once, as far as angels ken, he views The dismal situation, waste and wild ; A dungeon horrible on all sides round, As one great furnace flam'd ; yet from those ilames No light ; but rather darkness visible Serv'd only to discover sights of woe, Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, whore peace And rest can never dwell ; hope never comes That comes to all : but torture without end Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed With ever-burning sulphur unconsum'd : Such place eternal Justice had prepar'd For those rebellious ; here their prison ordain'd In utter darkness, and their portion set As far remov'd from God and light of Heaven, As from the centre thrice to the utmost pole. O, how unlike the place from whence they fell ! There the companions of his fall, o'erwhelm'd With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire, He soon discerns ; and weltering by his side One next himself in power, and next in crime, Long after known in Palestine, and nam'd Beelzebub. To whom the arch-enemy, And thence in Heaven call'd Satan, with bold words Breaking the horrid silence, thus began. " If thou beest he ; but O, how fall'ii ! how chang'd From him, who in the happy realms of light. Cloth'd with transcendent brightness, didst outshi Myriads though bright ! If he whom mutual leag United thoughts and counsels, equal hope And hazard in the glorious enterprise, Join'd with me once, now misery hath join'd In equal ruin : into what pit thou seest From what height fall'n, so much the stronger pro He with his thunder : and till then who knew The force of those dire arms ? Yet not for those Nor what the potent Victor in his rage Can else inflict, do I repent or change, Though chang'd in outward lustre, that fix'd mir And high disdain from sense of injur'd merit, That with the Mightiest rais'd me to contend, And to the fierce contention brought along Innumerable force of spirits arm'd, That durst dislike his reign, and, me preferring, His utmost power with adverse power oppos'd In dubious battle on the plains of Heaven, And shook lu's throne. What though the field lost? All is not lost ; the unconquerable will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield, And what is else not to be overcome ; That glory never shall his wrath or might Extort from me. To bow and sue for grace With suppliant knee, and deify his power Who from the terrour of this arm so late Doubted his empire ; that were low indeed, That were an ignominy, and shame beneath This downfall : since by fate the strength of God And this empyreal substance cannot fail, Since through experience of this great event In arms not worse, in foresight much advanc'd, We may with more successful hope resolve To wage by force or guile eternal war, Irreconcileable to our grand foe, Who now triumphs, and, in the excess of joy Sole reigning, holds the tyranny of Heaveu." So spake the apostate angel, though in pain, Vaunting aloud, but rack'd with deep despair : And him thus answer'd soon his bold compeer. " O prince, O chief of many throned powers, That led the embattled seraphim to war Under thy conduct, and in dreadful deeds Fearless, endanger'd Heaven's perpetual king, And put to proof his high supremacy, Whether upheld by strength, or chance, or fate j Too well I see, and rue the dire event, That with sad overthrow, and foul defeat, Hath lost us Heaven, and all this mighty host In horrible destruction laid thus low, As far as gods and heavenly essences Can perish : for the mind and spirit remains Invincible, and vigour soon returns, Though all our glory extinct, and happy state Here swallow'd up in endless misery. But what if he our conqueror (whom I now Of force believe almighty, since no less Than such could have o'erpower'd such force as OUT Have left us this our spirit and strength entire Strongly to suffer and support our pains, ITiat we may so suffice his vengeful ire, Or do him mightier service as his thralls By right of war, wbate'er his business be, Here in the heart of Hell to work in fire, Or do his errands in the gloomy deep ; What can it then avail, though yet we feel Strength tindiminish'd, or eternal being )OOK I. PARADISE LOST. 31 f to undergo eternal punlsliment ?" I Thereto with speedy words the arch-fiend replied, " Fall'n cherub, to be weak is miserable )oing or suffering ; but of this be sure, to do aught good never will be our task, ;ut ever to do ill our sole delight, r .s being the contrary to his liigh will rtiom we resist. If then his providence >ut of our evil seek to bring forth good, ( ur labour must be to pervert that end, nd out of good still to find means of evil , , fhich oft-times may succeed, so as perhaps :iall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb [is inmost counsels from their destin'd aim. ut see, the angry victor hath recall'd [is ministers of vengeance and pursuit ack to the gates of Heaven : the sulphurous hail, lot after us in storm, o'erblown, hath laid he fiery surge, that from the precipice f Heaven receiv'd us falling ; and the thunder, Ing'd with red lightning and impetuous rage, erhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now D bellow through the vast and boundless deep, et us not slip the occasion, whether scorn, r satiate fury, yield it from our foe. est thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild, le seat of desolation, void of light, ive what the glimmering of these livid flames ists pale and dreadful ? Thither let us tend om off the tossing of these fiery waves ; lere rest, if any rest can harbour there ; nd, re-assembling our afflicted powers, msult how we may henceforth most offend or enemy ; our own loss how repair j ow overcome this dire calamity ; hat reinforcement we may gain from hope ; not, what resolution from despair." Thus Satan, talking to his nearest mate, ith head up-lift above the wave, and eyes lat sparkling blaz'd ; his other parts besides, one on the flood, extended long and large, ly floating many a rood ; in bulk as huge > whom the fables name of monstrous size, tanian, or Earth-born, that warr'd on Jove ; iareos or Typhon, whom the den r ancient Tarsus held ; or that sea-beast ;viathan, which God of all his works eated hugest that swim the ocean stream : im haply slumbering on the Norway foam ic pilot of some small night-founder'd skiff jeming some island, oft, as sea-men tell, ith fixed anchor in his scaly rind oors by his side under the lee, while night vests the sea, and wished morn delays : stretch'd out huge in length the arch-fiend lay lain'd on the burning lake : nor ever thence id ris'n or heav'd his head ; but that the will id high permission of all-ruling Heaven ft him at large to his own dark designs lat with reiterated crimes he might aap on himself damnation, while he sought dl to others ; and, enrag'd, might see >w all his malice serv'd but to bring forth finite goodness, grace and mercy, shown i Man by him seduc'd ; but on himself eble confusion, wrath and vengeance pour'd. Tthwith upright he rears from off the pool s mighty stature ; on each hand the flames, iven backward, slope their pointing spires, and roil'd In billows, leave i' the midst a horrid vale. Then with expanded wings he steers his flight Aloft, incumbent on the dusky air That felt unusual weight ; till on dry land He lights, if it were land that ever burn'd With solid, as the lake with liquid fire ; And such appear'd in hue, as when the force Of subterranean wind transports a hill Torn from Pelorus, or the shatter' d side Of thundering JEtna, whose combustible And fuell'd entrails thence conceiving fire, Sublim'd with mineral fury, aid the winds, And leave a singed bottom all involv'd With stench and smoke : such resting found the sole Of unblest feet. Him follow'd his next mate . Both glorying to have 'scap'd the Stygian flood As gods, and by their own recover'd strength, Not by the sufferance of supernal Power. " Is this the region, this, the soil, the clime," Said then the lost arch-angel, " this the seat That we must change for Heaven : this mournful gloom For that celestial light ? Be it so, since he, Who now is Sovran, can dispose and bid What shall be right : farthest from him is best, Whom reason hath equall'd, force hath made su- preme Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields, Where joy for ever dwells. Hail horrours, hail Infernal world, and thou, profoundest HolJ, Receive thy new possessor, one who brings A mind not to be chang'd by place or time : ~- The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven. What matter where, if I be still the same, And what I should be, all but less than he Whom thunder hath made greater ? Here at least We shall be free ; the Almighty hath not built _Here for his envy, will not drive us hence : Here we may reign secure, and, in my choice, "To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell : Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven. But wherefore let we then our faithful friends, The associates and copartners of our loss, Lie thus astonish'd on the oblivious pool, And call them not to share with us their part In this unhappy mansion ; or once more With rallied arms to try what may be yet Regain'd in Heaven, or what more lost in Hell ?" So Satan spake, and him Beelzebub Thus answer'd ; " Leader of those armies bright, ! Which but the Omnipotent none could have foil'd, j If once they hear that voice, their liveliest pledge j Of hope in fears and dangers, heard so oft I In worst extremes, and on the perilous edge | Of battle when it rag'd, in all assaults Their surest signal, they will soon resume New courage and revive ; though now they lie Grovelling and prostrate on yon lake of fire, As we ere while, astounded and amaz'd ; No wonder, fall'n such a pernicious highth. " He scarce had ceas'd when the superior fiend Was moving toward the shore : liis ponderous shield, Ethereal temper, massy, large and round, Behind him cast ; the broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the Moon, whose orb Through optic glass the Tuscan artist ^iews At evening from the top of Fcsole, MILTON. BOOK Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers or mountains in her spotty globe. His spear, to equal with the tallest pine Hewn on-'Norwegian hills, to be the mast Of some great ammiral, were but a wand, He walk'd with, to support uneasy steps Over the burning marie, not like those steps On Heaven's azure, and the torrid clime Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire : Nathless he so endur'd, till on the beach Of that inflamed sea he stood, and call'd His legions, angel forms, who lay intranc'd Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks In Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shades, High over-arch'd, imbower ; or scatter'd sedge Afloat, when with fierce winds Orion arm'd Hath vex'd the Red-Sea coast, whose waves o'er- threw Busiris, and his Memphian chivalry, While with perfidious hajxed they pursued The sojourners of Goshen, who beheld From the safe shore their floating carcasses And broken chariot wheels : so thick bestrown, Abject and lost lay these, covering the flood, Under amazement of their hideous change. He call'd so loud, that all the hollow deep Of Hell resounded. " Princes, potentates, Warriors, the flower of Heaven, once yours, now lost, If such astonishment as this can seize Eternal spirits ; or have ye chos'n this place After the toil of battle to repose Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find To slumber here, as in the vales of Heaven ? Or in this abject posture have ye sworn T' adore the Conqueror ? who now beholds Cherub and seraph rolling in the flood With scatter'd arms and ensigns, till anon His swift pursuers from Heaven-gates discern Th' advantage, and, descending, tread us down Thus drooping, or with linked thunderbolts Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf, Awake, arise, or be for ever fall'n." [sprung They heard, and were abas'd, and up they Upon the wing ; as when men wont to watch On duty, sleeping found by whom they dread, Rouse and bestir themselves ere well awake ; Nor did they not perceive the evil plight In which they were, or the fierce pains not feel ; Yet to their general's voice they soon obey Innumerable. As when the potent rod Of Amram's son, in Egypt's evil day, Wav'd round the coast, up call'd a pitchy cloud Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind, That o'er the realm of impious Pharaoh hung Like night, and darkened all the land of Nile : So numberless were those bad angels seen Hovering on wing under the cope of Hell, Twixt upper, nether, and surrounding fires, Till, as a signal given, the up-lifted spear Of their great Sultan waving to direct Their course, in even balance down they light On the firm brimstone, and fill all the plain. A multitude, like which the populous North Pour'd never from her frozen loins, to pass Rhene or the Danaw, when her barbarous song Came like a deluge on the South, and spread Beneath Gibraltar to the Lybian sands. Forthwith from ev'ry squadron and each band The heads and leaders thither haste where stood Their great commander ; godlike shapes and fon Excelling human, princely,dignities, And powers that erst in Heaven sat on thrones , Though of their names in heavenly records now Be no memorial ; blotted out and ras'd By their rebellion from the books of life. Nor had they yet among the sons of Eve Got them new names, till, wandering o'er i Earth, Through God's high sufferance for the trial man, By falsities and lies the greatest part Of mankind they corrupted to forsake God their Creator, and th' invisible Glory of him that made them to transform Oft to the image of a brute, adorn'd With gay religions full of pomp and gold, And devils to adore for deities : Then were they known to men by various names, And various idols through the Heathen world. Say, Muse, their names then known, who fir! who last, Rous'd from the slumber, on that fiery couch, At their great emperor's call, as next in worth Came singly where he stood on the bare strand, While the promiscuous cloud stood yet aloof. The chief were those, who, from the pit of Hell Roaming to seek their prey on Earth, durst fix Their seats long after next the seat of God. Their altars by his altar, gods ador'd Among the nations round, and durst abide Jehovah thund'ring out of Sion, thron'd Between the cherubim ; yea, often plac'd Within his sanctuary itself their shrines, Abominations ; and with cursed things His holy rites and solemn feasts profan'd, And with their darkness durst affront his light. First Moloch, horrid king, besmear'd with blood Of human sacrifice, and parents' tears ; Though for the noise of drums and timbrels loud Their children's cries unheard, that pass'd throu ; fire To his grim idol. Him the Ammonite Worshipt in Rabba and her watry plain, In Argob and in Basan, to the stream Of utmost Arnon. Nor content with such Audacious neighbourhood, the wisest heart Of Solomon he led by fraud to build His temple right against the temple of God, On that opprobrious hill ; and made his grove The pleasant valley of Hinnom, Tophet thence And black Gehenna call'd, the type of Hell. Next, Chemos, th' obscene dread of Moab's sons, From Aroer to Nebo, and the wild Of southmost Abarim ; in Hesebon And Horonaim, Seon's realm, beyond The flowery dale of Sibma clad with vines, And Eleale to th' Asphaltic pool. Peor his other name, when he entic'd Israel in Sittim, on their march from Nile, To do him wanton rites, which cost them woe. Yet thence his lustful orgies he enlarg'd Even to that hill of scandal, by the grove Of Moloch homicide ; lust hard by hate ; Till good Josiah drove them thence to Hell. With these came they, who, from the bord'nt flood Of old Euphrates to the brook that parts Egypt from Syrian ground, had general names Of Baalim and Ashtaroth ; those male, .jOOK 1. These feminine : for spirits, when they please, Can either sex assume, or both ; so soft And uncompounded is their essence pure ; Not tied or manacled with joint or limb, Not founded on the brittle strength of bones, Like cumbrous flesh ; but, in what shape they choose, Dilated or condens'd, bright or obscure, Can execute their aery purposes, .\nd works of love or enmity fulfil. For those the race of Israel oft forsook Pheir living strength, and unfrequented left :Iis righteous altar, bowing lowly down To bestial gods ; for which their heads as low 3ow'd down in battle, sunk before the spear )f despicable foes. With these in troop ?ame Astoreth, whom the Phoenicians call'd ^.starte, queen of Heaven, with crescent horns ; 7o whose bright image nightly by the Moon iidonian virgins paid their vows and songs ; n Sion also not unsung, where stood ler temple on the offensive mountain, built ly that uxorious king, whose heart, though large, Jeguil'd by fair idolatresses, fell 'o idols foul. Thammuz came next behind, /hose annual wound in Lebanon allur'd 'he Syrian damsels to lament his fate i amorous ditties all a summer's day ; Thile smooth Adonis from his native rock an purple to the sea, supposed with blood 'f Thammuz yearly wounded : the love-tale ifected Sion's daughters with like heat ; Tiose wanton passions in the sacred porch zekiel saw, when, by the vision led, "is eye survey'd the dark idolatries f alienated Judah. Next came one "ho mourn'd in earnest, when the captive ark aim'd his brute image, head and hands lopt off i his own temple, on the grunsel edge, "here he fell flat, and sham'd his worshippers : agon his name, sea-monster r upward man nd downward fish : yet had his temple high ?ar'd in Azotus, dreaded through the coast ? Palestine, in Gath and Ascalon, tid Accaron and Gaza's frontier bounds, im follow'd Rimmon, whose delightful seat as fair Damascus, on the fertile banks ' Abbana and Pharphar, lucid streams. 3 also against the house of God was bold ! leper once he lost, and gain'd a king ; laz his sottish conqueror, whom he drew >d's altar to disparage and displace r one of Syrian mode, whereon to burn s odious offerings, and adore the gods r om he had vanquish'd. After these appear'd crew, who, under names of old renown, iris, Isis, Orus, and their train, th monstrous shapes and sorceries abus'd natic Egypt and her priests, to seek eir wandering gods disguis'd in brutish forms ther than human. Nor did Israel 'scape e infection, when their borrow'd gold compos'd e calf in Orel) ; and the rebel king ubled that sin in Bethel and in Dan, ,ening his Maker to the grazed ox ; lOvah, who in one night, when he pass'd >m Egypt marching, equall'd with one stroke th her first-born and all her bleating gods, ial came last, than whom a spirit more lewd I not from Heaven, or more gross to love PARADISE LOST. 33 Vice for itself : to liim no temple stood Or altar smok'd ; yet who more oft than lie In temples and at altars, when the priest Turns atheist, as did Eli's sons, who fill'd With lust and violence the house of God ? In courts and palaces he also reigns, And in luxurious cities, where the noise Of riot ascends above their loftiest towers, And injury and outrage : and when night Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine. Witness the streets of Sodom, and that night In Gibeah, when the hospitable door Expos'd a matron, to avoid worse rape. These were the prime in order and in might : The rest were long to tell, though far renown'd, The Ionian gods, of Javan's issue ; held Gods, yet confessed later than Heaven and Earth, Their boasted parents : Titan, Heaven's first-born, With his enormous brood, and birthright seiz'd By younger Saturn ; he from mightier Jove, His own and Rhea's son, like measure found ; So Jove usurping reign'd : these first in Crete And Ida known, thence on the snowy top Of bold Olympus, rul'd the middle air, Their highest Heaven ; or on the Delphian cliff, Or in Dodona, and through all the bounds Of Doric land : or who with Saturn old Fled over Adria to the Hesperian fields, And o'er the Celtic roam'd the utmost isles. All these and more came flocking ; but with looks Down-cast and damp ; yet such wherein appear'd Obscure some glimpse of joy, to have found their chief Not in despair, to 'ave found themselves not lost In loss itself ; which on his countenance cast Like doubtful hue : but he, his wonted pride Soon recollecting, \vith high words, that bore Semblance of worth, not substance, gently rais d Their fainting courage, and dispell'd their fears. Then straight commands, that at the warlike sound Of trumpets loud and clarions be uprear'd His mighty standard ; that proud honour claim'd Azazel as his right, a cherub tall ; Who forthwith from the glittering staff unfurl'd The imperial ensign ; which, full high advanc'd, Shone like a meteor streaming to the wind, With gems and golden lustre rich imblaz'd, Seraphic arms and trophies ; all the while Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds : At which the universal host up-sent A shout, that tore Hell's concave, and beyond Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night. All in a moment through the gloom were seen Ten thousand banners rise into the air With orient colours waving : with them rose A forest huge of spears ; and thronging helms Appear'd, and serried shields in thick array Of depth immeasurable ; anon they move In perfect phalanx to the Dorian mood Of flutes and soft recorders ; such as rais'd To highth of noblest temper heroes old Arming to battle ; and instead of rage Deliberate valour breath'd, firm and unmov'U With dread of death to flight or foul retreat -. Nor wanting power to mitigate and swage With solemn touches troubled thoughts, and chase Anguish, and doubt, and fear, and sorrow, and pain, MILTON. BOOK I From mortal or immortal minds. Thus they, Breathing united force, with fixed thought, Mov'd on in silence to soft pipes, that charm'd Their painful steps o'er the burnt soil : and now . Advanc'd in view they stand ; a horrid front Of dreadful length and dazxling arms, in guise Of warriors old with order'd spear and shield ; Awaiting what command their mighty chief Had to impose : he through the armed files Darts his experienc'd eye, and soon traverse The whole battalion views, their order due, Their visages and stature as of gods ; Their number last he sums. And now his heart Distends with pride, and hardening in his strength Glories : for never, since created man, Met such imbodied force, as nam'd with these Could merit more than that small infantry Warr'd on by cranes : though all the giant brood Of Phlegra with the heroic race were join'd That fought at Thebes and Ilium, on each side Mix'd with auxiliar gods ; and what resounds In fable or romance of Uther's son Begirt with British and Annoric knights ; And all who since, baptiz'd or infidel, Jousted in Aspramont, or Montalban, Damasco, or Marocco, or Trebisond, Or whom Biserta sent from Afric shore, When Charlemain with all his peerage fell By Fontarabbia. Thus far these beyond Compare of mortal prowess, yet observ'd Their dread commander : he, above the rest In shape and gesture proudly eminent, Stood like a tower ; his form had yet not lost All her original brightness ; nor appear'd Less than arch-angel ruin'd, and the excess Of glory obscur'd : as when the Sun, new risen, Looks through the horizontal misty air Shorn of his beams ; or from behind the Moon, In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs. Darken'd so, yet shone Above them all the arch-angel : but his face Deep scars of thunder had intrench'd ; and care Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride Waiting revenge ; cruel his eye, but cast Signs of remorse and passion, to behold The fellows of his crime, the followers rather, (Far other once beheld in bliss) condemn'd For ever now to have their lot in pain : Millions of spirits for his fault amerc'd Of Heaven, and from eternal splendours flung For his revolt, yet faithful how they stood, Their glory wither'd : as when Heaven's fire Hath scath'd the forest oaks, or mountain pines, With singed top their stately growth, though bare, Stands on the blasted heath. . He now prepar'd To speak ; whereat their doubled ranks they bend From wing to wing, and half enclose him round With all his peers : attention held them mute. Thrice he assay'd, and thrice, in spite of scorn, Tears, such as angels weep, burst forth : at last Words, interwove with sighs, found out their way. " O myriads of immortal spirits, O powers Matchless, but with the Almighty ; and that strife Was not inglorious, though the event was dire, As this place testifies, and this dire change, Hateful to utter : but what power of mind, Foreseeing or presaging, from the depth Of knowledge past or present, could have fear'd How such united force of gods, how such As stood like these, could ever know repulse ? For who can yet believe, though after loss, That all these puissant legions, whose exile Hath emptied Heaven, shall fail to re-ascend Self-rais'd, and repossess their native seat ? For me, be witness all the host of Heaven, If counsels different, or dangers shunn'd By me, have lost our hopes. But he who reigns Monarch in Heaven, till then as one secure Sat on his throne, upheld by old repute, Consent or custom ; and his regal state Put forth at full, but still his strength conceal'd, Which tempted our attempt, and wrought our fall. Henceforth his might we know and know our own : So as not either to provoke, or dread New war, provok'd ; our better part remains To work in close design, by fraud or guile, What force effected not : that he no less At length from us may find, who overcomes By force, hath overcome but half his foe. Space may produce new worlds ; whereof so rife There went a fame in Heaven that he ere long Intended to create, and therein plant A generation, whom his choice regard Should favour equal to the sons of Heaven : Thither, if but to pry, shall be perhaps Our first eruption ; thither or elsewhere ; For this infernal pit shall never hold Celestial spirits in bondage, nor the abyss Long under darkness cover. But these thoughts Full counsel must mature : peace is despair 'd ; For who can think submission ? War, then, war, Open or understood, must be resolv'd." He spake : and, to confirm his words, out-flew Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs Of mighty cherubim ; the sudden blaze Far round illumin'd Hell : highly they rag'd Against the Highest, and fierce with grasped arms Clash'd on their sounding shields the din of war, Hurling defiance toward the vault of Heaven. There stood a hill not far, whose grisly top Belch'd fire and rolling smoke ; the rest entire Shone with a glossy scurf; undoubted sign That in his womb was hid metallic ore, The work of sulphur. Thither, wing'd with speed, A numerous brigade hasten'd : as when bands Of pioneers, with spade and pick-ax arm'd, Forerun the royal camp, to trench a field, Or cast a rampart. Mammon led them on : Mammon, the least erected spiiit that fell From Heaven ; for e'en in Heaven his looks and thoughts Were always downward bent, admiring more The riches of Heaven's pavement, trodden gold, Than aught, divine or holy, else enjoy'd In vision beatific : by him first Men also, and by his suggestion taught, Ransack'd the centre, and with impious hands Rifled the bowels of their mother Earth For treasures, better hid. Soon had his crew Open'd into the hill a spacious wound, And digg'd out ribs of gold. Let none admire That riches grow in Hell ; that soil may best Deserve the precious bane. And here let those, Who boast in mortal things, and wondering tell Of Babel, and the works of Memphian kings, Learn how their greatest monuments of fame, And strength and art, are easily out-done By spirits reprobate, and in an hour JOOK I. PARADISE LOST. 35 That in an age they with incessant toil .nd hands innumerable scarce perform. !gh on the plain, in many cells prepar'd, 'hat underneath had veins of liquid fire 'uic'd from the lake, a second multitude ftth wonderous art founded the massy ore, avering each kind, and scumm'd the bullion dross : third as soon had form'd within the ground various mould, and from the boiling cells, y strange conveyance, fill'd each hollow nook ; s in an organ, from one blast of wind, o many a row of pipes the sound-board breathes, non, out of the earth a fabric huge ose like an exhalation, with the sound f dulcet symphonies and voices sweet, uilt like a temple, where pilasters round r ere set, and Doric pillars overlaid r ith golden architrave ; nor did there want irnice or frieze, with bossy sculptures graven : ie roof was fretted gold. Not Babylon, or great Alcairo, such magnificence quall'd in all their glories, to enshrine ilus or Serapis their gods, or seat leir kings, when Egypt with Assyria strove wealth and luxury. The ascending pile Dod fix'd her stately height : and straight the doors, oening their brazen folds, discover, wide ithin, her ample spaces, o'er the smooth id level pavement ; from the arched roof mdent by subtle magic many a row ' starry lamps and blazing cressets, fed ith Naphtha and Asphaltus, yielded light ; from a sky. The hasty multitude Imiring enter'd ; and the work some praise, id some the architect ; his hand was known Heaven by many a tower* d structure high, here scepter'd angels held their residence, id sat as princes ; whom the supreme king calted to such power, and gave to rule, ich in his hierarchy, the orders bright. >r was his name unheard, or unador'd, ancient Greece ; and in Ausonian land an call'd him Mulciber ; and how he fell om Heaven, they fabled, thrown by angry Jove eer o'er the crystal battlements : from morn noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve, summer's day ; and with the setting Sun opt from the zenith like a falling star, i Lemnos the ^Egean isle : thus they relate, ring ; for he with this rebellious rout 11 long before ; nor aught avail'd him now have built in Heaven high towers ; nor did he 'scape all his engines, but was headlong sent th his industrious crew, to build in Hell. Meanwhile the winged heralds, by command sovran power, -with awful ceremony d trumpet's sound, throughout the host proclaim ;olemn council, forthwith to be held Pandemonium ; the high capital Satan and his peers ; their summons call'd >m every band and squared regiment place or choice the worthiest ; they anon, th hundreds and with thousands, trooping came, .ended : all access was throng'd : the gates d porches wide, but chief the spacious hall lough like a cover'd field, where champions bold nt ride in arm'd, and at the Soldan's chair fred the best of Panim chivalry To mortal combat, or career with lance) Thick swarm'd, both on the ground and in the air Brush'd with the hiss of rustling wings. As bees In spring time, when the Sun with Taurus rides, Pour forth their populous youth about the hive In clusters ; they among fresh dews and flowers Fly to and fro, or on the smoothed plank, The suburb of their straw-built citadel, New rubb'd with balm, expatiate and confer Their state affairs. So thick the aery croud Swarm'd and were straiten'd ; till, the signal given, Behold a wonder ! They but now who seem'd In bigness to surpass Earth's giant sons, Now less than smallest dwarfs, in narrow room Throng numberless, like that pygmean race Beyond the Indian mount ; or faery elves, Whose midnight revels, by a forest side Or fountain, some belated peasant sees, Or dreams he sees while over-head the Moon Sits arbitress, and nearer to the Earth Wheels her pale course ; they, on their mirth and dance Intent, with jocund music charm his ear ; At once with joy and fear his heart rebounds. Thus incorporeal spirits to smallest forms Reduce their shapes immense, and were at large, Though without number still, amidst the hall Of that infernal court. But far within, And in their own dimensions, like themselves, The great seraphic lords and cherubim In close recess and secret conclave sat ; A thousand demi-gods on golden seats, Frequent and full. After short silence then, And summons read, the great consult began. BOOK II. The Argument. The consultation begun, Satan debates whether an- other battle be to be hazarded for the recovery of Heaven : some advise it, others dissuade : a third proposal is preferred, mentioned before by Satan, to search the truth of that prophecy or tradition in Heaven concerning another world, and another kind of creature equal or not much inferior to themselves, about this time to be created. Their doubt, who shall be sent on this difficult search; Satan their chief undertakes alone the voyage, is honoured and applauded. The council thus ended, the rest betake them several ways, and to several employments, as their inclinations lead them, to entertain the time till Satan return. He passes on liis journey to Hell gates ; finds them shut, and who sat there to guard them; by whom at length they are opened, and discover to him the great gulf be- tween Hell and Heaven ; with what difficulty he passes through, directed by Chaos, the power of that place, to the sight of this new world which he sought. HIGH on a tlirone of royal state, which far Outshone the wealth of Ormus and of Ind, Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold, Satan exalted sat, by merit rais'd To that bad eminence : and, from despair Thus high uplifted beyond hope, aspires D 2 36 MILTON. BOOK II, Beyond thus high, insatiate to pursue Vain war with Heaven, and, by success untaught, His proud imaginations thus display'd. ' " Powers and dominions, deities of Heaven ; For since no deep within her gulf can hold Immortal vigour, though oppress'd and fall'n, I give not Heaven for lost. From this descent Celestial virtues rising, will appear More glorious and more dread than from no fall, And trust themselves to fear no second fate. Me though just right, and the fix'd laws of Heaven, Did first create your leader ; next, free choice, With what besides, in counsel or in fight, Hath been achiev'd of merit ; yet this loss, Thus far at least recover'd, hath much more Establish' d in a safe unenvied throne, Yielded with full consent. The happier state In Heaven, which follows dignity, might draw Envy from each inferior ; but who here Will envy whom the highest place exposes Foremost to stand against the Thunderer's aim, Your bulwark, and condemns to greatest share Of endless pain ? Where there is then no good For which to strive, no strife can grow up there From faction ; for none sure' will claim in Hell Precedence, none whose portion is so small Of present pain, that with ambitious mind Will covet more. With this advantage then To union, and firm faith, and firm accord, More than can be in Heaven, we now return To claim our just inheritance of old, Surer to prosper than prosperity Could have assur'd us ; and, by what best way, Whether of open war, or covert guile, We now debate ; who can advise, may speak." He ceas'd ; and next him Moloch, scepter'd king, Stood up, the strongest and the fiercest spirit That fought in Heaven, now fiercer by despair : His trust was with the Eternal to be deem'd Equal in strength ; and rather than be less Car'd not to be at all ; with that care lost Went all his fear : of God, or Hell, or worse, He reck'd not; and these words thereafter spake. " My sentence is for open war : of wiles, More unexpert, I boast not : them let those Contrive who need, or when they need, not now. For, while they sit contriving, shall the rest, Millions that stand in arms, and longing wait The signal to ascend, sit lingering here Heaven's fugitives, and for their dwelling-place Accept this dark opprobrious den of shame, The prison of his tyranny who reigns 13y our delay ? No, let us rather choose, Arm'd with Hell flames and fury, all at once, O'er Heaven's high towers to force resistless way, Turning our tortures into horrid arms Against the torturer ; when to meet the noise Of his almighty engine he shall hear Infernal thunder ; and, for lightning, see Black fire and horrour shot with equal rage Among his angels ; and his throne itself Mix'd with Tartarean sulphur, and strange fire, His own invented torments. But perhaps The way seems difficult and steep to scale With upright wing against a higher foe. Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench Of that forgetful lake benumn not still, That in our proper motion we ascend Up to our native seat ; descent and fall To us is adverse. Who but felt of late, When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear Insulting, and pursued us through the deep, With what compulsion and laborious flight We sunk thus low ? The ascent is easy then ; The event is fear'd ; should we again provoke Our stronger, some worse way lu's wrath may find To our destruction ; if there be in Hell Fear to be worse destroy'd : what can be wbrse Than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, con- demn'd In this abhorred deep to utter woe ; Where pain of unextinguishable fire Must exercise us without hope of end, The vassals of his anger, when the scourge Inexorably, and the torturing hour, Calls us to penance ? More destroy'd than thus, We should be quite abolish'd, and expire. What fear we then ? what doubt we to incense His utmost ire ? which, to the height enrag'd, Will either quite consume us, and reduce To notliing this essential ; happier far Than miserable to have eternal being : Or, if our substance be indeed divine, And cannot cease to be, we are at worst On this side nothing ; and by proof we feel Our power sufficient to disturb his Heaven, And with perpetual inroads to alarm, Though inaccessible, his fatal throne : Which, if not victory, is yet revenge." He ended frowning, and his look denounc'd Desperate revenge, and battle dangerous To less than gods. On th' other side up-rose Belial, in act more graceful and humane : A fairer person lost not Heaven ; he seem'd For dignity compos'd, and high exploit : But all was false and hollow ; though his tongue Dropt manna, and could make the worse appear The better reason, to perplex and dash Maturest counsels : for his thoughts were low To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds Tim'rous and slothful : yet he pleas'd the ear, And with persuasive accent thus began. " I should be much for open war, O peers, As not behind in hate ; if what was urg'd Main reason to persuade immediate war, Did not dissuade me most, and seem to cast Ominous conjecture on the whole success ; When he, who most excels in fact of arms, In what he counsels, and in what excels, Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair And utter dissolution, as the scope Of all his aim, after some dire revenge. First, what revenge ? The towers of Heaven are fill'd With arm'd watch, that render all access Impregnable : oft on the bordering deep Encamp their legions ; or, with obscure wing, Scout far and wide into the realm of night, Scorning surprise. Or could we break our way By force, and at our heels all Hell should rise With blackest insurrection, to confound Heaven's purest light : yet our great enemy All incorruptible, would on his throne Sit unpolluted ; and the ethereal mould Incapable of stain, would soon expel Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope Is flat despair : we must exasperate The almighty victor to spend all his rage, And that must end us ; that must be our cure, BOOK II. PARADISE LOST. To be no more. Sad cure ! for who would lose, Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through eternity, To perish rather, swallow'd up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated night, Devoid of sense and motion ? And who knows, Let this be good, whether our angry foe Can give it, or will ever ? how he can, Is doubtful ; that he never will, is sure. Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire, Belike through impotence, or unaware, To give his enemies their wish, and end Them in his anger, whom his anger saves To punish endless ? Wherefore cease we then ? Say they who counsel war, we are decreed, Reserv'd, and destin'd to eternal woe ; Whatever doing, what can we suffer more, What can we suffer worse ? Is this then worst, Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms ? What, when we fled amain, pursued, and struck With Heaven's afflicting thunder, and besought The deep to shelter us ? this Hell fhen seem'd A. refuge from those wounds ; or when we lay Chain'd on the burning lake ? that sure was worse. What if the breath, that kindled those grim fires, \wak'd, should blow them into sevenfold rage, \nd plunge us in the flames ? or, from above, Should intermitted vengeance arm again His red right hand to plague us ? What if all ler stores were opened, and this firmament If Hell should spout her cataracts of fire, impendent horrours, threatening hideous fall )ne day upon our heads ; while we perhaps, 3esigning or exhorting glorious war, taught in a fiery tempest shall be hurl'd Sach on his rock transfix'd, the sport and prey )f wracking whirlwinds ; or for ever sunk Jnder yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains : Chere to converse with everlasting groans, Jnrespited, unpitied, unrepriev'd, Vges of hopeless end ? This would be worse. Var therefore, open or conceal'd, alike 'Iy voice dissuades ; for what can force or guile Vith him, or who deceive his mind, whose eye lews all tilings at one view ? He from Heaven's height ill these our motions vain sees, and derides j lot more almighty to resist our might Tian wise to frustrate all our plots and wiles, hall we then live thus vile, the race of Heaven 'hus trampled, thus expell'd to suffer here hains and these torments? better these than worse, !y my advice ; since fate inevitable ubdues us, and omnipotent decree, 'he victor's will. To suffer, as to do, >ur strength is equal, nor the law unjust hat so ordains : this was at first resolv'd, ' we were wise, against so great a foe ontending, and so doubtful what might fall, laugh, when those who at the spear are bold nd venturous, if that fail them, shrink and fear That yet they know must follow, to endure xile, or ignominy, or bonds, or pain, he sentence of their conqueror : this is now ur doom ; which if we can sustain and bear, ur supreme foe in time may much remit is anger ; and perhaps, thus far remov'd, ot mind us not offending, satisfied 'ith what is punish'd ; whence these raging fires Will slacken, if his breath stir not their flames. Our purer essence then will overcome Their noxious vapour ; or, inur'd, not feel ; Or, chang'd at length, and to the place conform'd In temper and in nature, will receive Familiar the fierce heat, and void of pain ; This horrour will grow mild, this darkness light ; Besides what hope the never-ending flight Of future days may bring, what chance, what change Worth waiting ; since our present lot appears For happy though but ill, for ill not worst, If we procure not to ourselves more woe." Tims Belial, with words cloth'd in reason's garb, Counsell'd ignoble ease, and peaceful sloth, Not peace : and after him thus Mammon spake. " Either to disenthrone the King of Heaven We war, if war be best, or to regain Our own right lost : him to unthrone we then May hope, when everlasting Fate shall yield To fickle Chance, and Chaos judge the strife : The former, vain to hope, argues as vain The latter : for what place can be for us Within Heaven's bound, unless Heaven's Lord supreme We overpower ? Suppose he should relent, And publish grace to all, on promise made Of new subjection ; with what eyes could we Stand in his presence humble, and receive Strict laws impos'd, to celebrate his throne With warbled hymns, and to his Godhead sing Forc'd Halleluiahs ; while he lordly sits Our envied sovran, and his altar breathes Ambrosial odours and ambrosial flowers, Our servile offerings ? This must be our task In Heaven, this our delight ! how wearisome Eternity so spent, in worship paid To whom we hate ! Let us not then pursue By force impossible, by leave obtain 'd Unacceptable, though in Heaven, our state Of splendid vassalage ; but rather seek Our own good from ourselves, and from our own Live to ourselves, though in this vast recess, Free, and to none accountable, preferring Hard liberty before the easy yoke Of servile pomp. Our greatness will appear Then most conspicuous, when great things of small, UsefuJ of hurtful, prosperous of adverse We can create ; and in what place so e'er Thrive under evil, and work ease out of pain, Through labour and endurance. This deep world Of darkness do we dread ? How oft amidst Thick clouds and dark doth Heaven's all-ruling Sire Choose to reside, his glory unobscur'd, And with the majesty of darkness round Covers his throne ; from whence deep thunders roar Mustering their rage, and Heaven resembles Hell ? As he our darkness, cannot we his light Imitate when we please ? This desert soil Wants not her hidden lustre, gems and gold ; Nor want we skill or art, from whence to raise Magnificence ; and what can Heaven show more ? Our torments also may in length of time Become our elements ; these piercing fires As soft as now severe, our temper chang'd Into their temper ; which must needs remove The sensible of pain. All things invite D 3 MILTON. BOOK II. To peaceful counsels, and the settled state Of order, how in safety best we may Compose our present evils, with regard Of what we are, and were ; dismissing quite All thoughts of war. Ye have what I advise." He scarce had finish' d, when such murmur fill'd The assembly, as when hollow rocks retain The sound of blustering winds, which all night long Had rous'd the sea, now with hoarse cadence lull Sea-faring men o'erwatch'd, whose bark by chance Or pinnace anchors in a craggy bay After the tempest : such applause was heard As Mammon ended, and his sentence pleas'd, Advising peace : for such another field They dreaded worse than Hell : so much the fear Of thunder and the sword of Michael Wrought still within them, and no less desire To found this nether empire, which might rise By policy, and long process of time, In emulation opposite to Heaven. Which when Be'e'lzebub perceiv'd, than whom Satan except, none higher sat, with grave Aspect he rose, and in his rising seem'd A pillar of state ; deep on his front engraven Deliberation sat, and public care ; And princely counsel in his face yet shone, Majestic, though in ruin : sage he stood With Atlantean shoulders fit to bear The weight of mightiest monarchies ; his look Drew audience and attention still as night Or summer's noon-tide air, while thus he spake. " Thrones and imperial powers, offspring of Heaven, Ethereal virtues : or these titles now Must we renounce, and, changing style, be call'd Princes of Hell ? for so the popular vote Inclines here to continue, and build up here A growing empire ; doubtless ; while we dream, And know not that the King of Heaven hath doom'd This place our dungeon ; not our safe retreat Beyond his potent arm, to live exempt From Heaven's high jurisdiction, in new league Banded against his throne, but to remain In strictest bondage, though thus far remov'd Under the inevitable curb, reserv'd His captive multitude : for he, be sure, In height or depth, still first and last will reign Sole king, and of his kingdom lose no part By our revolt ; but over Hell extend His empire, and with iron sceptre rule Us here, as with his golden those in Heaven, What sit we then projecting peace and war ? War hath determin'd us, and foil'd with loss Irreparable : terms of peace yet none Vouchsaf'd or sought; for what peace will be given To us enslav'd, but custody severe And stripes, and arbitrary punishment Inflicted ? and what peace can we return, But to our power hostility and hate, Untam'd reluctance, and revenge, though slow, Yet ever plotting how the conqueror least May reap his conquest, and may least rejoice In doing what we most in suffering feel ? Nor will occasion want, nor shall we need With dangerous expedition to invade Heaven, whose high walls fear no assault or siege. Or ambush from the deep. What if we find Some easier enterprise ? There is a place, ( If ancient and prophetic fame in Heaven Err not) another world, the happy seat Of some new race call'd Man, about this time To be created like to us, though less In power and excellence, but favour'd more Of him who rules above ; so was his will Pronounc'd among the gods, and by an oath, That shook Heaven's whole circumference, con- firm'd. Thither let us bend all our thoughts, to learn What creatures there inhabit, of what mould Or substance, how endued, and what their power, And where their weakness, how attempted best, By force or subtlety. Though Heaven be shut, And Heaven's high Arbitrator sit secure In his own strength, this place may lie expos' d, The utmost border of his kingdom, left To their defence who hold it : here perhaps Some advantageous act may be achiev'd By sudden onset ; either with Hell fire To waste his whole creation, or possess All as our own, and drive, as we were driven, The puny habitants, or, if not drive, Seduce them to our party, that their God May prove their foe, and with repenting hand Abolish his own works. This would surpass Common revenge, and interrupt his joy In our confusion, and our joy upraise In his disturbance ; when his darling sons, Hurl'd headlong to partake with us, shall curse Their frail original, and faded bliss, Faded so soon. Advise, if this be worth Attempting, or to sit in darkness here Hatching vain empires.'-' Thus Beelzebub Pleaded his devilish counsel, first devis'd By Satan, and in part propos'd : for whence, But from the author of all ill, could spring So deep a malice, to confound the race Of mankind in one root, and Earth with Hell To mingle and involve, done all to spite The great Creator ? But their spite still serves His glory to augment. The bold design Pleas'd highly those infernal states, and joy Sparkled in all their eyes ; with full assent They vote : whereat his speech he thus renews. " Well have ye judg'd, well ended long debate, Synod of gods, and, like to what ye are, Great things resolv'd, which, from the lowest deep, Will once more lift us up, in spite of fate, Nearer our ancient seat ; perhaps in view Of those bright confines, whence, with neighbour- ing arms And opportune excursion, we may chance Re-enter Heaven : or else in some mild zone Dwell, not unvisited of Heaven's fair light, Secure ; and at the brightening orient beam Purge off this gloom : the soft delicious air, To heal the scar of these corrosive fires, Shall breathe her balm. But first whom shall we send In search of this new world ? whom shall we find Sufficient ? who shall tempt with wandering feet The dark unbottom'd infinite abyss, And through the palpable obscure find out His uncouth way, or spread his aery flight Upborne with indefatigable wings Over the vast abrupt, ere he arrive The happy isle? What strength, what art can then OOK II. PARADISE LOST. 39 jffice, or what evasion bear him safe hrough the strict senteries and stations thick 'f angels watching round ? Here he had need 11 circumspection, and we now no less hoice in our suffrage ; for, on whom we send, he weight of all and our last hope relies." This said, he sat ; and expectation held [is look suspense, awaiting who appear'd b second, or oppose, or undertake he perilous attempt : but all sat mute, ondering the danger with deep thoughts ; and each i other's countenance read his own dismay stonish'd : none among the choice and prime 'f those Heaven-warring champions could be found o hardy, as to proffer or accept, lone, the dreadful voyage ; till at last atan, whom now transcendent glory rais'd bove his fellows, with monarchal pride, onscious of highest worth, unmov'd thus spake. " O progeny of Heaven, empyreal thrones, 7ith reason hath deep silence and demur eiz'd us, though undismay'd. Long is the way nd hard, that out of Hell leads up to light : 'ur prison strong ; this huge convex of fire, 'utrageous to devour, immures us round ilnefold ; and gates of burning adamant, larr'd over us, prohibit all egress. "hese pass'd, if any pass, the void profound >f unessential Night receives him next ^ide gaping, and with utter loss of being "hreatens him, plung'd in that abortive gulf. f thence he 'scape into whatever world, >r unknown region, what remains him less "han unknown dangers, and as hard escape ? Jut I should ill become this throne, O peers, .nd this imperial sovranty, adorn'd ftth splendour, arm'd with power, if aught pro- pos'd md judg'd of public moment, in the shape )f difficulty, or danger, could deter le from attempting. Wherefore do I assume Tiese royalties, and not refuse to reign, lefusing to accept as great a share )f hazard as of honour, due alike 'o him who reigns, and so much to him due )f hazard more, as he above the rest ligh honour'd sits ? Go therefore, mighty powers, 'errour of Heaven, though fall'n ; intend at home, Virile here shall be our home, what best may ease 'he present misery, and render Hell lore tolerable ; if there be cure or charm 'o respite, or deceive, or slack the pain )f this ill mansion : intermit no watch against a wakeful foe, while I abroad Tirough all the coasts of dark destruction seek )eliverance for us all : this enterprise Jone shall partake with me." Thus saying rose Tie monarch, and prevented all reply ; 'rudent, lest, from his resolution rais'd, Hhers among the chief might offer now Certain to be refus'd) what erst they fear'd ; md, so refus'd, might in opinion stand lis rivals ; winning cheap the high repute, Vhich he through hazard huge must earn. But they Dreaded not more the adventure, than his voice r orbidding ; and at once with liim they rose : Their rising all at once, was as the sound Of thunder heard remote. Towards him they bend With awful reverence prone ; and as a god Extol him equal to the Highest in Heaven : Nor fail'd they to express how much they prais'd. That for the general safety he despis'd His own : for neither do the spirits damn'd Lose all their virtue ; lest bad men should boast Their specious deeds on Earth which glory excites, Or close ambition, varnish'd o'er with zeal. Thus they their doubtful consultations dark Ended, rejoicing in their matchless chief : As when from mountain-tops the dusky clouds Ascending, while the north-wind sleeps, o'erspread Heaven's cheerful face, the louring element Scowls o'er the darken'd landskip snow, or shower ; If chance the radiant Sun with farewell sweet Extend his evening-beam, the fields revive, The birds their notes renew, and bleating herds Attest their joy, that hill and valley rings. O shame to men ! devil with devil damn'd Firm concord holds, men only disagree Of creatures rational, though under hope Of heavenly grace : and, God proclaiming peace, Yet live in hatred, enmity, and strife, Among themselves, and levy cruel wars, Wasting the Earth, each other to destroy : As if (which might induce us to accord) Man had not hellish foes enow besides, That, day and night, for his destruction wait. The Stygian Council thus dissolv'd ; and forth In order came the grand infernal peers ; Midst came their mighty paramount, and seem'd Alone the antagonist of Heaven, nor less Than Hell's dread emperor, with pomp supreme, And God-like imitated state : him round A globe of fiery seraphim enclos'd, With bright imblazonry, and horrent arms. Then of their session ended they bid cry With trumpets' regal sound the great result : Towards the four winds four speedy cherubim Put to their mouths the sounding alchemy, By herald's voice explain'd ; the hollow abyss Heard far and wide, and all the host of Hell With deafening shout return'd them loud acclaim. Thence more at ease their minds, and somewhat rais'd By false presumptuous hope, the ranged powers Disband, and, wandering, each his several way Pursues, as inclination or sad choice Leads him, perplex'd where he may likeliest find Truce to his restless thoughts, and entertain The irksome hours, till his great chief return. Part on the plain, or in the air sublime, Upon the wing, or in swift race contend, As at the Olympian games or Pythian fields ; Part curb their fiery steeds, or shun the goal With rapid wheels, or fronted brigades form. As when, to warn proud cities, war appears Wag'd in the troubled sky, and armies rush To battle in the clouds, before each van Prick forth the aery knights, and couch their spears Till tliickest legions close ; with feats of arms From either end of Heaven the welkin burns. Others, with vast Typhcean rage more fell, Rend up both rocks and hills, and ride the air In whirlwind ; Hell scarce holds the wild uproar As when Alcides, from Oechalia crown'd With conquest, felt the envenom'd robe, and tore Through pain up by the roots Thessalian pines, f\ A MILTON. BOOK II. And Lichas from the top of Oeta threw Into th' Euboic sea. Others more mi UK Retreated in a silent valley, sing With notes angelical to many a harp Their own heroic deeds and hapless fall By doom of battle ; and complain that fate Free virtue should enthral to force or chance. Their song was partial ; but the harmony (What could it less when spirits immortal sing?) Suspended Hell, and took with ravishment The thronging audience. In discourse more sweet (For eloquence the soul, song charms the sense,) Others apart sat pn a hill retir'd, In thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate, Fix'd fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute, And found no end, in wandering mazes lost. Of good and evil much they argued then, Of happiness and final misery, Passion and apathy, and glory and shame, Vain wisdom all, and false philosophy : Yet, with a pleasing sorcery, could charm Pain for a while or anguish, and excite Fallacious hope, or arm th' obdured breast With stubborn patience, as with triple steel. Another part, in squadrons and gross bands, On bold adventure to discover wide That dismal world, if any clime perhaps Might yield them easier habitation, bend Four ways their flying march, along the banks Of four infernal rivers, that disgorge Into the burning lake their baleful streams : Abhorred Styx, the flood of deadly hate ; Sad Acheron, of sorrow, black and deep ; Cocytus, nam'd of lamentation loud Heard on the rueful stream ; fierce Phlegethon, Whose waves of torrent fire inflame with rage. Far off from these, a slow and silent stream, Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls Her watery labyrinth, whereof who drinks, Forthwith his former state and being forgets, Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain. Beyond this flood a frozen continent Lies dark and wild, beat with perpetual storms Of wliirlwind and dire hail, which on firm land Thaws nqt, but gathers lieap, and ruin seems Of ancient pile ; or else deep snow and ice. A gulf profound as that Serbonian bog Betwixt Damiata and MJount Casius old, Where armies whole have sunk : the parching air . Burns frore, and cold performs the effect of fire. Thither by harpy-footed furies hal'd, At certain revolutions, all the damn'd Are brought; and feel by turns the bitter change Of fierce extremes, extremes by change more fierce, From beds of raging fire, to starve in ice Their soft ethereal warmth, and there to pirus Immoveable, infix'd, and frozen round, Periods of time, thence hurried back to fire. They ferry over this Lethean sound Both to and fro, their sorrow to augment, And wish and struggle, as they pass, to reach The tempting stream, with one small drop to lose In sweet forgetfulness all pain and woe, All in one moment, and so near the brink ; But Fate withstands, and to oppose the attempt Medusa with Gorgonian terrour guards The ford, and of itself the water flies All t*ste of living wight, as once it fled | The lip of Tantalus. Thus roving on In confus'd march forlorn, the adventurous bands With shuddering horrour pale, and eyes aghast, View'd first their lamentable lot, and found No rest. Through many a dark and dreary vale They pass'd, and many a region dolorous, O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp, Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death, A universe of death ; which God by curse Created evil, for evil only good, Where all life dies, death lives, and Nature breeds, Perverse, all monstrous, all prodigious tilings, Abominable, inutterable, and worse Than fables yet have feign'd, or fear conceiv'd, Gorgons, and Hydras, and Chimeras dire. Mean while, the adversary of God and man, Satan, with thoughts inflam'd of highest design, Puts on swift wings, and towards the gates of Hell Explores his solitary flight : sometimes He scours the right hand coast, sometimes the left ; Now shaves with level wing the deep, then soars Up to the fiery concave towering high. As when far off at sea a fleet descried Hangs in the clouds, by equinoctial winds Close sailing from Bengala, or the isles Of Ternate and Tidore, whence merchants bring Their spicy drugs ; they, on the trading flood, Through the wide Ethiopian to the Cape, Ply stemming nighly toward the pole : so seem'd Far oflf the flying fiend. At last appear Hell bounds, high reaching to the horrid roof, And thrice three-fold the gates ; three-folds were brass, Three iron, three of adamantine rock Impenetrable, impal'd with circling fire, Yet unconsum'd. Before the gates there sat On either side a formidable shape ; The one seem'd woman to the waist and fair ; But ended foul in many a scaly fold Voluminous and vast ; a serpent arm'd With mortal sting : About her middle round A cry of Hell-hounds never ceasing bark'd With wide Cerberean mouths full loud, and rung A hideous peal ; yet, when they list, would creep, If aught disturb'd their noise, into her womb, And kennel there ; yet there still bark'd and howl'd, Within unseen. Far less abhorr'd than these Vex'd Scylla, bathing in the sea that parts Calabria from the hoarse Trinacrian shore : Nor uglier follow the night-hag, when, call'd In secret, riding through the air she comes, Lur'd with the smell of infant blood, to dance With Lapland witches, while the labouring Moon Eclipses at their charms. The other shape, If shape it might be call'd that shape had none Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb ; Or substance might be call'd that shadow seem'd, For each seem'd either : black it stood as night, Fierce as ten furies, terrible as Hell, And shook a dreadful dart ; what seem'd his head The likeness of a kingly crown had on. Satan was now at hand, and from his seat The monster moving onward came as fast With horrid strides ; Hell trembled as he strode. The undaunted fiend what this might be admir'd, Admir'd, not fear'd ; God and his Son except, Created thing naught valued he, nor shunn'd ; And with disdainful look thus first bogan. " Whence and what art thou, execrable shape, 500K 11. PARADISE LOST. 4-1 Tiat dar'st, though grim and terrible, advance "hy miscreated front athwart my way \> yonder gates ? through them I mean to pass, Trat be assur'd, without leave ask'd of thee : letire, or taste thy folly, and learn by proof, lell-born, not to contend with spirits of Heaven." To whom the goblin full of wrath replied. Art thou that traitor-angel, art thou he, Vho first broke peace in Heaven, and faith, till then Unbroken ; and in proud rebellious arms >rew after him the third part of Heaven's sons onjur'd against the Highest ; for which both thou .nd they, outcast from God are here condemn'd 'o waste eternal days in woe and pain ? .nd reckon'st thou thyself with spirits of Heaven, [ell-doom'd, and breath'st defiance here and scorn, fhere I reign king, and, to enrage thee more, hy king and lord? Back to thy punishment, alse fugitive, and to thy speed add wings, est with a whip of scorpions I pursue hy lingering, or with one stroke of this dart :range horrour seize thee, and pangs unfelt before." So spake the grisly terrour, and in shape, ) speaking and so threatening, grew ten-fold 'ore dreadful and deform. On the other side, icens'd with indignation, Satan stood nterrified, and like a comet burn'd, hat fires the length of Ophiuchus huge i the arctic sky, and from his horrid hair takes pestilence and war. Each at the head jvell'd his deadly aim ; their fatal hands o second stroke intend ; and such a frown ich cast at the other, as when two black clouds, ith Heaven's artillery fraught, come rattling on ver the Caspian, then stand front to front, overing a space, till winds the signal blow > join their dark encounter in mid air : frown'd the mighty combatants, that Hell ew darker at their frown ; so match'd they stood ; r never but once more was either like > meet so great a foe : and now great deeds id been achiev'd, whereof all Hell had rung, id not the snaky sorceress, that sat st by Hell-gate, and kept the fatal key, s'n, and with hideous outcry rush'd between. " O father, what intends thy hand," she cried, Against thy only son ? What fury, O son, ssesses thee to bend that mortal dart jainst thy father's head ? and know'st for whom ; r him who sits above and laughs the while thee ordain'd his drudge, to execute late'er his wrath, which he calls justice, bids ; s wrath, which one day will destroy ye both." She spake, and at her words the hellish pest rbore ; then these to her Satan return'd. ' So strange thy outcry, and thy words so strange ou interposest, that my sudden hand, ;vented, spares to tell thee yet by deeds lat it intends ; till first I know of thee, lat thing thou art thus double-form'd ; and why this infernal vale first met, thou call'st father, and that phantasm call'st my son : now thee not, nor ever saw till now ht more detestable than him and thee." To whom thus the portress of Hell-gate replied, last thou forgot me then, and do I seem w in thine eye so foul ? once deem'd so fair Heaven, when at the assembly, and in sight all the seraphim with thee combin'd bold conspiracy against Heaven's King, All on a sudden miserable pain Surpris'd thee, dim thine eyes, and dizzy swum In darkness, while thy head flames thick and fast Threw forth : till, on the left side opening wide, Likest to thee in shape and countenance bright Then shining heavenly fair, a goddess arm'd, Out of thy head I sprung : amazement seiz'd All the host of Heaven ; back they recoil'd afraid At first, and call'd me Sin, and for a sign Portentous held me ; but, familiar grown, I pleas' d, and with attractive graces won The most averse, thee chiefly, who full oft Thyself in me thy perfect image viewing Becam'st enamour'd, and such joy thou took'st With me in secret, that my womb conceiv'd A growing burden. Meanwhile war arose, And fields were fought in Heaven ; wherein re- main'd (For what could else?) to our Almighty Foe Clear victory ; to our part loss and rout, Through all the empyrean ; down they fell Driven headlong from the pitch of Heaven, down Into this deep ! and in the general fall I also ; at which time, this powerful key Into my hand was given, with charge to keep These gates for ever shut, which none can pass Without my opening. Pensive here I sat Alone ; but long I sat not, till my womb, Pregnant by thee, and now excessive grown, Prodigious motion felt, and rueful throes. At last this odious offspring whom thou seest, Thine own begotten, breaking violent way Tore through my entrails, that with fear and pain Distorted, all my nether shape thus grew Transform'd : but he my inbred enemy Forth issued, brandishing his fatal dart Made to destroy ! I fled and cried out Death ! Hell trembled at the hideous name, and sigh'd From all her caves, and back resounded Death ! I fled, but he pursued, (though more, it seems, Inflam'd with lust than rage,) and, swifter far, Me overtook his mother all dismay'd, And in embraces forcible and foul Engendering with me, of that rape begot These yelling monsters, that with ceaseless cry Surround me, as thou saw'st, hourly conceiv'd And hourly born, with sorrow infinite To me ; for, when they list, into the womb That bred them they return, and howl and gnaw My bowels, their repast ; then bursting forth Afresh with conscious terrours vex me round, That rest or intermission none I find. Before mine eyes in opposition sits Grim Death, my son and foe ; who sets them on, And me his parent would full soon devour For want of other prey, but that he knows His end with mine involv'd ; and knows that I Should prove a bitter morsel, and his bane, Whenever that shall be ; so Fate pronounc'd. But thou, O father, I forewarn thee, shun His deadly arrow ; neither vainly hope To be invulnerable in those bright arms, Though temper'd heavenly ; for that mortal dint, Save he who reigns above, none can resist." She finish'd ; and the subtle fiend his lore Soon learn'd, now milder, and thus answer'd smooth. " Dear daughter, since thou claim'st me for thy sire, And my fair son here show'st me, the dear pledge Of dalliance had with thee in Heaven, and joys 42 MILTON. BOOK I Then sweet, now sad to mention, through dire change Befall'n us, unforeseen, unthought of; know, I come no enemy, but to set free From out this dark and dismal house of pain Both him and thee, and all the heavenly host Of spirits, that, in our just pretences arm'd, Fell with us from on high : from them I go This uncouth errand sole ; and one for all Myself expose, with lonely steps to tread The unsounded deep, and through the void immense To search with wondering quest a place foretold Should be, and, by concurring signs, ere now Created vast and round, a place of bliss In the pourlieus of Heaven, and therein plac'd A race of upstart creatures, to supply Perhaps our vacant room ; though more remov'd, Lest Heaven, surcharg'd with potent multitude, Might hap to move new broils. Be this or aught Than this more secret now design 'd, I haste To know ; and, tliis once known, shall soon return, And bring ye to the place where thou and Death Shall dwell at ease, and up and down unseen Wing silently the buxom air, imbalm'd With odours : there ye shall be fed and fill'd Immeasurably ; all things shall be y6ur prey." He ceas'd, for both seem'd highly pleas'd, and Death Grinn'd horrible a ghastly smile, to hear His famine should he fill'd ; and blest his maw Destin'd to that good hour : no less rejoic'd His mother bad, and thus bespake her sire. " The key of this infernal pit by due, And by command of Heaven's all-powerful King, I keep, by him forbidden to unlock These adamantine gates ; against all force Death ready stands to interpose his dart, Fearless to be o'ermatch'd by living might. But what owe I to his commands above Who hates me, and hath hither thrust me down Into this gloom of Tartarus profound, To sit in hateful office here confin'd, Inhabitant of Heaven, and heavenly-born, Here in perpetual agony and pain, With tcrrours and with clamours compass'd round Of mine own brood, that on my bowels feed ? Thou art my father, thou my author, thou My being gav'st me ; whom should I obey But thee ? whom follow ? thou wilt bring me soon To that new world of light and bliss, among The gods who live at ease, where I shall reign At thy right hand voluptuous, as beseems Thy daughter and thy darling, without end." Thus saying, from her side the fatal key, Sad instrument of all our woe, she took ; And, towards the gate rolling her bestial train, Forthwith the huge portcullis high up drew, Which but herself, not all the Stygian powers Could once have mov'd ; then in the key-hole turns The intricate wards, and every bolt and bar Of massy iron or solid rock with ease Unfastens. On a sudden open fly With impetuous recoil and jarring sound The infernal doors, and on their hinges grate Harsh thunder, that the lowest bottom shook Of Kielms. She open'd, but to shut Kxcell'd her power ; the gates wide open stood, That with extended wings a banner'd host, Under spread ensigns marching, might pass through With horse and chariots rank'd in loose array ; So wide they stood, and like a furnace mouth Cast forth redounding smoke and ruddy flame. Before their eyes in sudden view appear The secrets of the hoary deep ; a dark Illimitable ocean, without bound, Without dimension, where length, breadth, ai height, And time, and place, are lost ; where eldest Nigl And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold Eternal anarchy, amidst the noise Of endless wars, and by confusion stand. For Hot, Cold, Moist, and Dry, four ehainpio fierce, Strive here for mastery, and to battle bring Their embryon atoms ; they around the flag Of each his faction, in their several clans, Light-arm'd or heavy, sharp, smooth, swift, or sloi Swarm populous, unnumber'd as the sands Of Barca or Cyrene's torrid soil, Levied to side with warring winds, and poise Their lighter wings. To whom these most adhen He rules a moment : Chaos umpire sits, And by decision more embroils the fray, By which he reigns : next him high arbiter Chance governs all. Into this wild abyss, The womb of Nature, and perhaps her grave, Of neither sea, nor shore, nor air, nor fire, But all these in their pregnant causes mix'd Confus'dly, and which thus must ever fight, Unless the Almighty Maker them ordain His dark materials to create more worlds ; Into this wild abyss the wary fiend Stood on the brink of Hell, and look'd a while, Pondering his voyage : for no narrow frith He had to cross. Nor was his ear less peal'd With noises loud and ruinous, (to compare Great things with small,) than when Bellona storm With all her battering engines bent to rase Some capital city ; or less than if this frame Of Heaven were falling, and these elements In mutiny had from her axle torn The stedfast Earth. At last his sail-broad vans He spreads for flight, and in the surging smoke Uplifted spurns the ground ; thence many a leagui As in a cloudy chair, ascending rides Audacious ; but, that seat soon failing, meets A vast vacuity : all unawares Fluttering his pennons vain, plumb down he drof Ten thousand fathom deep ; and to this hour Down had been falling, had not by ill chance The strong rebuff of some tumultuous cloud, Instinct with fire and nitre, hurried liim As many miles aloft : that fury staid, Quench'd in a boggy Syrtis, neither sea, Nor good dry land : nigh founder'd on he fares, Treading the crude consistence, half on foot, Half flying ; behoves him now both oar and sail. As when a gryphon, through the wilderness With winged course, o'er hill or moory dale, Pursues the Arimaspian, who by stealth Had from his wakeful custody purloin'd The guarded gold : so eagerly the fiend O er bog, or steep, through strait, rough, dens or rare, With head, hands, wings, or feet, pursues his way, And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies At length a universal hubbub wild Of stunning sounds, and voices all confus'd, Borne through the hollow dark, assaults his ear With loudest vehemence : thither he plies, 3OOK II. PARADISE LOST. Jndaunted to meet there whatever power )r spirit of the nethermost abyss Vlight in that noise reside, of whom to ask .Vhich way the nearest coast of darkness lies Bordering on light; when straight behold the throne )f Chaos, and his dark pavilion spread Vide on the wasteful deep : with him enthron'd iat sable- vested Night, eldest of things, [Tie consort of his reign ; and by them stood )rcus and Ades, and the dreaded name )f Demogorgon ! Rumour next and Chance, ind Tumult and Confusion all embroil'd, Vnd Discord with a thousand various mouths, "o whom Satan turning boldly, thus : " Ye powers Ind spirits of this nethermost abyss, ^haos and ancient Night, I come no spy, Vith purpose to explore or to disturb Tie secrets of your realm ; but, by constraint Vandering this darksome desert, as my way ,ies through your spacious empire up to light, done, and without guide, half lost, I seek VTiat readiest path leads where your gloomy bounds Confine with Heaven ; or if some other place, 'rom your dominion won, the etherial King 'ossesses lately, thither to arrive travel this profound ; direct my course ; )irected, no mean recompense it brings 'o your behoof, if I that region lost, 11 usurpation thence expell'd, reduce 'o her original darkness, and your sway, Which is my present journey) and once more ,rect the standard there of ancient Night : ours be the advantage all, mine the revenge." Thus Satan ; and him thus the Anarch old, fith faltering speech and visage incompos'd, nswer'd. " I know thee, stranger, who thou art, hat mighty leading angel, who of late [ade head against Heaven's King, though over- thrown. saw and heard : for such a numerous host led not in silence through the frighted deep, ^ith ruin upon ruin, rout on rout, onfusion worse confounded ; and Heaven-gates our'd out by millions her victorious bands ursuing. I upon my frontiers here eep residence : if all I can will serve iat little which is left so to defend, ncroach'd on still through your intestine broils 'eakening the sceptre of old Night : first Hell, mr dungeon, stretching far and wide beneath ; 3w lately Heaven and Earth, another world, ung o'er my realm, link'd in a golden chain ) that side Heaven from whence your legions fell: that way be your walk, you have not far ; much the nearer danger ; go, and speed ; avoc, and spoil, and ruin, are my gain." He ceas'd ; and Satan staid not to reply, it, glad that now his sea should find a shore, ith fresh alacrity, and force renew'd, rings upward, like a pyramid of fire, to the wild expanse, and, through the shock ' fighting elements, on all sides round iviron'd, wins his way ; harder beset id more endanger'd, than when Argo pass'd trough Bosporus, betwixt the justling rocks ! when Ulysses on the larboard shunn'd larybdis, and by the other whirlpool steer'd. he with difficulty and labour hard Mov'd on, with difficulty and labour he ; But, he once past, soon after, when man fell, Strange alteration ! Sin and Death amain Following his track, such was the will of HeaVen, Pav'd after him a broad and beaten way Over the dark abyss, whose boiling gulf Tamely endur'd a bridge of wondrous length, From Hell continued reaching the utmost orb Of this frail world ; by which the spirits perverse With easy intercourse pass to and fro To tempt or punish mortals, except whom God, and good angels, guard by special grace. But now at last the sacred influence Of light appears, and from the walls of Heaven Shoots far into the bosom of dim Night A glimmering dawn : here Nature first begins Her farthest verge, and Chaos to retire As from her outmost works a broken foe With tumult less, and with less hostile din, That Satan with less toil, and now with ease Wafts on the calmer wave by dubious light, And, like a weather-beaten vessel, holds Gladly the port through shrouds and tackle torn j Or in the emptier waste, resembling air, Weighs his spread wings, at leisure to behold Far off the empyreal Heaven, extended wide In circuit, undetermin'd square or round, With opal towers and battlements adorn' d Of living sapphire, once his native seat ; And fast by, hanging in a golden chain, This pendant world, in bigness as a star Of smallest magnitude close by the Moon. Thither, full fraught with mischievous revenge, Accurs'd, and in a cursed hour he hies. BOOK III. The Argument. God, sitting on his throne, sees Satan flying to- wards this world, then newly created: shows him to the Son, who sat at his right hand ; foretels the success of Satan in perverting mankind, clears his own justice and wisdom from all imputation, having created Man free, and able enough to have withstood his tempter ; yet declares his purpose of grace towards him, in regard he fell not of his own malice, as did Satan, but by him seduced. The Son of God renders praises to his Father for the manifest- ation of his gracious purpose towards Man : but God again declares, that grace cannot be extended towards Man without the satisfaction of divine justice : Man hath offended the ma- jesty of God by aspiring to godhead, and there- fore, with all his progeny, devoted to death, must die, unless some can be found sufficient to answer for his offence, and undergo his punish- ment. The Son of God freely offers himself a ransom for Man : the Father accepts him, or- dains his incarnation, pronounces his exaltation above all names in Heaven and Earth ; com- mands all the angels to adore him : They obey, and hymning to their harps in full quire, celebrate the Father and the Son. Meanwhile Satan alights upon the bare convex of this world's outermost orb ; where wandering, he first finds a place, since called the Limbo of Vanity : what persons and tilings fly up thither : thence comes MILTON. BOOK II] to the gate of Heaven, described ascending by stairs, and the waters above the firmament that flow about it : his passage thence to the orb of the Sun ; he finds there Uriel, the regent of that orb, but first changes himself into the shape of a meaner angel ; and, pretending a zealous desire to behold the new creation, and Man whom God had placed here, inquires of him the place of his habitation, and is directed : alights first on mount Niphates. HAIL, holy Light, offspring of Heaven, first-born, Or of the Eternal coeternal beam May I express thee unblam'd ? since God is light, And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, Bright effluence of bright essence increate. Or hear'st thou rather, pure etherial stream, Whose fountain who shall tell ? Before the Sun, Before the Heavens thou wert, and at the voice Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest The rising world of waters dark and deep, Won from the void and formless infinite. Thee I revisit now with bolder wing, Escap'd the Stygian pool, though long detain'd In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight Through utter and through middle darkness borne, With other notes than to the Orphean lyre, I sung of Chaos and eternal Night ; Taught by the heavenly Muse to venture down The dark descent, and up to re-ascend, Though hard and rare : thee I revisit safe, And feel thy sovran vital lamp ; but thou Revisit' st not these eyes, that roll in vain To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn ; So thick a drop serene hath quench'd their orbs, Or dim suffusion veil'd. Yet not the more Cease I to wander, where the Muses haunt Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, Smit with the love of sacred song ; but chief Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, That wash thy hallow'd feet, and warbling flow, Nightly I visit : nor sometimes forget Those other two equall'd with me in fate, So were I equall'd with them in renown, Blind Thamyris, and blind Maeonides, And Tiresias, and Phineus, prophets old : Then feed on thoughts, that voluntary move Harmonious numbers ; as the wakeful bird Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year Seasons return ; but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine ; But cloud instead, and ever-during dark Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair Presented with a universal blank Of Nature's works to me expung'd and ras'd, And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out. So much the rather thou, celestial Light, Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers Irradiate ; there plant eyes, all mist from thence Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell Of things invisible to mortal sight. Now had the Almighty Father from above, From the pure empyrean where he sits High thron'd above all height, bent down his eye His own works and their works at once to view : About him all the sanctities of Heaven Stood thick as stars, and from his sight received Beatitude past utterance ; on his right The radiant image of his glory sat, His only Son ; on Earth he first beheld Our two first parents, yet the only two Of mankind, in the happy garden plac'd, Reaping immortal fruits of joy and love, Uninterrupted joy, unrivall'd love, In blissful solitude ; he then survey'd Hell and the gulf between, and Satan there Coasting the wall of Heaven on this side Night In the dun air sublime, and ready now To stoop with wearied wings, and willing feet, On the bare outside of this world, that seem'd Firm land imbpsom'd without firmament, Uncertain which, in ocean or in air. Him God beholding from his prospect high, Wherein past, present, future, he beholds, Thus to his only Son foreseeing spake. " Only begotten Son, seest thou what rage Transports our adversary? whom no bounds Prescrib'd, no bars of Hell, nor all the chains Heap'd on him there, nor yet the main abyss Wide interrupt, can hold ; so bent he seems On desperate revenge, that shall redound Upon his own rebellious head. And now, Through all restraint broke loose, he wings his wa; Not far off Heaven, in the precincts of light, Directly towards the new-created world, And Man there plac'd, with purpose to assay If him by force he can destroy, or, worse, By some false guile pervert ; and shall pervert ; For Man will hearken to his glozing lies, And easily transgress the sole command, Sole pledge of his obedience : so will fall He and his faithless progeny. Whose fault ? Whose but his own ? Ingrate, he had of me All he could have ; I made him just and right, Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall. Such I created all the etherial powers And spirits, both them who stood, and them win fail'd ; Freely they stood who stood, and fell who fell. Not free, what proof could they have given sincere Of true allegiance, constant faith, or love, Where only what they needs must do appear 'd, Not what they would ? what praise could they re ceive ? What pleasure I from such obedience paid, When will and reason (reason also is choice) Useless and vain, of freedom both despoil' d, Made passive both, had serv'd necessity, Not me ? They therefore, as to right belong 'd, So were created, nor can justly accuse Their maker, or their making, or their fate, As if predestination over-rul'd Their will, dispos'd by absolute decree Or high foreknowledge ; they themselves decreed Their own revolt, not I ; if I foreknew, Foreknowledge had no influence on their fault, Which had no less prov'd certain unforeknown. So without least impulse or shadow of fate, Or aught by me immutably foreseen, They trespass, authors to themselves in all Both what they judge, and what they choose for so I form'd them free : and free they must remain, Till they enthral themselves ; I else must change Their nature, and revoke the high decree OOK III. PARADISE LOST. 45 nchangeable, eternal, which ordaiii'd "leir freedom ; they themselves ordain'd their fall, le first sort by their own suggestion fell, If-tempted, self-deprav'd : Man falls, deceiv'd v the other first : Man therefore shall find grace, je other none : in mercy and justice both, irough Heaven and Earth, so shall my glory excel : at mercy, first and last, shall brightest shine." Thus while God spake, ambrosial fragrance fill'd I Heaven, and in the blessed spirits elect use of new joy ineffable diffus'd. ,'yond compare the Son of God was seen ost glorious : in him all his Father shone ibstantially express'd ; and in his face ivine compassion visibly appear'd, >ve without end, and without measure grace, hich uttering, thus he to his Father spake : " O, Father, gracious was that word which clos'd ly sovran sentence, that Man should find grace ; >r which both Heaven and Earth shall high extol ly praises, with the innumerable sound 'hymns and sacred songs, wherewith thy throne icompass'd shall resound thee ever blest. r should man finally be lost, should man, iy creature late so lov'd, thy youngest son, II circumvented thus by fraud, though join'd ith his own folly ? That be from thee far, at far be from thee, Father, who art judge ' all things made, and judgest only right. shall the adversary thus obtain s end, and frustrate thine ; shall he fulfil s malice, and thy goodness bring to nought, proud return, though to his heavier doom, t with revenge accomplish'd, and to Hell aw after him the whole race of mankind, him corrupted? or wilt thou thyself K)lish thy creation, and unmake r him, what for thy glory thou hast made ? should thy goodness and thy greatness both question'd and blasphem'd without defence." To whom the great Creator thus replied. 3 Son, in whom my soul hath chief delight, n of my bosom, Son who art alone r word, my wisdom, and effectual might, I hast thou spoken as my thoughts are, all my eternal purpose hath decreed . in shall not quite be lost, but sav'd who will ; t not of will in him, but grace in me eely vouchsafd ; once more I will renew s lapsed powers, though forfeit, and enthrall'd sin to foul exorbitant desires ; held by me, yet once more he shall stand i even ground against his mortal foe ; me upheld, that he may know how frail s fall'n condition is, and to me owe 1 his deliverance, and to none but me. me I have chosen of peculiar grace, ect above the rest ; so is my will : ie rest shall hear me call, and oft be warn'd icir sinful state, and to appease betimes e incensed Deity, while offer'd grace vites ; for I will clear their senses dark, :iat may suffice, and soften stony hearts pray, repent, and bring obedience due. > prayer, repentance, and obedience due, tough but endeavour'd with sincere intent, ine ear shall not be slow, mine eye not shut, id I will place within them as a guide, My umpire, Conscience ; whom if they will hear, Light after light, well us'd they shall attain, And to the end, persisting, safe arrive. Tiiis my long sufferance, and my day of grace, They who neglect and scorn, shall never taste ; But hard be harden'd, blind be blinded more, That they may stumble on, and deeper fall ; And none but such from mercy I exclude. But yet all is not done ; Man disobeying, Disloyal, breaks his fealty, and sins Against the high supremacy of Heaven, Affecting god-head, and, so losing all, To expiate his treason hath nought left, But to destruction sacred and devote, He, with his whole posterity, must die, Die he or justice must ; unless for him Some other able, and as willing, pay The rigid satisfaction, death for death. Say, heavenly powers, where shall we find such love? Which of ye will be mortal, to redeem Man's mortal crime, and just the unjust to save ? Dwells in all Heaven charity so dear ?" He ask'd, but all the heavenly quire stood mute, And silence was in Heaven : on man's behalf Patron or intercessor none appear'd, Much less that durst upon his own head draw The deadly forfeiture, and ransom set. And now without redemption all mankind Must have been lost, adjuclg'd to Death and Hc-ll By doom severe, had not the Son of God, In whom the fulness dwells of love divine, His dearest mediation thus renew'd. " Father, thy word is past, Man shall find grace ; And shall grace not find means, that finds her way The speediest of thy winged messengers, To visit all thy creatures, and to all Comes unprevented, unimplor'd, unsought ? Happy for Man, so coming ; he her aid Can never seek, once dead in sins, and lost ; Atonement for himself, or offering meet, Indebted and undone, hath none to bring : Behold me then ; me for him, life for life I offer ; on me let thine anger fall ; Account me Man ; I for his sake will leave Thy bosom, and this glory next to thee Freely put off, and for him lastly die Well pleas'd ; on me let Death wreak all his rage ; Under his gloomy power I shall not long Lie vanquish'd ; thou hast given me to posses? Life in myself for ever ; by thee I live, Though now to Death I yield, and am his due All that of me can die : yet, that debt paid, Thou wilt not leave me in the loathsome grave His prey, nor suffer my unspotted soul For ever with corruption there to dwell ; But I shall rise victorious, and subdue My vanquisher, spoil'd of his vaunted spoil ; Death his death's wound shall then receive, and stoop Inglorious, of his mortal sting disarm' d. I through the ample air in triumph high Shall lead Hell captive, maugre Hell, and show The powers of darkness bound. Thou, at the sight Pleas'd, out of Heaven shalt look down and smile, While, by thee rais'd, I ruin all my foes, Death last, and with his carcass glut the grave : Then, with the multitude of my redeem'd, Shall enter Heaven, long absent, and return, MILTON. BOOK III Father, to see thy face, wherein no cloud Of anger shall remain, but peace assur'd And reconcilement ; wrath shall be no more Thenceforth, but in thy presence joy entire.'* His words here ended, but his meek aspect Silent yet spake, and breath'd immortal love To mortal men, above which only shone Filial obedience : as a sacrifice Glad to be offer 'd, he attends the will Of his great Father. Admiration seiz'd All Heaven, what this might mean, and whither tend, Wondering ; but soon the Almighty thus replied. " O thou in Heaven and Earth the only peace Found out for mankind under wrath ! O thou My sole complacence ! well thou know'st how dear To me are all my works, nor Man the least, Though last created ; that for him I spare Thee from my bosom and right hand to save, By losing thee awhile, the whole race lost. Thou, therefore, whom thou only canst redeem, Their nature also to thy nature join ; And be thyself man among men on Earth, Made flesh, when time shall be, of virgin seed, By wonderous birth : be thou in Adam's room The head of all mankind, though Adam's son. As in him perish all men, so in thee, As from a second root, shall be restor'd As many as are restor'd, without thee none. His crime makes guilty all his sons ; thy merit, Imputed, shall absolve them who renounce Their own both righteous and unrighteous deeds, And live in thee transplanted, and from thee Receive new light. So man, as is most just, Shall satisfy for man, be judg'd and die, And dying rise, and rising with him raise His brethren, ransom'd with his own dear life. So heavenly love shall outdo hellish hate, Giving to death, and dying to redeem, So dearly to redeem what hellish hate So easily destroy 'd, and still destroys In those who, when they may, accept not grace. Nor shalt thou, by descending to assume Man's nature, lessen or degrade thine own. Because thou hast, though thron'd in highest bliss Equal to God, and equally enjoying God-like fruition, quitted all, to save A world from utter loss, and hast been found By merit more than birthright Son of God, Found worthiest to be so by being good, Far more than great or high ; because in thee Love hath abounded more than glory abounds, Therefore thy humiliation shall exalt With thee thy manhood also to this throne ; Here shalt thou sit incarnate, here shalt reicrn Both God and Man, Son both of God and^Man, Anointed universal King ; all power I give thee ; reign for ever, and assume Thy merits ; under thee, as head supreme, Thrones, princedoms, powers, dominions, I reduce : All knees to thee shall bow, of them that bide In Heaven, or Earth, or under Earth in Hell. When thou, attended gloriously from Heaven, Shalt in the sky appear, and from thee send The summoning arch-angels to proclaim Thy dread tribunal : forthwith from all winds The living, and forthwith the cited dead Of all past ages, to the general doom Shall hasten ; such a peel shall rouse their sleep. Then, all thy saints assembled, thou shalt judge Bad men and angels ; they, arraign'd, shall sink Beneath thy sentence ; Hell, her numbers full, Thenceforth shall be for ever shut. Meanwhile The world shall burn, and from her ashes spring New Heaven and Earth, wherein the just sha dwell, And after all their tribulations long, See golden days, fruitful of golden deeds, With joy and love triumphing, and fair truth. Then thou thy regal sceptre shalt lay by, For regal sceptre then no more shall need, God shall be all in all. But, all ye gods, Adore him, who to compass all this dies ; Adore the Son, and honour him as me." No sooner had the Almighty ceas'd, but all The multitude of angels, with a shout Loud as from numbers without number, sweet As from blest voices, uttering joy, Heaven rung With jubilee, and loud Hosannas fill'd The eternal regions : lowly reverent Towards either throne they bow, and to the groun With solemn adoration down they cast Their crowns inwove with amarant and gold ; Immortal amarant, a flower which once In Paradise, fast by the tree of life, Began to bloom ; but soon for man's offence To Heaven remov'd where first it grew, there grow And flowers aloft shading the fount of life, And where the river of bliss through midst < Heaven Rolls o'er Elysian flowers her amber stream ; With these that never fade the spirits elect Bind their resplendent locks inwreath'd with beam; Now in loose garlands thick thrown off, the brighi Pavement, that like a sea of jasper shone, Impurpled with celestial roses smil'd. Then, crown'd again, their golden harps they tool< Harps ever tun'd, that glittering by their side Like quivers hung, and with preamble sweet Of charming symphony they introduce Their sacred song, and waken raptures high ; No voice exempt, no voice but well could join Melodious part, such concord is in Heaven. Thee, Father, first they sung Omnipotent, Immutable, Immortal, Infinite, Eternal King ; thee Author of all being, Fountain of light, thyself invisible Amidst the glorious brightness where thou sitst Thron'd inaccessible, but when thou shad'st The full blaze of thy beams, and, through a cloud Drawn round about thee like a radiant shrine, Dark with excessive bright thy skirts appear, Yet dazzle Heaven, that brightest seraphim Approach not, but with both wings veil their eyes Thee next they sang of all creation first, Begotten Son, Divine Similitude, In whose conspicuous countenance, without clouc Made visible, the Almighty Father shines, Whom else no creature can behold ; on thee Impress'd the effulgence of his glory abides, Transfus'd on thee his ample Spirit rests. He Heaven of Heavens and all the powers thereii By thee created ; and by thee threw down The aspiring dominations : thou that day Thy Father's dreadful thunder didst not spare, Nor stop thy flaming chariot-wheels, that shook Heaven's everlasting frame, while o'er the necks Thou drov'st of warring angels disarray'd. Back from pursuit thy powers with loud acclaim Thee only extoll'd, Son of thy Father's might. 500K III. PARADISE LOST. 47 'o execute fierce vengeance on his foes, fot so on Man : him, through their malice fall'n, ather of mercy and grace, thou didst not doom strictly, but much more to pity incline : To sooner did thy dear and only Son 'erceive thee purpos'd not to doom frail Man 3 strictly, but much more to pity inclin'd, [e to appease thy wrath, and end the strife >f mercy and justice in thy face discern'd, legardless of the bliss wherein he sat acond to thee, offer'd himself to die or Man's offence. O unexampled love, ove no where to be found less than Divine ! [ail, Son of God, Saviour of Men ! Thy name lall be the copious matter of my song fenceforth, and never shall my harp thy praise orget, nor from thy Father's praise disjoin. Thus they in Heaven, above the starry sphere, heir happy hours in joy and hymning spent, [eanwhile upon the firm opacous globe f this round world, whose first convex divides he luminous inferior orbs, enclos'd rom Chaos, and the inroad of Darkness old, itan alighted walks : a globe far off seem'd, now seems a boundless continent ark, waste, and wild, under the frown of Night arless expos'd, and ever-threatening storms f Chaos blustering round, inclement sky ; ive on that side which from the wall of Heaven, hough distant far, some small reflection gains f glimmering air, less vex'd with tempest loud: ere walk'd the fiend at large in spacious field. s when a vulture on Imaus bred, "hose snowy ridge the roving Tartar bounds, islodging from a region scarce of prey, ) gorge the flesh of lambs or yeanling kids, ti hills where flocks are fed, flies toward the springs f Ganges or Hydaspes, Indian streams ; it in his way lights on the barren plains f Sericana, where Chineses drive ith sails and wind their cany waggons light : , on this windy sea of land, the fiend alk'd up and down alone, bent on his p"rey ; one, for other creature in this place, ving or lifeless, to be found was none, me yet, but store hereafter from the Earth ) hither like aereal vapours flew ' all things transitory and vain, when sin ith vanity had fill'd the works of men ; >th all things vain, and all who in vain things lilt their fond hopes of glory or lasting fame, happiness in this or the other life'; 1 who have their reward on Earth, the fruits ' painful superstition and blind zeal, >ught seeking but the praise of men, here find t retribution, empty as their deeds ; I the unaccomplish'd works of Nature's hand, >ortive, monstrous, or unkindly mix'd, ssolv'd on Earth, fleet hither, and in vain, II final dissolution, wander here ; )t in the neighbouring Moon, as some have dream'd ; tose argent fields more likely habitants, anslated saints, or middle spirits hold ;twixt the angelical and human kind, ither of ill-join'd sons and daughters born rst from the ancient world those giants came ith many a vain exploit, though then renown'd : ie builders next of Babel on the plain Of Sennaar, and still with vain design New Babels, had they wherewithal, would build Others came single ; he, who to be deera'd A god, leap'd fondly intc Mtna flames, 1 Empedocles ; and he, who to enjoy Plato's Elysium, leap'd into the sea, Cleombrotus ; and many more too long, Embryos and idiots, eremites and friars White, black, and gray, with all their trumpery. Here pilgrims roam, that stray'd so far to seek In Golgotha him dead, who lives in Heaven ; And they, who to be sure of Paradise, Dying, put on the weeds of Dominic, Or in Franciscan think to pass disguis'd ; They pass the planets seven, and pass the fix'd, And that crystalline sphere whose balance weighs The trepidation talk'd, and that first mov'd And now Saint Peter at Heaven's wicket seems To wait them with his keys, and now at foot ; Of Heaven's ascent they lift their feet, when lo A violent cross wind from either coast Blows them transverse, ten thousand leagues awry Into the devious air : then might ye see Cowls, hoods, and habits, with their wearers, tost And flutter'd into rags ; then reliques, beads, Indulgences, dispenses, pardons, bulls, The sport of winds : all these, upwhirl'd aloft, Fly o'er the backside of the world far off, Into a Limbo large and broad, since call'd The Paradise of Fools, to few unknown Long after, now unpeopled and untrod. All this dark globe the fiend found as he pass'd. And long he wander'd, till at last a gleam Of dawning light turn'd thither- ward in haste His travell'd steps : far distant he descries Ascending by degrees magnificent Up to the wall of Heaven a structure high ; At top whereof, but far more rich appear 'd The work as of a kingly palace-gate, With frontispiece of diamond and gold Embellish'd ; thick with sparkling orient gems The portal shone, inimitable on Earth By model, or by shading pencil, drawn. The stairs were such as whereon Jacob saw Angels ascending and descending, bands Of guardians bright, when he from Esau fled To Padan-Aram, in the field of Luz Dreaming by night under the open sky, And waking cried, " This is the gate of Heaven." Each stair mysteriously was meant, nor stood There always, but drawn up to Heaven sometimes Viewless ; and underneath a bright sea flow'd Of jasper, or of liquid pearl, whereon Who after came from Earth, sailing arriv'd, Wafted by angels, or flew o'er the lake Rapt in a chariot drawn by fiery steeds. The stairs were then let down, whether to dare The fiend by easy ascent, or aggravate His sad exclusion from the doors of bliss : Direct against which open'd from beneath, Just o'er the blissful seat of Paradise, A passage down to the Earth, a passage wide, Wider by far than that of after-times Over mount Sion, and, though that were large, Over the Promis'd Land, to God so dear ; By which, to visit oft those happy tribes, On high behests his angels to and fro Pass'd frequent, and his eye with choice regard From Paneas, the fount of Jordan's flood, To Beersaba, where the Holy Land 48 MILTON. BOOK 1 Borders on Egypt and the Arabian shore ; So wide the opening seem'd, where bounds were set To darkness, such as bound the ocean wave. Satan from hence, now on the lower stair, That scal'd by steps of gold to Heaven-gate, Looks down with wonder at the sudden view Of all this world at once. As when a scout, Through dark and desert ways with peril gone All night, at last by break of cheerful dawn Obtains the brow of some high-climbing hill, Which to his eye discovers unaware The goodly prospect of some foreign land First seen, or some renown'd metropolis With glistering spires and pinnacles adorn'd, Which now the rising Sun gilds with his beams : Such wonder seiz'd, though after Heaven seen, The spirit malign, but much more envy seiz'd, At sight of all this world beheld so fair. Round he surveys (and well might, where he stood So high above the circling canopy Of night's extended shade) from eastern point Of Libra to the fleecy star that bears Andromeda far off Atlantic seas Beyond the horizon ; then from pole to pole He views in breadth, and without longer pause Down right into the world's first region throws His flight precipitant, and winds with ease Through the pure marble air his oblique way Amongst innumerable stars, that shone Stars distant, but nigh hand seem'd other worlds ; Or other worlds they seem'd, or happy isles, Like those Hesperian gardens fam'd of old, Fortunate fields, and groves, and flowery vales, Thrice happy isles ; but who dwelt happy there He staid not to inquire : above them all The golden Sun, in splendour likest Heaven, Allur'd his eye ; thither his course he bends Through the calm firmament, (but up or down, By centre or eccentric, hard to tell, Or longitude,) where the great luminary Aloof the vulgar constellations thick, That from his lordly eye keep distance due, Dispenses light from far ; they, as they move Their starry dance in numbers that compute Days, months and years, towards his all-cheering lamp Turn swift their various motions, or are turn'd By his magnetic beam, that gently warms The universe, and to each inward part With gentle penetration, though unseen, Shoots invisible virtue even to the deep ; So wonderously was set his station bright. There lands the fiend, a spot like which perhaps Astronomer in the Sun's lucent orb Through his glaz'd optic tube yet never saw. The place he found beyond expression bright, Compar'd with aught on Earth, metal or stone ; Not all parts like, but all alike inform'd With radiant light, as glowing iron with fire ; If metal, part seem'd gold, part silver clear ; If stone, carbuncle most or chrysolite, Ruby or topaz, to the twelve that shone In Aaron's breast-plate, and a stone besides Imagin'd rather oft than elsewhere seen, That stone, or like to that, which here below Philosophers in vain so long have sought, In vain, though by their powerful art they bind Volatile Hermes, and call up unbound In various shapes old Proteus from the sea, Drain'd through a limbec to his native form. What wonder then if fields and regions here Breathe forth elixir pure, and rivers run Potable gold, when with one virtuous touch The arch-chymic Sun, so far from us remote, Produces, with terrestrial humour mix'd, Here in the dark so many precious things Of colour glorious, and effect so rare ? Here matter new to gaze the Devil met Undazzled ; far and wide his eye commands ; For sight no obstacle found here, nor shade, But 'all sun-shine, as when his beams at noon Culminate from the equator, as they now Shot upward still direct, whence no way round Shadow from body opaque can fall : and the air, No where so clear, sharpen'd his visual ray To objects distant far, whereby he soon Saw within ken a glorious angel stand, The same whom John saw also in the Sun : His back was turn'd, but not his brightness hid ; Of beaming sunny rays a golden tiar j Circled his head, nor less his locks behind Illustrious on his shoulders, fledge with wings, Lay waving round ; on some great charge emplo He seem'd, or fix'd in cogitation deep. Glad was the spirit impure, as now in hope To find who might direct his wandering flight To Paradise, the happy seat of Man, His journey's end and our beginning woe. But first he casts to change his proper shape, Which else might work him danger or delay : And now a stripling cherub he appears, Not of the prime, yet such as in his face Youth smil'd celestial, and to every limb Suitable grace diffus'd, so well he feign'd : Under a coronet his flowing hair In curls on either cheek play'd ; wings he wore, Of many a colour'd plume, sprinkled with gold ; His habit fit for speed succinct, and held Before his decent steps a silver wand. He drew not nigh unheard ; the angel bright, Ere he drew nigh, his radiant visage turn'd, Admonish'd by his ear, and straight was known The arch-angel Uriel, one of the seven Who in God's presence, nearest to his throne, Stand ready at command, and are his eyes That run tlirough all the Heavens, or down to Earth Bear his swift errands over moist and diy, O'er sea and land : him Satan thus accosts. " Uriel, for thou of those seven spirits that st; In sight of God's high throne, gloriously bright, The first art wont his great authentic will Interpreter through highest Heaven to bring, Where all his sons thy embassy attend ; And here art likeliest by supreme decree Like honour to obtain, and as his eye To visit oft this new creation round ; Unspeakable desire to see, and know All these his wonderous works, but chiefly Man, His chief delight and favour, him for whom All these his works so wonderous he ordain'd, r Hath brought me from the quires of cherubim I Alone thus wandering. Brightest seraph, tell ' In which of all these shining orbs hath Man His fixed seat, or fixed seat hath none, But all these shining orbs his choice to dwell ; That I may find him, and with secret gaze Or open admiration him behold, On whom the great Creator hath bestow'd Worlds, and on whom hath all these graces pom OK III. PARADISE LOST. 4-9 it both in him and all things, as is meet, e universal Maker we may praise ; 10 justly hath driven out his rebel foes deepest Hell, and, to repair that loss, ated this new happy race of Men serve him better : wise are all his ways.' >o spake the false dissembler unperceiv'd ; neither man nor angel can 'discern pocrisy, the only evil that walks isible, except to God alone, his permissive will, through Heaven and Earth: 1 oft, though wisdom wake, suspicion sleeps wisdom's gate, and to simplicity igns her charge, while goodness thinks no ill ere no ill seems : which now for once beguil'd al, though regent of the Sun, and held sharpest-sighted spirit of all in Heaven ; o to the fraudulent impostor foul, lis uprightness, answer thus return'd. Fair angel, thy desire, which tends to know works of God, thereby to glorify great Work-master, leads to no excess t reaches blame, but rather merits praise more it seems excess, that led thee hither n thy empyreal mansion thus alone, vitness with thine eyes what some perhaps, tented with report, hear only in Heaven : wonderful indeed are all his works, sant to know, and worthiest to be all in remembrance always with delight ; what created mind can comprehend r number, or the wisdom infinite brought them forth, but hid their causes deep ? 7 when at his word the formless mass, world's material mould, came to a heap : usion heard his voice, and wild uproar 1 rul'd, stood vast infinitude confin'd ; it his second bidding Darkness fled, t shone, and order from disorder sprung : tc their several quarters hasted then cumbrous elements, earth, flood, air, fire ; this etherial quintessence of Heaven upward, spirited with various forms, roll'd orbicular, and turn'd to stars berless, as thou seest, and how they move ; had his place appointed, each his course ; est in circuit walls this universe, downward on that globe, whose hither side light from hence, though but reflected, shines ; place is Earth, the seat of Man ; that light ay, which else, as the other hemisphere, : would invade ; but there the neighbouring Moon ill that opposite fair star) her aid y interposes, and her monthly round nding, still renewing, through mid Heaven, borrow'd light her countenance triform 3 fills and empties to enlighten th' Earth, n her pale dominion checks the night. >pot, to which I point, is Paradise, 's abode ; those lofty shades, his bower. r ay thou canst not miss, me mine requires." is said, he turn'd ; and Satan, bowing low, superior spirits is wont in Heaven, ". honour due and reverence none neglects, leave, and toward the coast of Earth beneath, from the ecliptic, sped with hop'd success, r s his steep flight in many an aery wheel ; aid, till on Niphates' top he lights. BOOK IV. The Argument. Satan, now in prospect of Eden, and nigh the pi ace where he must now attempt the bold enterprise which he undertook alone against God and Man, falls into many doubts with himself, and many passions, fear, envy, and despair ; but at length confirms himself in evil, journeys on to Paradise, whose outward prospect and situation is described ; overleaps the bounds ; sits in the shape of a cor- morant on the tree of life, as highest in the gar- den, to look about him. The garden described ; Satan's first sight of Adam and Eve ; his wonder at their excellent form and happy state, but with resolution to work their fall ; overhears their dis- course, thence gathers that the tree of knowledge was forbidden them to eat of, under penalty of death ; and thereon intends to found his tempta- tion, by seducing them to transgress : then leaves them a while to know further of their state by some other means. Meanwhile Uriel descending on a sunbeam warns Gabriel, who had in charge the gate of Paradise, that some evil spirit had escaped the deep, and passed at noon by his sphere in the shape of a good angel down to Paradise, discovered after by his furious gestures in the mount. Gabriel promises to find him ere morning. Night coming on, Adam and Eve discourse of going to their rest : their bower described; their evening worship. Gabriel, draw- ing forth his bands of night-watch to walk the round of Paradise, appoints two strong angels to Adam's bower, lest the evil spirit should be there doing some harm to Adam or Eve, sleeping ; there they find him at the ear of Eve tempting her in a dream, and bring him, though unwilling, to Gabriel ; by whom questioned, he scornfully an- swers ; prepares resistance ; but, hindered by a sign from Heaven, flies out of Paradise. O FOR that warning voice, which he, who saw Th' Apocalypse, heard cry in Heaven aloud, Then when the Dragon, put to second rout, Came furious down to be reveng'd on men, Woe to the inhabitants on Earth ! that now, While time was, our first parents had been warn'd The coming of their secret foe, and 'scap'd, Haply so 'scap'd his mortal snare : for now Satan, now first inflam'd with rage, came down, The tempter ere the accuser of mankind, To wreak on innocent frail man his loss Of that first battle, and his flight to Hell : Yet, not rejoicing in his speed, though bold Far off and fearless, nor with cause to boast, Begins his dire attempt ; which nigh the birth Now rolling boils in his tumultuous breast, And like a devilish engine back recoils Upon himself; horrour and doubt distract His troubled thoughts, and from the bottom stir The Hell within him ; for within him Hell He brings, and round about him, nor from Hell One step, no more than from himself, can fly By change of place : now conscience wakes despair, That slumbered ; wakes the bitter memory Of what he was, what is, and what must be Worse ; of worse deeds worse sufferings must ensue. Sometimes towards Eden, which now in his view 50 MILTON. BOOK I Lay pleasant, his griev'd look he fixed sad ; Sometimes towards Heaven, and the full-blazing Sun, Which now sat high in his meridian tower : Then, much revolving, thus in sighs began. " O thou, that, with surpassing glory crown'd, Look'st from thy sole dominion like the God Of this new world ; at whose sight all the stars Hide their diminish' d heads ; to thee I call, But with no friendly voice, and add thy name , Sun ! to tell thee how I hate thy beams, That bring to my remembrance from what state 1 fell, how glorious once above thy sphere ; Till pride and worse ambition threw me down, Warring in Heaven against Heaven's matchless King : Ah, wherefore ! he deserv'd no such return From me, whom he created what I was In that bright eminence, and with his good Upbraided none ; nor was his service hard. What could be less than to afford him praise, The easiest recompense, and pay him thanks, How due ! yet all his good prov'd ill in me, And wrought but malice ; lifted up so high I 'sdein'd subjection, and thought one step liigher Would set me highest, and in a moment quit The debt immense of endless gratitude, So burthensome still paying, still to owe, Forgetful what from him I still receiv'd, And understood not that a grateful mind By owing owes not, but still pays, at once Indebted and discharg'd ; what burthen then? O had his powerful destiny ordain'd Me some inferior angel, I had stood Then happy ; no unbounded hope had rais'd Ambition. Yet why not ? some other power As great might have aspir'd, and me, though mean, Drawn to his part ; but other powers as great Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within Or from without, to all temptations arm'd. Hadst thou the same free will and power to stand ? Thou hadst : whom hast thou then or what to ac- cuse, But Heaven's free love dealt equally to all ? Be then his love accurs'd, since love or hate, To me alike, it deals eternal woe. Nay, curs'd be thou ; since against his thy will Chose freely what it now so justly rues.' Me miserable ! which way shall I fly Infinite wrath, and infinite despair? Which way I fly is Hell ; myself am Hell ; And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep Still threatening to devour me opens wide, To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heaven. O, then, at last relent : is there no place Left for repentance, none for pardon left ? None left but by submission ; and that word Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame Among the spirits beneath, whom I seduc'd With other promises and other vaunts Than to submit, boasting I could subdue Tile Omnipotent. Ay me ! they little know How dearly I abide that boast so vain. Under what torments inwardly I groan, While they adore me on the throne of Hell. With diadem and sceptre high advanc'd, The lower still I fall, only supreme Iti misery : such joy ambition finds. But say I could repent, and could obtain, By act of grace, my former state ; how soon Would height recal high thoughts, how soon unsi What feign'd submission swore ? Ease would rec Vows made in pain, as violent and void. For never can true reconcilement grow, Where wounds of deadly hate have pierc'd so dee Which would but lead me to a worse relapse And heavier fall : so should I purchase dear Short intermission bought with double smart. This knows my punisher ; therefore as far From granting he, as I from begging peace : All hope excluded thus, behold, instead Of us outcast, exil'd, his new delight, Mankind created, and for him this world. So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear Farewell remorse : all good to me is lost ; Evil, be thou my good : by thee at least Divided empire with Heaven's King I hold, By thee, and more than half perhaps will reign ; As Man ere long, and this new world, shall know Thus while he spake, each' passion dimm'd ] face Thrice chang'd with pale, ire, envy, and despair ; Which marr'd his borrow'd visage, and betray'd Him counterfeit, if any eye beheld. For heavenly minds from such distempers foul Are ever clear. Whereof he soon aware, Each perturbation smooth'd with outward calm, Artificer of fraud ; and was the first That practis'd falsehood under saintly show, Deep malice to conceal, couch'd with revenge : Yet not enough had practis'd to deceive Uriel once warn'd ; whose eye pursued him dowr The way he went, and on the Assyrian mount Saw him disfigur'd, more than could befall Spirit of happy sort : his gestures fierce He mark'd and mad demeanour, then alone, As he suppos'd, all unobserv'd, unseen. So on he fares, and to the border comes Of Eden, where delicious Paradise Now nearer, crowns with her enclosure green, As with a rural mound, the champaign head Of a steep wilderness, whose hairy sides With thicket overgrown, grotesque and wild, Access denied ; and over-head up grew Insuperable height of loftiest shade, Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm, A sylvan scene ; and, as the ranks ascend Shade above shade, a woody theatre Of stateliest view. Yet higher than their tops The verdurous wall of Paradise up sprung : Which to our general sire gave prospect large Into his nether empire neighbouring round. And higher than that wall a circling row Of goodliest trees, loaden with fairest fruit, Blossoms and fruits at once of golden hue, Appear'd, with gay enamell'd colours mix'd : On which the Sun more glad impress'd his beam Than in fair evening cloud, or humid bow, When God hath showered the earth ; so lov seem'd That landscape : and of pure, now purer air Meets his approach, and to the heart inspires Vernal delight and joy, able to drive All sadness but despair : now gentle gales, Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole Those balmy spoils. As when to them who sail Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past Mozambic, off at sea north-east winds blow Sabean odours from the spicy shore ROOK IV. PARADISE LOST, 51 7f Araby the blest ; with such delay [league Well pleas' d they slack their course, and many a ^heer'd with the grateful smell old Ocean smiles : >o entertain'd those odorous sweets the fiend, .Vho came their bane : though with them better pleas'd Than Asmodeus with the fishy fume ?hat drove him, though enamour d, from the spouse )f Tobit's son, and with a vengeance sent "rom Media post to Egypt, there fast bound. Now to the ascent of that steep savage hill atan had journey 'd on, pensive and slow ; !ut further way found none, so thick entwin'd, is one continued brake, the undergrowth )f shrubs and tangling bushes had perplex'd .11 path of man or beast that pass'd that way. 'ne gate there only was, and that look'd east 'n the other side : which when the arch-felon saw, >ue entrance he disdain'd ; and, in contempt, t one slight bound high over-leap'd all bound f hill or highest wall, and sheer within ights on his feet. As when a prowling wolf, r hom hunger drives to seek new haunt for prey, "atching where shepherds pen their flocks at eve i hurdled cotes amid the field secure, 3aps o'er the fence with ease into the fold : r as a thief, bent to unhoard the cash f some rich burgher, whose substantial doors, oss-barr'd and bolted fast, fear no assault, at the window climbs, or o'er the tiles : clomb this first grand thief into God's fold ; since into his church lewd hirelings climb, lence up he flew, and on the tree of life, ie middle tree and highest there that grew, t like a cormorant ; yet not true life ereby regain 'd, but sat devising death them who liv'd ; nor on the virtue thought that life-giving plant, but only us'd r prospect, what well us'd had been the pledge immortality. So little knows y, but God alone, to value right e good before him, but perverts best things worst abuse, or to their meanest use. neath him with new wonder now he views, all delight of human sense expos'd, narrow room, Nature's whole wealth, yea more, Heaven on Earth : for blissful Paradise God the garden was, by him in the east Eden planted : Eden stretch'd her line m Auran eastward to the royal towers *reat Seleucia,. built by Grecian kings, where the sons of Eden long before elt in Telassai- : in this pleasant soil far more pleasant garden God ordain'd ; of the fertile ground he caus'd to grow trees of noblest kind for sight, smell, taste ; I all amid them stood the tree of life, h eminent, blooming ambrosial fruit egetable gold ; and next to life, death, the tree of knowledge, grew fast by, wledge of good, bought dear by knowing ill. hward through Eden went a river large, chang'd his course, but through the shaggy hill 'd underneath ingulf d ; for God had thrown mountain as his garden-mould high rais'd i the rapid current, which through veins orous earth with kindly thirst up-drawn, a fresh fountain, and with many a rill ir'd the garden ; thence united fell n the steep glade, and met the nether flood, Which from his darksome passage now appears, And now, divided into four main streams, Runs diverse, wandering many a famous realm And country, whereof here needs no account ; But rather to tell how, if Art could tell, How from that sapphire fount the crisped brooks, Rolling on orient pearl and sands of gold, With mazy errour under pendent shades Ran nectar, visiting each plant, and fed Flowers worthy of Paradise, which not nice Art In beds and curious knots, but Nature boon Pour'd forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain, Both where the morning Sun first warmly smote The open field, and where the unpierc'd shade Imbrown'd the noontide bowers : thus was this place A happy rural seat of various view ; [balm, Groves whose rich trees wept odorous gums and Others whose fruit burnish'd with golden rind, Hung amiable, Hesperian fables true, If true, here only, and of delicious taste : Betwixt them lawns, or level downs, and flocks Grazing the tender herb, were interpos'd, Or palmy hillock ; or the flowery lap Of some irriguous valley spread her store, Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose : Another side, umbrageous grots and caves Of cool recess, o'er which the mantling vine Lays forth her purple grape, and gently creeps Luxuriant ; meanwhile murmuring waters fall Down the slope hills, dispers'd, or in a lake, That to the fringed bank with myrtle crown 'd Her crystal mirrour holds, unite their streams. The birds their quire apply ; airs, vernal airs, Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune The trembling leaves, while universal Pan, Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance > Led on the eternal Spring. Not that fair field Of Enna, where Proserpine gathering flowers, Herself a fairer flower, by gloomy Dis Was gather'd, which cost Ceres all that pain To seek her through the world ; nor that sweet grove Of Daphne by Orontes, and the inspir'd Castalian spring, might with this Paradise Of Eden strive ; nor that Nyseian isle Girt with the river Triton, where old Cham, Whom Gentiles Ammon call and Lybian Jove, Hid Amalthea, and her florid son Young Bacchus, from his stepdame Rhea's eye ; Nor where Abassin kings their issue guard, Mount Amara, though this by some suppos'd True Paradise under the Ethiop line By Nilus' head, enclos'd with shining rock, A whole day's journey high, but wide remote From this Assyrian garden, where the fiend Saw, undelighted, all delight, all kind Of living creatures, new to sight, and strange. Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall, Godlike erect, with native honour clad In naked majesty, seem'd lords of all : And worthy seem'd ; for in their looks divine The image of their glorious Maker shone, Truth, wisdom, sanctitude severe and pure, (Severe, but in true filial freedom plac'd,) Whence true authority in men ; though both Not equal, as their sex not equal seem'd ; For contemplation he and valour form'd ; For softness she and sweet attractive grace ; He for God only, she for God in him : His fair large front and eye sublime declar'd 52 MILTON. BOOK Absolute rule; and hyacinthine locks Round from his parted forelock manly hung Clustering, but not beneath his shoulders broad ; She, as a veil, down to the slender waist Her unadorned golden tresses wore Dishevell'd, but in wanton ringlets wav'd, As the vine curls her tendrils, which implied Subjection, but requir'd with gentle sway, And by her yielded, by him best receiv'd, Yielded with coy submission, modest pride, And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay. Nor those mysterious parts were then conceal'd ; Then was not guilty shame : dishonest shame Of Nature's works, honour dishonourable, Sin-bred, how have ye troubled all mankind With shows instead, mere shows of seeming pure, And banish'd from man's life his happiest life, Simplicity and spotless innocence ! So pass'd they naked on, nor shunn'd the sight Of God or angel ; for they thought no ill : So hand in hand they pass'd, the loveliest pair, That ever since in love's embraces met : Adam the goodliest man of men since born His sons, the fairest of her daughters Eve. Under a tuft of shade that on a green Stood whispering soft, by a fresh fountain side They sat them down : and, after no more toil Of their sweet gardening labour than suffic'd To recommend cool Zephyr, and made ease More easy, wholesome thirst and appetite More grateful, to their supper-fruits they fell, Nectarine fruits which the compliant boughs Yielded them, side-long as they sat recline On the soft downy bank damask'd with flowers : The savoury pulp they chew, and in the rind, Still as they thirsted, scoop the brimming stream ; Nor gentle purpose, nor endearing smiles Wanted, nor youthful dalliance, as beseems Fair couple, link'd in happy nuptial league, Alone as they. About them frisking play'd All beasts of the Earth, since wild, and of all chase In wood or wilderness, forest or den ; Sporting the lion ramp'd, and in his paw Dandled the kid ; bears, tigers, ounces, pards, Gamboll'd before them ; the unwieldy elephant, To make them mirth, us'd all his might, and wreath'd His lithe proboscis ; close the serpent sly, Insinuating, wove with Gordian twine His braided train, and of his fatal guile Gave proof unheeded ; others on the grass Coucb'd, and now fill'd with pasture gazing sat, Or bedward ruminating ; for the Sun, Declin'd, was hastening now with prone career To the ocean isles, and in the ascending scale Of Heaven the stars that usher evening rose : When Satan still in gaze, as first he stood, Scarce thus at length fail'd speech recover'd sad. " O Hell ! what do mine eyes with grief behold ! Into our room of bliss thus high advanc'd Creatures of other mould, Earth-born perhaps, Not spirits, yet to heavenly spirits bright Little inferior ; whom my thoughts pursue With wonder, and could love, so lively shines In them divine resemblance, and such grace The hand that form'd them on their shape hath pour'd. Ah ! gentle pair, ye little think how nigh Your change approaches, when all these delights Will vanish, and deliver ye to woe ; More woe, the more your taste is now of joy ; Happy, but for so happy ill secur'd Long to continue, and this high seat your Heaven 111 fenc'd for Heaven to keep out such a foe ! As now is enter'd ; yet no purpos'd foe I To you, whom I could pity thus forlorn Though I unpitied : league with you I seek, And mutual amity, so strait, so close, That I with you must dwell, or you with me Henceforth ; my dwelling haply may not please, ' Like this fair Paradise, your sense : yet such Accept your Maker's work ; he gave it me, Which I as freely give : Hell shall unfold, To entertain you two, her widest gates, And send forth all her kings ; there will be room, Not like these narrow limits, to receive Your numerous offspring ; if no better place, Thank him who puts me loth to this revenge On you, who wrong me not, for him who wrong'c And should I at your harmless innocence Melt, as I do, yet public reason just, Honour and empire with revenge enlarg'd, By conquering this new world, compels me now To do what else, though damn'd, I should abhor.' So spake the fiend, and with necessity, The tyrant's plea, excus'd his devilish deeds. Then from his lofty stand on that high tree Down he alights among the sportful herd Of those four-footed kinds, himself now one, Now other, as their shape serv'd best his end Nearer to view his prey, and, unespied, To mark what of their state he more might learn, By word or action mark'd : about them round A lion now he stalks with fiery glare ; Then as a tiger, who by chance hath spied In some purlieu two gentle fawns at play, Straight couches close, then rising, changes oft His couchant watch, as one who chose his ground. Whence rushing he might surest seize them both, Grip'd in each paw : when Adam first of men To first of women Eve thus moving speech, Turn'd him all ear to hear new utterance flow. " Sole partner, and sole part, of all these joys, Dearer thyself than all ; needs must the Power That made us, and for us this ample world, Be infinitely good, and of his good As liberal and free as infinite ; That rais'd us from the dust, and plac'd us here In all this happiness, who at his hand Have nothing merited, nor can perform Aught whereof he hath need ; he who requires From us no other service than to keep This one, this easy charge, of all the trees In Paradise that bear delicious fruit So various, not to taste that only tree Of knowledge, planted by the tree of life ; So near grows death to life, whate'er death is, Some dreadful thing no doubt ; for well thoi know'st God hath pronounc'd it death to taste that tree, The only sign of our obedience left, Among so many signs of power and rule Conferr'd upon us, and dominion given Over all other creatures that possess Earth, air, and sea. Then let us not think hard One easy prohibition, who enjoy Free leave so large to all things else, and choice Unlimited of manifold delights : But let us ever praise him and extol His bounty, following our delightful task, BOOK IV. PARADISE LOST. 53 To pruno these growing plants, and tend these flowers, Which were it toilsome, yet with thee were sweet." To whom thus Eve replied. " O thou for whom And from whom I was form'd, flesh of thy flesh, \nd without whom am to no end, my guide \nd head ! what thou hast said is just and right. For we to Him indeed all praises owe, \.nd daily thanks ; I chiefly, who enjoy k> far the happier lot, enjoying thee 're-eminent by so much odds, while thou jike consort to thyself canst no where find. Tiat day I oft remember, when from sleep first awak'd, and found myself repos'd fader a shade on flowers, much wondering where ind what I was, whence thither brought, and how. Jot distant far from thence a murmuring sound )f waters issued from a cave, and spread ito a liquid plain, then stood unmov'd 'ure as the expanse of Heaven ; I thither went /ith unexperienced thought, and laid me down n the green bank, to look into the clear nooth lake, that to me seem'd another sky. s I bent down to look, just opposite shape within the watery gleam appear' d, ending to look on me : I started back, started back ; but pleas'd I soon return'd, leas'd it return'd as soon with answering looks f sympathy and love : there I had fix'd ine eyes till now, and pin'd with vain desire, ad not a voice thus warn'd me ; * What thou seest, hat there thou seest, fair creature, is thyself; ith thee it came and goes : but follow me, id I will bring thee where no shadow stays ly coming, and thy soft embraces, he hose image thou art ; him thou shalt enjoy separably thine, to him shalt bear altitudes like thyself, and thence be call'd other of human race. ' What could I do, tt follow straight, invisibly thus led ? 11 I espied thee, fair indeed and tall, ider a platane ; yet methought less fair, ss winning soft, less amiably mild, an that smooth watery image : back I turn'd ; ou following cry'dst aloud, ' Return, fair Eve, lorn fly'st thou ? whom thou fly'st, of him thou art, * flesh, his bone ; to give thee being I lent t of my side to thee, nearest my heart, jstantial life, to have thee by my side nceforth an individual solace dear ; t of my soul I seek thee, and thee claim other half : ' With that thy gentle hand '/d mine : I yielded ; and from that time see w beauty is excell'd by manly grace, d wisdom, which alone is truly fair." *> spake our general mother, and with eyes conjugal attraction unreprov'd, 1 meek surrender, half-embracing lean'd our first father ; half her swelling breast ted met his, under the flowing gold ler loose tresses hid : he in delight h of her beauty, and submissive charms, I'd with superior love, as Jupiter Juno smiles, when he impregns the clouds t shed May flowers ; and press'd her matron lip h kisses pure : aside the Devil turn'd envy ; yet with jealous leer malign " Sight hateful, sight tormenting ; thus these two, Imparadis'd in one another's arms, The happier Eden, shall enjoy their fill Of bliss on bliss ; while I to Hell am thrust, Where neither joy nor love, but fierce desire, Among our other torments not the least, Still unfulfill'd, with pain of longing pines. Yet let me not forget what I have gain'd From their own mouths : all is not theirs, it seems ; One fatal tree there stands, of knowledge call'd, Forbidden them to taste : Knowledge forbidden ? Suspicious, reasonless. Why should their Lord Envy them that ? Can it be sin to know ? Can it be death ? And do they only stand By ignorance ? Is that their happy state, The proof of their obedience and their faith ? O fair foundation laid whereon to build Their ruin ! Hence I will excite their minds With more desire to know, and to reject Envious commands, invented with design To keep them low, whom knowledge might exalt Equal with gods : aspiring to be such, They taste and die : what likelier can ensue ? But first with narrow search I must walk round This garden, and no corner leave unspied ; A chance but chance may lead where I may meet Some wandering spirit of Heaven by fountain side, Or in thick shade retir'd, from him to draw What further would be learn 'd. Live while ye may, Yet happy pair ; enjoy, till I return, Short pleasures, for long woes are to succeed." So saying, his proud step he scornful turn'd, But with sly circumspection, and began Through wood, through waste, o'er hill, o'er dale, his roam. Meanwhile in utmost longitude, where Heaven With earth and ocean meets, the setting Sun Slowly descended, and with right aspect Against the eastern gate of Paradise Levell'd his evening rays : it was a rock Of alabaster, pil'd up to the clouds, Conspicuous far, winding with one ascent Accessible from Earth, one entrance high ; The rest was craggy cliff, that overhung Still as it rose, impossible to climb. Betwixt these rocky pillars Gabriel sat, Chief of the angelic guards, awaiting night ; About him exercis'd heroic games The unarmed youth of Heaven, but nigh at hand Celestial armoury, shields, helms, and spears, Hung high, with diamond flaming, and with gold. Thither came Uriel, gliding through the even On a sun-beam, swift as a shooting star In autumn thwarts the night, when vapours fir'd Impress the air, and shows the mariner From what point of his compass to beware Impetuous winds : he thus began in haste. " Gabriel, to thee thy course by lot hath given Charge and strict watch, that to this happy place No evil thing approach or enter in. This day at height of noon came to my sphere A spirit, zealous, as he seem'd, to know More of the Almighty's works, and chiefly Man, God's latest image : I describ'd his way Bent all on speed, and mark'd his aery gait ; But in the mount that lies from Eden north, Where he first lighted, soon discern'd his looks Alien from Heaven, with passions foul obscur'd : MILTON. BOOK IV Lost sight of him : one of the banish' d crew, I fear, hath ventur'd from the deep to raise New troubles ; him thy care must be to find." To whom the wing'd warrior thus return'd. " Uriel, no wonder if thy perfect sight, Amid the Sun's bright circle where thou sit'st, See far and wide : in at this gate none pass The vigilance here plac'd, but such as come Well known from Heaven; and since meridian hour No creature thence : if spirit of other sort, So minded, have o'er-leap'd these earthy bounds On purpose, hard thou know'st it to exclude Spiritual substance with corporeal bar. But if within the circuit of these walks, In whatsoever shape he lurk, of whom * Thou tell'st, by morrow dawning I shall know." So promis'd he ; and Uriel to his charge Return'd on that bright beam, whose point now rais'd Bore him slope downward to the Sun now fall'ii Beneath the Azores ; whether the prime orb, Incredible how swift, had thither roll'd Diurnal, or this less volubil Earth, By shorter flight to the east, had left him there Arraying with reflected purple and gold The clouds that on his western throne attend. Now came still Evening on, and Twilight gray Had in her sober livery all things clad ; Silence accompanied ; for beast and bird, They to their grassy couch, these to their nests Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale ; She all night long her amorous descant sung ; Silence was pleas'd : now glow'd the firmament With living sapphires : Hesperus, that led The starry host, rode brightest, till the Moon, Rising in clouded majesty, at length Apparent queen unveil'd her peerless light, And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw. When Adam thus to Eve. " Fair consort, the hour Of night, and all things now retir'd to rest, Mind us of like repose ; since God hath set Labour and rest, as day and night, to men Successive ; and the timely dew of sleep, Now falling with soft slumbrous weight, inclines Our eye-lids : other creatures all day long Rove idle, unemploy'd, and less need rest ; Man hath his daily work of body or mind Appointed, which declares his dignity, And the regard of Heaven on all his ways; While other animals unactive range, And of their doings God takes no account. To-morrow, ere fresh morning streak the east With first approach of light, we must be risen, And at our pleasant labour to reform Yon flowery arbours, yonder alleys green, Our walk at noon, with brandies overgrown, That mock our scant manuring, and require More hands than ours to lop their wanton growth : Those blossoms also, and those dropping gums, That lie bestrown, unsightly and unsmooth, Ask riddance, if we mean to tread with ease ; Meanwhile, as Nature wills, night bids us rest.'-' To whom thus Eve, with perfect beauty adorn'd. " My author and disposer, what thou bidst Unargued I obey : so God ordains ; God is thy law, thou mine : to know no more Is woman's happiest knowledge, and her praise. With thee conversing I forget all time ; All seasons, and their change, all please alike. Sweet is the breath of Morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds ; pleasant the Sun, When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, Glistering with dew : fragrant the fertile Earth After soft showers ; and sweet the coming on Of grateful Evening mild ; then silent Night, With this her solem* bird, and this fair Moon, And these the gems of Heaven, her starry train : But neither breath of Morn, when she ascends With charm of earliest birds ; nor rising Sun On this delightful land ; ijor herb, fruit, flower, Glistering with dew ; nor fragrance after showers ; Nor grateful Evening mild ; nor silent Night, With this her solemn bird ; nor walk by Moon, Or glittering star-light, without thee is sweet. But wherefore all night long shine these ? for whom This glorious sight, when sleep hath shut all eyes ?" To whom our general ancestor replied. " Daughter of God and Man, accomplish'd Eve, These have their course to finish round the Earth, By morrow evening, and from land to land In order, though to nations yet unborn, Ministring light prepar'd, they set and rise ; Lest total Darkness should by night regain Her old possession, and extinguish life, In Nature, and all tilings ; which these soft fires Not only enlighten, but with kindly heat Of various influence foment and warm, Temper or nourish, or in part shed down Their stellar virtue on all kinds that grow On Earth, made hereby apter to receive Perfection from the Sun's more potent ray. These then, though unbeheld in deep of night, Shine not in vain ; nor think, though men were none, That Heaven would want spectators, God want praise : Millions of spiritual creatures walk the Earth Unseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep . All these with ceaseless praise his works behold Both day and night : how often from the steep Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard Celestial voices to the midnight air, Sole, or responsive each to other's note, Singing their great Creator ? Oft in bands While they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk, With heavenly touch of instrumental sounds In full harmonic number join'd, their songs Divide the night, and lift our thoughts to Heaven." Thus talking hand in hand alone they pass'd On to their blissful bower : it was a place Chos'n by the sovran Planter, when he fram'd All things to Man's delightful use ; the roof Of thickest covert was inwoven shade Laurel and myrtle, and what higher grew Of firm and fragrant leaf ; on either side Acanthus, and each odorous bushy shrub, Fenc'd up the verdant wall ; each beauteous flower, Iris all hues, roses, and jessamin, [wrought Rear'd high their flourish'd heads between, and Mosaic ; underfoot the violet, Crocus, and hyacinth, with rich inlay Broider'd the ground, more colour'd than with stone Of costliest emblem : other creature here, Bird, beast, insect, or worm, durst enter none, Such was their awe of Man. In shadier bower More sacred and sequester' d, though but feign'd, Pan or Sylvanus never slept, nor nymp'h Nor Faunus haunted. Here, in close recess, With flowers, garlands, and sweet smelling herba, Espoused Eve deck'd first her nuptial bed ; And heavenly quires the hymenean sung, JOOK IV. PARADISE LOST. 55 VTiat day the genial angel to our sire Jrought her, in naked beauty more adorn'd, lore lovely, than Pandora, whom the gods hidow'd with all their gifts, and O too like i sad event, when to the unwiser son >f Japhet brought by Hermes, she ensnar'd fankind with her fair looks, to be aveng'd >n him who had stole Jove's authentic fire. Thus, at their shady lodge arriv'd, both stood, oth turn'd, and under open sky ador'd he God that made both sky, air, Earth, and Heaven, liich they beheld, the Moon's resplendent globe, nd starry pole : " Thou also tnad'st the night, 'aker Omnipotent, and thou the day, Tiich we, in our appointed work employ 'd, ave finish' d, happy in our mutual help nd mutual love, the crown of all our bliss rdain'd by thee ; and this delicious place >r us too large, where thy abundance wants irtakers, and uncropt falls to the ground, it thou hast promis'd from us two a race fill the Earth, who shall with us extol ty goodness infinite, both when we wake, id when we seek, as now, thy gift of sleep." This said unanimous, and other rites serving none, but adoration pure iiich God likes best, into their inmost bower mded they went ; and, eas'd the putting off esc troublesome disguises which we wear, aight side by side were laid ; nor turn'd, I ween, am from his fair spouse, nor Eve the rites .'sterious of connubial love refus'd : mtever hypocrites austerely talk purity, and place, and innocence, faming as impure what God declares re, and commands to some, leaves free to all r Maker bids increase ; who bids abstain t our destroyer, foe to God and Man ? il, weddefl love, mysterious law, true source human offspring, sole propriety Paradise of all things common else, thee adulterous Lust was driven from men long the bestial herds to range ; by thee mded in reason, loyal, just, and pure, lations dear, and all the charities father, son, and brother, first were known, be it, that I should write thee sin or blame, think thee unbefitting holiest place, petual fountain of domestic sweets, ose bed is tindefil'd and chaste pronounc'd, sent, or past, as saints and patriarchs us'd. e Love his golden shafts employs, here lights constant lamp, and waves his purple wings, gns here and revels ; not in the bought smile harlots, loveless, joyless, unendear'd, ual fruition ; nor in court-amours, ;'d dance, or wanton mask, or midnight ball, serenate, which the starv'd lover sings his proud fair, best quitted with disdain, se, lull'd by nightingales, embracing slept, I on their naked limbs the flowery roof wercd roses, which the morn repair'd. Sleep on, st pair ; and O yet happiest, if ye seek lappier state, and know to know no more. Jow had Night measur'd with her shadowy cone f way up hill this vast sublunar vault, I from their ivory port the cherubim, th issnincr at thr arriistnmprl hour, stnorl arm'd To their night watches in warlike parade ; When Gabriel to his next in power thus spake. " Uzziel, half these draw off, and coast theso-ith With strictest watch ; these other wheel the north ; Our circuit meets full west." As flame they part, Half wheeling to the shield, half to the spear. From these two strong and subtle spirits he call'd That near him stood, and gave them thus in charge. " Ithuriel and Zephon, with wing'd speed Search through this garden, leave unsearch'd no nook ; But chiefly where those two fair creatures lodge, Now laid perhaps asleep, secure of harm. This evening from the Sun's decline arriv'd, Who tells of some infernal spirit seen Hilherward bent (who could have thought ?) escap'd The bars of hell, on errand bad no doubt : Such, where ye find, seize fast, and hither bring." So saying, on he led his radiant files, Dazzling the Moon ; these to the bower direct In search of whom they sought : him there they found Squat like a toad, close at the ear of Eve, Assaying by his devilish art to reach The organs, of her fancy, and with them forge Illusions, as he list, phantasms and dreams ; Or if, inspiring venom, he might taint The animal spirits, that from pure blood arise Like gentle breaths from rivers pure, thence raise At least distemper'd, discontented thoughts, Vain hopes, vain aims, inordinate desires, Blown up with high conceits engendering pride. Him thus intent Ithuriel with his spear Touch'd lightly ; for no falsehood can endure Touch of celestial temper, but returns Of force to its own likeness : up he starts Discover'd and surpris'd. As when a spark Lights on a heap of nitrous powder, laid Fit for the tun some magazine to store Against a rumour'd war, the smutty grain, With sudden blaze diffus'd, inflames the air : So started up in his own shape the fiend. Back stept those two fair angels, half amaz'd So sudden to behold the grisly king ; Yet thus, unmov'd with fear, accost him soon. " Which of those rebel spirits adjudg'd to Hell Com'st thou, escap'd thy prison ? and, transform'd, Why sat'st thou like an enemy in wait, Here watching at the head of these that sleep ?" " Know ye not then," said Satan, fill'd with scorn, " Know ye not me ? ye knew me once no mate For you, there sitting where ye durst not soar : Not to know me argues yourselves unknown, The lowest of your throng ; or if ye know Why ask ye, and superfluous begin Your message, like to end as much in vain." To whom thus Zephon, answering scorn with scorn. " Think not, revolted spirit, thy shape the same, Or undiminish'd brightness to be known, As when thou stood'st in Heaven upright and pure j That glory then, when thou no more wast good, Departed from thee ; and thou resemblest now Thy sin and place of doom obscure and foul. But come, for thou, be sure, shall give account To him who sent us, whose charge is to keep This place inviolable, and these from harm. " So spake the cherub ; and his grave rebuke Severe in vouthful beaut v. added crace 56 MILTON. BOOK IV Invincible : abash'd the Devil stood, And felt how awful goodness is, and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely ; saw, and pin'd His loss ; but chiefly to find here observ'd His lustre visibly impair'd ; yet seem'd Undaunted. " If I must contend," said he, " Best with the best, the sender not the sent, Or all at once ; more glory will be won, Or less be lost." " Thy fear," said Zephon bold, " Will save us trial what the least can do Single against thee wicked, and thence weak." The fiend replied not, overcome with rage ; But, like a proud steed rein'd, went haughty on, Champing his iron curb : to strive or fly He held it vain ; awe from above had quell* d His heart, not else dismay' d. Now drew they nigh The western point, where those half-rounding guards Just met, and closing stood in squadron join'd, Awaiting next command. To whom their chief, Gabriel, from the front thus calPd aloud. " O friends ! I hear the tread of nimble feet Hasting this way, and now by glimpse discern Ithurieland Zephon through the shade; And with them comes a third of regal port, But faded splendour wan ; who by his gait And fierce demeanour seems the prince of Hell, Not likely to part hence without contest ; Stand firm, for in his look defiance lours." He scarce had ended, when those two approach'd, And brief related whom they brought, where found, How busied, in what form and posture couch'd. To whom with stern regard thus Gabriel spake. " Why hast thou, Satan, broke the bounds prescrib'd To thy transgressions, and disturb'd the charge Of others, who approve not to transgress By thy example, but have power and right To question thy bold entrance on this place ; Employ'd, it seems, to violate sleep, and those Whose dwelling God hath planted here in bliss?" To whom thus Satan with contemptuous brow. " Gabriel ! thou hadst in Heaven the esteem of wise, And such I held thee ; but this question ask'd Puts me in doubt. Lives there who loves his pain ? Who would not, finding way, break loose from Hell, Though thither doom'd ? Thou wouldst thyself, no doubt, And boldly venture to whatever place [change Farthest from pain, where thou mightst hope to Torment with ease, and soonest recompense Dole with delight, which in this place I sought ; To thee no reason, who know'st only good, But evil hast not tried : and wilt object His will who bounds us ? Let him surer bar His iron gates, if he intends our stay In that dark durance : thus much what was ask'd. The rest is true, they found me where they say ; But that implies not violence or harm." Thus he in scorn. The warlike angel moved, Disdainfully half smiling, thus replied. " O loss of one in Heaven to judge of wise Since Satan fell, whom folly overthrew, And now returns him from his prison 'scap'd, Gravely in doubt whether to hold them wise Or not, who ask what boldness brought him hither Unlicens'd from his bounds in Hell prescrib'd ; So wise he judges it to fly from pain However, and to 'scape his punishment ! So judge thou still, presumptuous ! till the wrath, Which thou incurr'st by flying, meet thy flight Sevenfold, and scourge that wisdom back to Hell, Which taught thee yet no better, that no pain Can equal anger infinite provok'd. But wherefore thou alone ? wherefore with thee Came not all Hell broke loose ? is pain to them Less pain, less to be fled ; or thou than they Less hardy to endure ; courageous chief ! The first in flight from pain ! hadst thou alleg'd To thy deserted host this cause of flight, Thou surely hadst not come sole fugitive." To which the fiend thus answer 'd, frowning stern Not that I less endure or shrink from pain, Insulting angel ! well thou know'st I stood Thy fiercest, when in battle to thy aid The blasting vollied thunder made all speed, And seconded thy else not dreaded spear. But still thy words at random, as before, Argue thy inexperience what behoves From hard assays and ill successes past A faithful leader, not to hazard all Through ways of danger by himself untried : I therefore, I alone first undertook To wing the desolate abyss, and spy This new created world, wjiereof in Hell Fame is not silent, here in hope to find Better abode, and my afflicted powers To settle here on Earth, or in mid air j Though for possession put to try once more What thou and thy gay legions dare against ; Whose easier business were to serve their Lord High up in Heaven, with songs to hymn his throne, And practis'd distances to cringe, not fight." To whom the warrior-angel soon replied. " To say and straight unsay, pretending first Wise to fly pain, professing next the spy, Argues no leader but a liar trac'd, Satan, and couldst thou faithful add ? O name, O sacred name of faithfulness profan'd ! Faithful to whom ? to thy rebellious crew ? Army of fiends, fit body to fit head. Was this your discipline and faith engag'd, Your military obedience, to dissolve Allegiance to the acknowledged Power supreme ? And thou, sly hypocrite, who now wouldst seem Patron of liberty, who more than thou Once fawn'd, and cring'd, and servilely ador'd Heaven's awful Monarch? wherefore, but in hope To dispossess him, and thyself to reign ? But mark what I areed thee now : avant ! Fly thither whence thou fledst ! If from this hour Within these hallow'd limits thou appear, Back to the infernal pit I drag thee chain'd, And seal thee so, as henceforth not to scorn The facile gates of Hell too slightly barr'd." . So threaten'd he ; but Satan to no threats Gave heed, but waxing more in rage replied. " Then when I am thy captive talk of chains, Proud limitary cherub ! but ere then Far heavier load thyself expect to feel From my prevailing arm, though Heaven's King Ride on thy wings, and thou with thy compeers, Us'd to the yoke, draw'st his triumphant wheels In progress through the road of Heaven star-pav'd." While thus he spake, the angelic squadron bright Turn'd fiery red, sharpening in mooned horns Their phalanx, and began to hem him round With ported spears, as thick as when a field Of Ceres ripe for harvest waving bends Her bearded grove of ears, which way the wind Sways them; the careful ploughman doubting stands, V. PARADISE LOST. 57 jest on the threshing-floor his hopeful sheaves D rove chaff. On the other side, Satan, alarm'd, Collecting all his might, dilated stood, Jke Teneriff or Atlas, unremov'd : lis stature reach'd the sky, and on his crest lat Horrour plum'd ; nor wanted in his grasp VTiat seem'd both spear and shield : now dreadful deeds light have ensued, nor only Paradise n this commotion, but the starry cope >f Heaven perhaps, or all the elements .t least had gone to wrack, disturb'd and torn /ith violence of this conflict, had not soon 'he Eternal, to prevent such horrid fray, [ung forth in Heaven his golden scales, yet seen etwixt Astrea and the Scorpion sign, Tierein all things created first he weigh'd, he pendulous round Earth with Ixilanc'd air i counterpoise, now ponders all events, attles and realms : in these he put two weights, he sequel each of parting and of fight : le latter quick up flew, and kick'd the beam ; Tiich Gabriel spying, thus bespake the fiend. " Satan, I know thy strength, and thou know'st mine ; iither our own, but given : what folly then ) boast what arms can do ! since thine no more lan Heaven permits, nor mine, though doubled now > trample thee as mire : for proof look up, id read thy lot in yon celestial sign ; [weak here thou art weigh'd, and shown how light, how thou resist." The fiend look'd up, and knew s mounted scale aloft : nor more ; but fled jrmuring, and with him fled the shades of night BOOK V. The Argument. miing approached, Eve relates to Adam her roublesome dream ; he likes it not, yet comforts icr : they come forth to their day-labours : their norning hymn at the door of their bower. God, o render man inexcusable, sends Raphael to dmonish him of his obedience, of his free estate, f his enemy near at hand, who he is, and why is enemy, and whatever else may avail Adam to now. Raphael comes down to Paradise ; his ppearance described ; his coming discerned by Idam afar off sitting at the door of his bower ; e goes out to meet him, brings liim to his lodge, ntertains him with the choicest fruits of Para- ise got together by Eve ; their discourse at ible : Raphael performs his message, minds idam of his state and of his enemy ; relates, at dam's request, who that enemy is, and how he une to be so, beginning from his first revolt in leaven, and the occasion thereof; how he drew s legions after him to the parts of the north, id there incited them to rebel with him, per- lading all but only Abdiel a seraph, who in gument dissuades and opposes him, then for- kes him. v Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime ancing, sow'd the earth with orient pearl, in Adam wak'd, so custom'd ; for his sleep . aery-lieht, from pure digestion bred. And temperate vapours bland, which the only sound Of leaves and fuming rills, Aurora's fan, Lightly dispers'd, and the shrill matin song Of birds on every bough ; so much the more His wonder was to find unwaken'd Eve With tresses discomposed, and glowing cheek, As through unquiet rest : he, on his side, Leaning half rais'd, with looks of cordial love Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep, Shot forth peculiar graces ; then with voice Mild, as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes, Her hand soft touching, whisper 'd thus. " Awake, My fairest, my espous'd, my latest found, Heaven's last best gift, my ever new delight ! Awake : the morning shines, and the fresh field Calls us ; we lose the prime, to mark how spring Our tender plants, how blows the citron grove, What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed, How Nature paints her colours, how the bee Sits on the bloom extracting liquid sweet." Such whispering wak'd her, but with startled eye On Adam, whom embracing, thus she spake. " O sole in whom my thoughts find all repose, My glory, my perfection ! glad I see Thy face, and morn return'd ; for I this night (Such night till this I never pass'd) have dream'd, If dream'd, not, as I oft am wont, of thee, Works of day past, or morrow's next design, But of offence and trouble, which my mind Knew never till this irksome night : methought Close at mine ear one call'd me forth to walk With gentle voice ; I thought it thine : it said, ' Why sleep'st thou, Eve ? now is the pleasant time, The cool, the silent, save where silence yields To the night-warbling bird, that now awake Tunes sweetest his love-labour'd song ; now reigns Full-orb'd the Moon, and with more pleasing light Shadowy sets off the face of tilings ; in vain, If none regard ; Heaven wakes with all his eyes, Whom to behold but thee, Nature's desire ? In whose sight all tilings joy, with ravishment Attracted by thy beauty still to gaze.' I rose as at thy call, but found thee not ; To find thee I directed then my walk ; And on, methought, alone I pass'd through ways That brought me on a sudden to the tree Of interdicted knowledge : fair it seem'd, Much fairer to my fancy than by day : And, as I wondering look'd, beside it stood One shap'd and wing'd like one of those from Heaven By us oft seen : his dewy locks distill'd Ambrosia ; on that tree he also gaz'd ; And ' O fair plant,' said he, 'with fruit surcharg'd, Deigns none to ease thy load, and taste thy sweet, Nor God, nor Man ? Is knowledge so despis'd ? Or envy, or what reserve forbids to taste ? Forbid who will, none shall from me withhold Longer thy offer'd good ; why else set here ?' This said, he paus'd not, but with venturous arm He pluck d, he tasted ; me damp horrour chill'd At such bold words vouch' d with a deed so bold ; But he thus, overjoy'd ; ' O fruit divine, Sweet of thyself, but much more sweet thus cropt, Forbidden here, it seems, as only fit For gods, yet able to make gods of men : And why not gods of men ; since good, the more Communicated, more abundant grows, The author not imnair'd but honour'd more? MILTON. BOOK V. Here, happy creature, fair angelic Eve ! Partake thou also ; happy though thou art, Happier thou may'st be, worthier canst not be : Taste this and be henceforth among the gods Thyself a goddess, not to Earth confin'd, But sometimes in the air, as we, sometimes Ascend to Heaven, by merit thine, and see What life the gods live there, and such live thou. ' So saying, he drew nigh, and to me held, Even to my mouth of that same fruit held part Which he had pluck'd : the pleasant savoury smell So quicken'd appetite, that I, methought, Could not but taste. Forthwith up to the clouds With him I flew, and underneath beheld The Earth outstretch'd immense, a prospect wide And various : wondering at my flight and change To this high exaltation : suddenly My guide was gone, and I, methought, sunk down, And fell asleep ; but O, how glad I wak'd To find this but a dream !" Thus Eve her night Related, and thus Adam answer'd sad. " Best image of myself, and dearer half, The trouble of thy thoughts this night in sleep Affects me equally ; nor can I like This uncouth dream, of evil sprung, I fear ; Yet evil whence ? in thee can harbour none, Created pure. But know, that in the soul Are many lesser faculties, that serve Reason as chief; among these Fancy next Her office holds ; of all external things, Which the five watchful senses represent, She forms imaginations, aery shapes, Which Reason, joining or disjoining, frames All what we affirm or what deny, and call Our knowledge or opinion ; then retires Into her private cell, when nature rests. Oft in her absence mimic Fancy wakes To imitate her ; but, misjoining shapes, Wild work produces oft, and most in dreams ; 111 matching words and deeds long past or late. Some such resemblances, methinks, I find Of our last evening's talk, in this thy dream, But with addition strange ; yet be not sad. Evil into the mind of God or Man May come and go, so unapprov'd, and leave No spot or blame behind : which gives me hope That what in sleep thou didst abhor to dream, Waking thou never wilt consent to do. Be not dishearten'd then, nor cloud those looks, That wont to be more cheerful and serene, Than when fair morning first smiles on the world; And let us to our fresh employments rise Among the groves, the fountains, and the flowers That open now their choicest bosom'd smells, Reserv'd from night, and kept for thee in store." So cheer 'd he his fair spouse, and she was cheer'd; But silently a gentle tear let fall From either eye, and wip'd them with her hair ; Two other precious drops that ready stood, Each in their crystal sluice, he ere they fell Kiss'd, as the gracious signs of sweet remorse And pious awe, that fear'd to have offended. So all was clear'd, and to the field they haste. But first, from under shady arborous roof Soon as they forth were come to open sight Of day-spring, and the Sun, who, scarce up-risen, With wheels yet hovering o'er the ocean brim. Shot parallel to the Earth his dewy ray, Discovering in wide landscape all the east Of Paradise and Eden's happy plains, Lowly they bow'd adoring, and began Their orisons, each morning duly pnid In various style ; for neither various style Nor holy rapture wanted they to praise Their Maker, in fit strains pronounc'd, or sung Unmeditated ; such prompt eloquence Flow'd from their lips, in prose or numerous verse, More tuneable than needed lute or harp To add more sweetness ; and they thus began. " These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty ! Thine this universal frame, Thus wondrous fair; Thyself how wondrous then ! Unspeakable, who sitst above these heavens To us invisible, or dimly seen In these thy lowest woiks ; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, Angels ; for ye behold him, and with songs And choral symphonies, day without night, Circle his throne rejoicing ; ye in Heaven. On Earth join, all ye creatures, to extol Him first, him last, him midst, and without end. Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, If better thou belong not to the dawn, Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere, While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. Thou Sun, of this great world both eye and soul, Acknowledge him thy greater ; sound his praise In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st, And when high noon hast gain'd, and when thou fall'st. Moon, that now meet'st the orient Sun, now fly'st, With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flics ; And ye five other wandering fires, that move In mystic dance not without song, resound His praise, who out of darkness call'd up light Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run Perpetual circle, multiform ; and mix And nourish all things ; let your ceaseless change Vary to our great Maker still new praise. Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise From hill or streaming lake, dusky, or gray, Till the Sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, In honour to the World's great Author rise ; Whether to deck with clouds the uncolour'd sky, Or wet the thirsty Earth with falling showers, Rising or falling still advance his praise. His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow, Breathe soft or loud ; and wave your tops, ye pines, With every plant, in sign of worship wave. Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow, Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise. Join voices, all ye living souls: ye birds, That singing up to Heaven-gate ascend, Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise. Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep ; Witness if I be silent, morn or even, To hill, or valley, fountain, or fresh shade, Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise. Hail, universal Lord, be bounteous still To give us only good ; and if the night Have gather'd aught of evil or conceal'd, Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark !" So pray'd they innocent, and to their thoughts Firm peace recover 'd so'on, and wonted calm. On to their morning's rural work they haste, Among sweet dews and flowers ; where any row BOOK V. PARADISE LOST. 59 )f fruit-trees over- woody reach'd too far ^heir pamper'd boughs, and needed hands to check ; ruitless embraces : or they led the vine \> wed her elm ; she, spous'd, about him twines ler marriageable arms, and with her brings ler dower, the adopted clusters, to adorn lis barren leaves. Them thus employ'd beheld V T ith pity Heaven's high King, and to him call'd ^phael, the sociable spirit, that deign'd 'o travel with Tobias, and secur'd [is marriage with the seventimes-wedded maid. " Raphael," said he, " thou hear'st what stir on Earth itan, from Hell 'scap'd through the darksome gulf, ath rais'd in Paradise ; and how disturb'd ! iis night the human pair ; how he designs '. them at once to ruin all mankind, o therefore, half this day as friend with friend mverse with Adam, in what bower or shade lou find'st him from the heat of noon retir'd, > respite his day-labour with repast, with repose : and such discourse bring on, may advise him of his happy state, vppiness in his power left free to will, ft to his own free will, his will though free, t mutable ; whence warn him to beware '. swerve not, too secure : tell him withal s danger, and from whom ; what enemy, te fall'n himself from Heaven, is plotting now e fall of others from like state of bliss ; violence ? no, for that shall be withstood ; t by deceit and lies : this let him know, >t, wilfully transgressing, he pretend prisal, unadmonish'd, unforewarn'd. " k> spake the Eternal Father, and fulfill' d justice : nor delay'd the winged saint er his charge receiv'd ; but from among msand celestial ardours, where he stood I'd with his gorgeous wings, up springing light w through the midst of Heaven ; the angelic quires, each hand parting, to Ms speed gave way ough all the empyreal road ; till, at the gate Heaven arriv'd, the gate self-open'd wide golden hinges turning, as by work ine the sovran Architect had fram'd. nti hence, no cloud, or, to obstruct his sight, interpos'd, however small he sees, unconform to other shining globes, th, and the garden of God, with cedars crown'd ve all hills. As when by night the glass jalileo, less assur'd, observes gin'd lands and regions in the Moon : rilot, from amidst the Cyclades >s or Samos first appearing, kens oudy spot. Down thither prone in flight speeds, and through the vast ethereal sky between worlds and worlds, with steady wing, on the polar winds, then with quick fan nows the buxom air ; till, within soar jwering eagles, to all the fowls he seems icnix, gaz'd by all, as that sole bird, n, to enshrine his reliques in the Sun's ht temple, to Egyptian Thebes he flies, nee on the eastern cliff of Paradise ights, and to his proper shape returns raph wing'd : six wings he wore, to shade lineaments divine ; the pair that clad < shoulder broad, came mantling o'er his breast regal ornament ; the middle pair Girt like a starry zone his waist, and round Skirted his loins and thighs with downy gold And colours dipt in Heaven ; the third his feet Shadow'd from either heel with feather'd mail, Sky-tinctur'd grain. Like Maia's son he stood, And shook his plumes, that heavenly fragrance fill'd The circuit wide. Straight knew him all the bands Of angels under watch ; and to his state, And to his message high, in honour rise ; For on some message high they guess' d him bound. Their glittering tents he pass'd, and now is come Into the blissful field, through groves of myrrh, And flowering odours, cassia, nard, and balm ; A wilderness of sweets ; for Nature here Wanton'd as in her prime, and play'd at will Her virgin fancies, pouring forth more sweet, Wild above rule or art, enormous bliss. Him through the spicy forest onward come Adam discern'd, as in the door he sat Of his cool bower, while now the mounted Sun Shot down direct his fervid rays to warm Earth's inmost womb, more warmth than Adara needs : And Eve within, due at her hour prepar'd For dinner savoury fruits, of taste to please i True appetite, and not disrelish thirst I Of nectarous draughts between, from milky stream, Berry or grape : to whom thus Adam call'd. " Haste hither, Eve, and worth thy sight behold Eastward among those trees, what glorious shape Comes tliis way moving : seems another morn Ris'n on mid-noon ; some great behest from Heaven To us perhaps he brings, and will vouchsafe This day to be our guest. But go with speed, And, what thy stores contain, bring forth and pour Abundance, fit to honour and receive Our heavenly stranger ; well we may afford Our givers their own gifts, and large bestow From large bestow' d, where Nature multiplies Her fertile growth, and by disburdening grows More fruitful, which instructs us not to spare." To whom thus Eve. " Adam, Earth's hallow'd mould, Of God inspir'd ! small store will serve, where store, All seasons, ripe for use hangs on the stalk ; Save what by frugal storing firmness gains To nourish, and superfluous moist consumes : But I will haste, and from each bough and brake, Each plant and juiciest gourd, will pluck such choice To entertain our angel-guest, as he Beholding shall confess, that here on Earth God hath dispens'd his bounties as in Heaven." So saying, with dispatchful looks in haste She turns, on hospitable thoughts intent What choice to choose for delicacy best, What order so contriv'd as not to mix Tastes, not well join'd, inelegant, but bring Taste after taste upheld with kindliest change ; Bestirs her then, and from each tender stalk Whatever Earth, all-bearing mother, yields In India East or West, or middle shore In Pontus or the Punic coast, or where Alcinous reign'd, fruit of all kinds, in coat Rough, or smooth rind, or bearded husk, or shell, She gathers, tribute large, and on the board Heaps with unsparing hand ; for drink the grape She crushes, inoffensive must, and meaths From many a berry, and from sweet kernels press* d She tempers dulcet creams ; nor these to hold 60 MILTON. BOOK Wants her fit vessels pure ; then strows the ground With rose and odours from the shrub unfum'd. Meanwhile our primitive great sire, to meet His God-like guest, walks forth, without more train Accompanied than with his own complete Perfections ; in himself was all his state, More solemn than the tedious pomp that waits On princes when their rich retinue long Of horses led, and grooms besmear'd with gold, Dazzles the croud, and sets them all agape. Nearer his presence Adam, though not aw'd, Yet with submiss approach and reverence meek, As to a superior nature bowing low, Thus said. " Native of Heaven, for other place None can than Heaven such glorious shape contain ; Since, by descending from the thrones above, Those happy places thou hast deign'd a while To want, and honour these, vouchsafe with us Two only, who yet by sovran gift possess This spacious ground, in yonder shady bower To rest, and what the garden choicest bears To sit and taste, till this meridian heat Be over, and the Sun more cool decline." Whom thus the angelic virtue answer'd mild. " Adam, I therefore came ; nor art thou such Created, or such place hast here to dwell, As may not oft invite, though spirits of Heaven, To visit thee ; lead on then where thy bower O'ershades ; for these mid-hours, till evening rise, I have at will." So to the sylvan lodge They came, that like Pomona's arbour smil'd, With flowerets deck'd, and fragrant smells; but Eve, Undeck'd save with herself more lovely fair Than wood-nymph, or the faiiest goddess feign'd Of three that in mount Ida naked strove, Stood to entertain her guest from Heaven ; no veil She needed, virtue proof; no thought infirm Altered her cheek. On whom the angel Hail Bestow' d, the holy salutation us'd Long after to blest Mary, second Eve. " Hail, Mother of Mankind, whose fruitful womb Shall fill the world more numerous with thy sons, Than with these various fruits the trees of God Have heap'd this table." Rais'd of grassy turf Their table was, and mossy seats had round, And on her ample square from side to side All autumn pil'd, though Spring and Autumn here Danc'd hand in hand. A while discourse they hold ; No fear lest dinner cool ; when thus began Our author. " Heavenly stranger, please to taste These bounties, which our Nourisher, from whom All perfect good, unmeasur'd out, descends, To us for food and for delight hath caus'd The Earth to yield ; unsavoury food perhaps To spiritual natures ; only this I know, That one celestial Father gives to all." To whom the angel. " Therefore what he gives (Whose praise be ever sung) to Man in part Spiritual, may of purest spirits be found No ingrateful food : and food alike those pure Intelligential substances require, As doth your rational ; and both contain Within them every lower faculty Of sense, whereby they hear, see, smell, touch, taste. Tasting concoct, digest, assimilate, And corporeal to incorporeal turn. For know, whatever was created, needs To be sustain'd and fed : of elements Earth and the sea feed air, the air those fires Ethereal, and as lowest first the Moon ; Whence in her visage round those spots, unpurg' Vapours not yet into her substance turn'd. Nor doth the Moon no nourishment exhale From her moist continent to higher orbs. The Sun, that light imparts to all, receives From all his alimental recompense In humid exhalations, and at even Sups with the Ocean. Though in Heaven the tr< Of life ambrosial fruitage bear, and vines Yield nectar; though from off the boughs each me We brush mellifluous dews, and find the ground Cover'd with pearly grain : yet God hath here Varied his bounty so with new delights, As may compare \*kh Heaven ; and to taste Think not I shall be nice." So down they sat, And to their viands fell ; nor seemingly The angel, nor in mist, the common gloss Of theologians ; but with keen dispatch Of real hunger, and concoctive heat To transubstantiate : what redounds, transpires Through spirits with ease ; nor wonder ; if by fir Of sooty coal the empiric alchymist Can turn, or holds it possible to turn, Metals of drossiest ore to perfect gold, As from the mine. Meanwhile at table Eve Minister'd naked, and their flowing cups With pleasant liquors crown' d : O innocence Deserving Paradise ! if ever, then, Then had the sons of God excuse to have been Enamour'd at that sight ; but in those hearts Love unlibidinous reign'd. nor jealousy Was understood, the injur'd lover's Hell. Thus when with meats and drinks they had suffic Not burthen'd nature, sudden mind arose In Adam, not to let the occasion pass Given him by this great conference to know Of things above his world, and of their being Who dwell in Heaven, whose excellence he saw Transcend his own so far ; whose radiant forms, Divine effulgence, whose high power, so far Exceeded human : and his wary speech Thus to the empyreal minister he fram'd. " Inhabitant with God, now know I well Thy favour, in this honour done to man ; Under whose lowly roof thou hast vouchsaf 'd To enter, and these earthly fruits to taste, Food not of angels, yet accepted so, As that more willingly thou couldst not seem At Heaven's high feasts to have fed: yet w compare ?" To whom the winged hierarch replied. " O Adam, one Almighty is, from whom All things proceed, and up to him return, If not deprav'd from good, created all Such to perfection, one first matter all, Endued with various forms, various degree Of substance, and, in things that live, of life ; But more refin'd, more spiritous, and pure, As nearer to him plac'd, or nearer tending Each in their several active spheres assign'd, Till body up to spirit work, in bounds Proportion'd to each kind. So from the root Springs lighter the green stalk, from thence leaves More aery, last the bright consummate flower Spirits odorous breathes : flowers and their fruit Man's nourishment, by gradual scale sublim'd, BOOK V. PARADISE LOST. 61 u> intellectual ; give both life and sense, ^ancy and understanding ; whence the soul leason receives, and reason is her being, discursive, or intuitive ; discourse s oftest yours, the latter most is ours, )inering but in degree, of kind the same. Vender not then, what God for you saw good f I refuse not, but convert, as you, To proper substance. Time may come, when men Vith angels may participate, and find so inconvenient diet, nor too light fare ; \.nd from these corporal nutriments perhaps 'our bodies may at last turn all to spirit, mprov'd by tract of time, and, wing'd, ascend Ethereal, as we : or may, at choice, lere or in heavenly Paradises dwell ; f ye be found obedient, and retain Jnalterabty firm his love entire, Vhose progeny you are. Meanwhile enjoy 'our fill what happiness this happy state 'an comprehend, incapable of more." To whom the patriarch of mankind replied. O favourable spirit, propitious guest, Veil hast thou taught the way that might direct >ur knowledge, and the scale of nature set 'rom centre to circumference ; whereon, a contemplation of created things, y steps we may ascend to God. But say, V'hat meant that caution join'd, If ye be found >bedient ? Can we want obedience then 'o him, or possibly his love desert, Tho fonn'd us from the dust, and plac'd us here ull to the utmost measure of what bliss [uman desires can seek or apprehend ?" To whom the angel. " Son of Heaven and Earth, .ttend : that thou art happy, owe to God ; 'hat thou continuest such, owe to thyself, "hat is, to thy obedience ; therein stand, his was that caution given thee, be advis'd. od made thee perfect, not immutable ; ,nd good he made thee ; but to persevere Ee left it in thy power ; ordain'd thy will y nature free, not over-rul'd by fate icxtri cable, or strict necessity : ur voluntary service he requires, 'ot our necessitated ; such with him inds no acceptance, nor can find ; for how an hearts, not free, be tried whether they serve Billing or no, who will but what they must y destiny, and can no other choose ? [yself, and all the angelic host, that stand i sight of God enthron'd, our happy state [old, as you yours, while our obedience holds ; 'n other surety none : freely we serve, ecause we freely love, as in our will o love or not ; in this we stand or fall : nd some are fall'n, to disobedience fall'n, nd so from Heaven to deepest Hell ; O fall rom what high state of bliss, into what woe !" To whom our great progenitor. " Thy words ttentive, and with more delighted ear, ivine instructer, I have heard, than when herubic songs by night from neighbouring hills ereal music send : nor knew I not o be both will and deed created free ; et that we never shall forget to love 'ur Maker, and obey liim whose command ingle is yet so just, my constant thoughts .ssur'd me, and still assure : though what thou tell'st Hath pass'd in Heaven, some doubts within me move, But more desire to hear, if thou consent, The full relation, which must needs be strange, Worthy of sacred silence to be heard ; And we have yet large day, for scarce the Sun Hath finish'd half his journey, and scarce begins His other half in the great zone of Heaven." Thus Adam made request : and Raphael, After short pause assenting, thus began. " High matter thou enjoin'st me, O prime of men, Sad task and hard : for how shall I relate To human sense the invisible exploits Of warring spirits ? how, without remorse, The ruin of so many glorious once And perfect while they stood ? how last unfold The secrets of another world, perhaps Not lawful to reveal ? yet for thy good This is dispens'd ; and what surmounts the reach Of human sense, I shall delineate so, By likening spiritual to corporal forms, As may express them best ; though what if Earth Be but the shadow of Heaven, and things therein Each to other like, more than on Earth is thought? " As yet this world was not, and Chaos wild Reign'd where these Heavens now roll, where Earth now rests Upon her centre pois'd ; when on a day ( For time, though in eternity, applied To motion, measures all things durable By present, past, and future,) on such day [host As Heaven's great year brings forth, the empyreal Of angels by imperial summons call'd, Innumerable before the Almighty's throne Forthwith, from all the ends of Heaven, appear'd Under their hierarchs in orders bright : Ten thousand thousand ensigns high advanc'd, Standards and gonfalons 'twixt van and rear Stream in the air, and for distinction serve Of hierarchies, of orders, and degrees ; Or in their glittering tissues bear imblaz'd Holy memorials, acts of zeal and love Recorded eminent. Thus when m orbs Of circuit inexpressible they stood, Orb within orb, the Father Infinite, By whom in bliss imbosom'd sat the Son, Amidst as from a flaming mount, whose top Brightness had made invisible, thus spake. " * Hear, all ye angels, progeny of light, Thrones, dominations, princedoms, virtues, powers, Hear my decree, which unrevok'd shall stand. This day I have begot whom I declare My only Son, and on this holy hill Him have anointed, whom ye now behold At my right hand ; your head I him appoint ; And by myself have sworn, to him shall bow All knees in Heaven, and shall confess him Lord : Under his great vice-gerent reign abide United, as one individual soul, For ever happy : him who disobeys, Me disobeys, breaks union, and that day, Cast out from God and blessed vision, falls Into utter darkness, deep ingulf 'd, his place Ordain'd without redemption, without end.' " So spake the Omnipotent, and with his words All seem'd well pleas'd all seem'd, but were not all. That day, as other solemn days, they spent In song and dance about the sacred hill : Mystical dance, which yonder starry sphere MILTON. BOOK V Of planets, and of fix'd, in all her wheels Resembles nearest, mazes intricate, Eccentric, intervolv'd, yet regular Then most, when most irregular they seem ; And in their motions Harmony divine So smooths her charming tones, that God's own ear Listens delighted. Evening now approach'd, (For we have also our evening and our morn, We ours for change delectable, not need ;) Forthwith from dance to sweet repast they turn Desirous ; all in circles as they stood, Tables are set, and on a sudden pil'd With angel's food, and rubied nectar flows In pearl, in diamond, and massy gold, Fruit of delicious vines, the growth of Heaven. On flowers repos'd, and with fresh flowerets crown'd, They eat, they drink, and in communion sweet Quaff immortality and joy, secure Of surfeit, where full measure only bounds Excess, before the all-bounteous King, who shower'd With copious hand, rejoicing in their joy. Now when ambrosial night with clouds exhal'd From that high mount of God, whence light and shade [chang'd Spring both, the face of brightest Heaven had To grateful twilight, (for night comes not there In darker veil,) and roseat dews dispos'd All but the unsleeping eyes of God to rest ; Wide over all the plain, and wider far Than all this globous Earth in plain outspread, (Such are the courts of God,) the angelic throng Dispers'd in bands and files, their camp extend By living streams among the trees of life, Pavilions numberless, and sudden rear'd, Celestial tabernacles, where they slept [course Fann'd with cool winds ; save those, who, in their Melodious hymns about the sovran throne Alternate all night long : but not so wak'd Satan ; so call him now, his former name Is heard no more in Heaven ; he of the first, If not the first arch-angel, great in power, In favour and pre-eminence, yet fraught With envy against the Son of God, that day Honour'd by his great Father, and proclaim'd Messiah King anointed, could not bear [pair'd. Through pride that sight, and thought himself im- Deep malice thence conceiving and disdain, Soon as midnight brought on the dusky hour Friendliest to sleep and silence, he resolv'd With all his legions to dislodge, and leave Unworshipt, unobey'd, the throne supreme, Contemptuous ; and his next subordinate Awakening, thus to him in secret spake : [close " Sleep'st thou, companion dear? What sleep can Thy eye-lids? and remember 'st what decree Of yesterday, so late hath pass'd the lips Of Heaven's Almighty. Thou to me thy thoughts Wast wont, I mine to thee was wont to impart ; Both waking we were one : how then can now Thy sleep dissent ? New laws thou seest impos'd ; New laws from him who reigns, new minds may raise In us who serve, new counsels, to debate What doubtful may ensue : more in this place To utter is not safe. Assemble thou Of all those myriads which we lead the chief; Tell them, that by command, ere yet dim night Her shadowy cloud withdraws, I am to haste, And all who under me their banners wave, Homeward, with flying march, where we possess The quarters of the north ; there to prepare Fit entertainment to receive our King, The great Messiah, and his new commands, Who speedily through all the hierarchies Intends to pass triumphant, and give laws.' " So spake the false arch-angel, and infus'd Bad influence into the unwary breast Of his associate : he together calls, Or several one by one, the regent powers, Under him regent ; tells, as he was taught, That the Most High commanding, now ere night, Now ere dim night had disencumber'd Heaven, The great hierarchal standard was to move ; Tells the suggested cause, and casts between Ambiguous words and jealousies, to sound Or taint integrity : but all obey'd The wonted signal, and superior voice Of their great potentate ; for great indeed His name, and high was his degree in Heaven ; His countenance, as the morning-star that guides The starry flock, allur'd them, and with lies Drew after him the third part of Heaven's host. Meanwhile the Eternal Eye, whose sight discerns Abstrusest thoughts, from form his holy mount, And from witliin the golden lamps that burn Nightly before him, saw without their light Rebellion rising ; saw in whom, how spread Among the sons of morn, what multitudes Were banded to oppose his high decree ; And, smiling, to his only Son thus saltt. " ' Son, thou in whom my glory I behold In full resplendence, heir of all my might, Nearly it now concerns us to be sure Of our omnipotence, and with what arms We mean to hold what anciently we claim Of deity or empire : such a foe Is rising, who intends to erect his throne Equal to ours, throughout the spacious north : Nor so content, hath in his thought to try In battle, what our power is, or our right. Let us advise, and to this hazard draw With speed what force is left, and all employ In our defence ; lest unawares we lose This our high place, our sanctuary, our hill. " To whom the Son with calm aspect and clear Lightening divine, ineffable, serene, Made answer. * Mighty Father, thou thy foes Justly hast in derision, and, secure, Laugh'st at their vain designs and tumults vain, Matter to me of glory, whom their hate Illustrates, when they see all regal power Given me to quell their pride, and in event Know whether I be dextrous to subdue Thy rebels, or be found the worst in Heaven. ' ;< So spake the Son ; but Satan, with his powers, Far was advanc'd on winged speed ; an host Innumerable as the stars of night, Or stars of morning, dew-drops, which the Sun Impearls on every leaf and every flower. Regions they pass'd, the mighty regencies Of seraphim, and potentates, and thrones, In their triple degrees ; regions to which All thy dominion, Adam, is no more Than what this garden is to all the earth, And all the sea, from one entire globose Stretch'd into longitude ; which having pass'd, At length into the limits of the north They came j and Satan to his royal seat High on a hill, far blazing, as a mount Rais'd on a mount, with pyramids and towers BOOK V. PARADISE LOST. 63 From diamond quarries hewn, and rocks of gold ; The palace of great Lucifer, (so call That structure in tiie dialect of men Interpreted,) which not long after, he, Affecting all equality with God, In imitation of that mount whereon Messiah was declar'd in sight of Heaven, The Mountain of the Congregation call'd ; For thither he assembled all his train, Pretending, so commanded, to consult About the great reception of their king, Thither to come, and with calumnious art Of counterfeited truth thus held their ears : " ' Tlirones, dominations, princedoms, virtues, powers ; If these magnific titles yet remain Not merely titular, since by decree Another now hath to himself ingross'd All power, and us eclips'd under the name Of King anointed, for whom all this haste Of midnight-march, and hurried meeting here, This only to consult how wo may best, With what may be devis'd of honours new, Receive him coming to receive from us Knee-tribute yet unpaid, prostration vile ! Too much to one ! but double how endur'd, To one, and to his image now proclaim' d? But what if better counsels might erect Our minds, and teach us to cast off this yoke ? Will ye submit your necks, and choose to bend The supple knee ? Ye will not, if I trust To know ye right, or if ye know yourselves Natives and sons of Heaven possess'd before By none ; and if not equal all, yet free, Equally free ; for orders and degrees Jar not with liberty, but well consist. Who can in reason then, or right, assume Monarchy over such as live by right His equals, if in power and splendour less, [n freedom equal ? or can introduce Law and edict on us, who without law Err not ? much less for this to be our lord, ,\nd look for adoration, to the abuse Df those imperial titles, which assert Jur being ordain'd to govern, not to serve.' " Thus far his bold discourse without controul iad audience : when among the seraphim Vbdiel, than whom none with more zeal ador'd Che Deity, and divine commands obey'd, itood up, and in a flame of zeal severe The current of his fury thus oppos'd. " O argument blasphemous, false and proud J Vords which no ear ever to hear in Heaven Expected, least of all from thee, ingrate, n place thyself so high above thy peers, 'anst thou with impious obloquy condemn Tie just decree of God, pronounc'd and sworn, liat to his only Son, by right endued Vith regal sceptre, every soul in Heaven hall bend the knee, and in that honour due 'onfess him rightful king ? unjust, thou say'st, lady unjust, to bind with laws the free, ,nd equal over equals to let reign, ne over all with unsucceeded power, lalt thou give law to God ? shalt thou dispute 'ith him the points of liberty, who made [Heaven hee what thou art, and form'd the powers of ich as he pleas'd, and circumscrib'd their being ? et, by experience taught, we know how good, nd of our good and of our dignity How provident he is ; how far from thought To make us less, bent rather to exalt Our happy state, under one head more near United. But to grant it thee unjust, That equal over equals monarch reign : Thyself, though great and glorious, dost thou count, Or all angelic nature join'd in one, Equal to him begotten son ? by whom, As by his word, the Mighty Father made [ Heaven, All tilings, even thee ; and all the spirits of By him created in their bright degrees, Crown'd them with glory, and to their glory nam'd Thrones, dominations, princedoms, virtues, powers, Essential powers ; nor by his reign obscur'd, But more illustrious made ; since he the head One of our number thus reduc'd becomes ; His laws our laws ; all honour to him done Returns our own. Cease then this impious rage, And tempt not these ; but hasten to appease The incensed Father, and the incensed Son, While pardon may be found in time besought.' " So spake the fervent angel ; but his zeal None seconded, as out of season judg'd, Or singular and rash : whereat rejoic'd The apostate, and, more haughty, thus replied. * That we were fonn'd then, say'st thou ? and the work Of secondary hands, by task transferr'd From Father to his Son ? strange point and new ! Doctrine which we would know whence learn'd : who saw When this creation was ? remember'st thou Thy making, while the Maker gave thee being ? We know no time when we were not as now ; Know none before us, self-begot, self-rais'd By our own quickening power, when fatal course Had circled his full orb, the birth mature Of this our native Heaven, ethereal sons. Our puissance is our own : our own right hand Shall teach us highest deeds, by proof to try Who is our equal : then thou shalt behold Whether by supplication we intend Address, and to begirt the almighty throne Beseeching or besieging. This report, These tidings carry to the anointed King ; And fly, ere evil intercept thy flight. ' " He said ; and, as the sound of waters deep, Hoarse murmur echo'd to his words applause Through the infinite host : nor less for that The flaming seraph fearless, though alone Encompass'd round with foes, thus answer'd bold. " * O alienate from God, O spirit accurs'd, Forsaken of all good ! 1 see thy fall Determin'd, and thy hapless crew involv'd In this perfidious fraud, contagion spread Both of thy crime and punishment ; henceforth No more be troubled how to quit the yoke Of God's Messiah ; those indulgent laws Will not be now vouchsaf 'd ; other decree* Against thee are gone forth without recall : That golden sceptre, which thou didst reject, Is now an iron rod to bruise and break Thy disobedience. Well thou didst advise ; Yet not for thy advice or threats I fly These wicked tents devoted, lest the wrath Impendent, raging into sudden flame, Distinguish not : for soon expect to feel His thunder on thy head, devouring fire. Then who created thee lamenting learn, When wlw can uncreate thee thou shalt know.' 64- MILTON. BOOK V " So spake the seraph Abdiel, faithful found Among the faithless, faithful only he ; Among innumerable false, unmov'd, Unshaken, unseduc'd, unterrified, His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal ; Nor number, nor example, with him wrought To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind, Though single. From amidst them forth he pass'd, Long way through hostile scorn, which he sustain'd Superior, nor of violence fear'd aught ; And, with retorted scorn, his back he turn'd On those proud towers to swift destruction doom'd." BOOK VI. The Argument. Raphael continues to relate how Michael and Gabriel were sent forth to battle against Satan and his angels. The first fight described : Satan and his powers retire under night : he calls a council; invents devilish engines, which, in the second day's fight, put Michael and his angels to some disorder; but they at length, pulling up mountains, overwhelmed both the force and machines of Satan : yet, the tumult not so end- ing, God, on the third day, sends MESSIAH his Son, for whom he had reserved the glory of that victory : he, in the power of his Father, coming to the place, and causing all his legions to stand still on either side, with his chariot and thunder driving into the midst of his enemies, pursues them, unable to resist, towards the wall of Heaven ; which opening, they leap down, with horrour and confusion, into the place of punish- ment prepared for them in the deep : MESSIAH returns with triumph to his Father. " ALL night the dreadless angel, unpursued, Through Heaven's wide champain held his way; till Morn, Wak'd by the circling Hours, with rosy hand Unbarr'd the gates of Light. There is a cave Within the mount of God, fast by his throne, Where Light and Darkness in perpetual round Lodge and dislodge by turns, which makes through Heaven Grateful vicissitude, like day and night ; Light issues forth, and at the other door Obsequious Darkness enters, till her hour [well To veil the Heaven, though darkness there might Seem twilight here : and now went forth the Morn, Such as in highest Heaven, array'd in gold Empyreal ; from before her vanish' d Night, Shot through with orient beams ; when all the plain Cover'd with thick embattled squadrons bright, Chariots, and flaming arms, and fiery steeds, Reflecting blaze on blaze, first met his view : War he perceiv'd, war in procinct ; and found Already known what he for news had thought To have reported : gladly then he mix'd Among those friendly powers, who him receiv'd With joy and acclamations loud, that one That of so many myriads fall'n yet one, Return'd not lost. On to the sacred hill They led him high applauded, and present Before the seat supreme ; from whence a voice, From midst a golden cloud, thus mild was heard. " ' Servant of God, well done; well hast thou The better fight, who single hast maintain'd Against revolted multitudes the cause Of truth, in word mightier than they in arms; And for the testimony of truth hast borne Universal reproach, far worse to bear Than violence ; for this was all thy care To stand approv'd in sight of God, though worlds Judg'd thee perverse : the easier conquest now Remains thee, aided by this host of friends, Back on thy foes more glorious to return, Than scorn'd thou didst depart ; and to subdue By force, who reason for their law refuse, Right reason for their law, and for their king Messiah, who by right of merit reigns. Go, Michael, of celestial armies prince, And thou, in military prowess next, Gabriel, lead forth to battle these my sons Invincible ; lead forth my armed saints, By thousands and by millions, rang'd for fight, Equal in number to that godless crew Rebellious : them with fire and hostile arms Fearless assault ; and, to the brow of Heaven Pursuing, drive them out from God and bliss, Into their place of punishment, the gulf Of Tartarus, which ready opens wide His fiery Chaos to receive their fall.' " So spake the Sovran Voice, and clouds begai To darken all the hill, and smoke to roll In dusky wreaths, reluctant flames, the sign. Of wrath awak'd ; nor with less dread the loud Ethereal trumpet from on high 'gan blow : At wliich command the powers militant That stood for Heaven, in mighty quadrate join'd Of union irresistible, mov'd on In silence their bright legions, to the sound Of instrumental harmony, that breath'd Heroic ardour to adventurous deeds Under their God-like leaders, in the cause Of God and his Messiah. On they move Indissolubly firm ; nor obvious hill, Nor straitening vale, nor wood, nor stream, divide Their perfect ranks : for high above the ground Their march was, and the passive air upbore Their nimble tread ; as when the total kind Of birds, in orderly array on wing, Came summoned over Eden to receive Their names of thee ; so over many a tract [wid Of Heaven they march'd, and many a province Tenfold the length of this terrene : at last, Far in the horizon to the north appear'd From skirt to skirt a fiery region, stretch'd In battailous aspect, and nearer view Bristled with upright beams innumerable Of rigid spears, and helmets throng'd, and shields Various, with boastful argument pourtray'd, The banded powers of Satan hasting on With furious expedition ; for they ween'd That self-same day, by fight, or by surprise, To win the mount of God, and on his throne To set the Envier of his state, the proud Aspirer ; but their thoughts prov'd fond and vain In the mid way : though strange to us it seenrd At first, that angel should with angel war, And in fierce hosting meet, who wont to meet So oft in festivals of joy and love Unanimous, as sons of one great Sire, Hymning the Eternal Father : but the shout Of battle now began, and rushing sound Of onset ended soon each milder thought. High in the midst exalted as a God, VI. PARADISE LOST. 65 Che apostate in his sun-bright chariot sat, ur divine within them, can allow lipotence to none. But well thou com'st re thy fellows, ambitious to win i me some plume, that thy success may show ruction to the rest : this pause between, mswer'd lest thou boast,) to let thee know, rst I thought that liberty and Heaven eavenly souls had been all one ; but now that most through sloth had rather serve, string spirits, train'd up in feast and song ! Such hast thou arm'd, the minstrelsy of Heaven, Servility with freedom to contend, As both their deeds compar'd this day shall prove.' " To whom in brief thus Abdiel stern replied. ' Apostate ! still thou err'st, nor eiid wilt find Of erring, from the path of truth remote : Unjustly thou deprav'st it with the name Of servitude, to serve whom God ordainp, Or nature : God and nature bid the sumo, When he who rules is worthiest, and excels Them whom he governs. This is servitude, To serve the unwise, or him Who hath rebell'd Against his worthier, as thine now serve thee, Thyself not free, but to thyself enthralFd; Yet lewdly dar'st our ministring upbraid. Reign thou in Hell, thy kingdom ; let me serve In Heaven God ever blest, and his divine Behests obey, worthiest to be obey'd ; [while Yet chains in Hell, not realms, expect : mean- From me return'd, as erst thou saidst, from flight, This greeting on thy impious crest receive. ' " So saying, a noble stroke he lifted high, Which hung not, but so swift with tempest fell On the proud crest of Satan, that no sight, Nor motion of swift thought, less could his shield, Such ruin intercept : ten paces huge He back recoiFd ; the tenth on bended knee His massy spear upstaid ; as if on Earth Winds under ground, or waters forcing way Sidelong had push'd a mountain from his seat, Half sunk with all his pines. Amazement seiz'd The rebel thrones, but greater rage, to see [shout, Thus foil'd their mightiest ; ours joy fill'd, and Presage of victory, and fierce desire Of battle : whereat Michael bid sound The arch-angel trumpet ; through the vast of Heaven It sounded, and the faithful armies rung Hosanna to the Highest : nor stood at gaze The adverse legions, nor less hideous join'd The horrid shock. Now storming fury rose, And clamour, such as heard in Heaven till now Was never; arms on armour clashing bray'd Horrible discord, and the madding wheels Of brazen chariots rag'd ; dire was the noise Of conflict ; over head the dismal hiss Of fiery darts in flaming vollies flew, And flying vaulted either host with fire. So under fiery cope together rush'd Both battles main, with ruinous assault And inextinguishable rage. All Heaven Resounded ; and had Earth been then, all Earth Had to her centre shook. What wonder ? where Millions of fierce encountering angels fought On either side, the least of whom could wield These elements, and arm him with the force Of all their regions : how much more of power Army against army numberless to raise Dreadful combustion warring, and disturb, Though not destroy, their happy native seat ; Had not the Eternal King Omnipotent, From his strong hold of Heaven, high over-rul'd And limited their might ; though number'd such As each divided legion might have seem'd A numerous host ; in strength each armed hand A legion ; led in fight, yet leader seem'd Each warriour single as in chief, expert When to advance, or stand, or turn the sway Of battle, open when, and when to close The ridges of grim war : no thought of flight, None of retreat, no unbecoming deed 66 MILTON. BOOK VI That argued fear ; each on himself relied, As only in his arm the moment lay Of victory : deeds of eternal fame Were done, but infinite ; for wide was spread That war, and various, sometimes on firm ground A standing fight, then, soaring on main wing, Tormented all the air ; all air seem'd then Conflicting tire. Long time in even scale The battle hung; till Satan, who that day Prodigious power had shown, and met in arms No equal, ranging through the dire attack Of fighting seraphim confus'd, at length Saw where the sword of Michael smote, and fell'd Squadrons at once ; with huge two-handed sway Brandish'd aloft, the horrid edge came down Wide- wasting ; such destruction to withstand He hasted, and oppos'd the rocky orb Of tenfold adamant, his ample shield, A vast circumference. At his approach The great arch-angel from his warlike toil Surceas'd, and glad, as hoping here to end Intestine war in Heaven, the arch-foe subdued Or captive dragg'd in chains, with hostile frown And visage all inflam'd first thus began. " * Author of evil, unknown till thy revolt, Unnam'd in Heaven, now plenteous, as thou seest These acts of hateful strife, hateful to all, Though heaviest by just measure on thyself And thy adherents : how hast thou disturb'd Heaven's blessed peace, and into nature brought Misery, uncreated till the crime Of thy rebellion ! how hast thou instill'd Thy malice into thousands, once upright And faithful, now proved false ! But think not here To trouble holy rest ; Heaven casts thee out From all her confines. Heaven, the seat of bliss, Brooks not the works of violence and war. Hence then, and evil go with thee along, Thy offspring, to the place of evil, Hell ; Thou and thy wicked crew ! there mingle broils, Ere this avenging sword begin thy doom, [God, Or some more sudden vengeance, wing'd from Precipitate thee with augmented pain.' " So spake the prince of angels ; to whom thus The adversary. ' Nor think thou with wind Of aery threats to awe whom yet with deeds Thou canst not. Hast thou turn'd the least of these To flight, or if to fall, but that they rise Unvanquish'd, easier to transact with me [threats That thou should'st hope, imperious, and with To chase me hence ? err not, that so shall end The strife which thou call'st evil, but we style The strife of glory ; which we mean to win, Or turn this Heaven itself into the Hell Thou fablest ; here however to dwell free, If not to reign : meanwhile thy utmost force, And join him nam'd Almighty to thy aid, I fly not, but have sought thee far and nigh. " They ended parle, and both address'd for fight Unspeakable ; for who, though with the tongue Of angels, can relate, or to what things Liken on Earth conspicuous, that may lift Human imagination to such height Of godlike power ? for likest gods they seem'd, Stood they or mov'd, in stature, motion, arms, Fit to decide the empire of great Heaven. Now wav'd their fiery swords, and in the air Made horrid circles : two broad suns their shields Blaz'd opposite, while expectation stood Where erst was thickest fight, the angelic throng, And left large field, unsafe within the wind Of such commotion ; such as, to set forth Great things by small, if, Nature's concord broke, Among the constellations war were sprung, Two planets, rushing from aspect malign Of fiercest opposition, in mid sky Should combat, and their jarring spheres confound Together both with next to almighty arm Uplifted imminent, one stroke they aim'd That might determine, and not need repeat, As not of power at once ; nor odds appear'd In might or swift prevention : but the sword Of Michael from the armoury of God Was given him temper'd so, that neither keen Nor solid might resist that edge : it met The sword of Satan, with steep force to smite Descending, and in half cut sheer ; nor staid, But with swift wheel reverse, deep entering, shar'c All his right side : then Satan first knew pain, And writh'd him to and fro convolv'd ; so sore The griding sword with discontinuous wound Pass'd through him : but the ethereal substance clos'd Not long divisible ; and from the gash A stream of nectarous humour issuing flow'd Sanguine, such as celestial spirits may bleed, And all his armour stain'd, ere while so bright. Forthwith on all sides to his aid was run By angels many and strong, who interpos'd Defence, while others bore him on their shields Back to his chariot, where it stood retir'd From off the files of war : there they him laid Gnashing for anguish, and despite, and shame, To find himself not matchless, and his pride Humbled by such rebuke, so far beneath His confidence to equal God in power. Yet soon he heal'd; for spirits that live throughout Vital in every part, not as frail man In entrails, heart or head, liver or reins, Cannot but by annihilating die ; Nor in their liquid texture mortal wound Receive, no more than can the fluid air : All heart they live, all head, all eye, all ear, All intellect, all sense ; and, as they please, They limb themselves, and colour, shape, or size Assume, as likes them best, condense or rare. " Meanwhile in other parts like deeds deserv'd Memorial, where the might of Gabriel fought, And with fierce ensigns pierc'd the deep array Of Moloch, furious king ; who him defied, And at his chariot-wheels to drag him bound Threaten'd, nor from the Holy One of Heaven Refrain'd his tongue blasphemous ; but anon Down cloven to the waist, with shatter'd arms And uncouth pain fled bellowing. On each wing Uriel, and Raphael, his vaunting foe, Though huge, and in a rock of diamond arm'd, Vanquish'd Adramelech, and Asmadai, Two potent thrones, that to be less than gods Disdain'd, but meaner thoughts learn'd in the flight, [mai Mangled with ghastly wounds through plate an Nor stood unmindful Abdiel to annoy The atheist crew, but with redoubled blow Ariel, and Arioch, and the violence Of Ramiel scorch'd and blasted, overthrew. I might relate of thousands, and their names Eternize here on Earth ; but those elect Angels, contented with their fame in Heaven, BOOK VI. PARADISE LOST. In might though wond'rous and in acts of war, Nor of renown less eager, yet by doom Cancell'd from Heaven and sacred memory, Nameless in dark oblivion let them dwell. For strength from truth divided, and from just, Illaudable, nought merits but dispraise And ignominy; yet to glory aspires Vain-glorious, and through infamy seeks fame : Therefore eternal silence be their doom, [swerv'd, " And now, their mightiest quell'd, the battle With many an inroad gor'd ; deformed rout Enter'd, and foul disorder ; all the ground With shiver 'd armour strown, and on a heap Chariot and charioteer lay over turn' d, And fiery-foaming steeds ; what stood, recoil'd O'er-wearied, through the faint Satanic host Defensive scarce, or with pale fear surpris'd, Phen first with fear surpris'd, and sense of pain, Fled ignominious, to such evil brought By sin of disobedience ; till that hour >fot liable to fear, or flight, or pain. 7ar otherwise the inviolable saints, n cubic phalanx firm, advanc'd entire, nvulnerable, impenetrably arm'd ; >uch high advantages their innocence rave them above their foes ; not to have sinn'd, lot to have disobey'd ; in fight they stood Tnwearied, unobnoxious to be pain'd [mov'd. >y wound, though from their place by violence " Now Night her course began, and, over Heaven iducing darkness, grateful truce impos'd, .nd silence on the odious din of war : nder her cloudy covert both retir'd, ictor and vanquished : on the foughten field [ichael and his angels prevalent ncamping, plac'd in guard their watches round, herubic waving fires : on the other part, itan with his rebellious disappear 'd, ir in the dark dislodg'd ; and, void of rest, is potentates to council call'd by night ; nd in the midst thus undismay'd began. " O now in danger tried, now known in arms )t to be overpower'd, companions dear, >und worthy not of liberty alone, >o mean pretence ! but what we more affect, jnour, dominion, glory, and renown ; ho have sustain'd one day in doubtful fight nd if one day, why not eternal days ? ) lat Heaven's Lord had powerfullest to send ainst us from about his throne, and judg'd fficient to subdue us to his will, t proves not so : then fallible, it seems, future we may deem him, though till now miscient thought. True is, less firmly arm'd, ne disadvantage we endur'd and pain, I now not known, but, known, as soon contemn'd; ce now we find this our empyreal form apable of mortal injury, jerishable, and though pierc'd with wound, n closing, and by native vigour heal'd. evil then so small, as easy think remedy ; perhaps more valid arms, ipons more violent, when next we meet, r serve to better us, and worse our foes, iqual what between us made the odds, lature none : if other hidden cause ; them superior, while we can preserve mrt our minds, and understanding sound, search and consultation will disclose.' He sat ; and in the assembly next unstood Nisroch, of principalities the prime ; As one he stood escap'd from cruel fight, Sore toil'd, his riven arms to havoc hewn, And cloudy in aspect thus answering spake. " ' Deliverer from new lords, leader to free Enjoyment of our right as gods ; yet hard For gods, and too unequal work we find, Against unequal arms to fight in pain, Against unpain'd, impassive ; from which evil Ruin must needs ensue ; for what avails [pain Valour or strength, though matchless, quell'd with Which all subdues, and makes remiss the hands Of mightiest ? Sense of pleasure we may well Spare out of life perhaps, and not repine, But live content, which is the calmest life : But pain is perfect misery, the worst Of evils, and, excessive, overturns All patience. He, who therefore can invent With what more forcible we may offend Our yet un wounded enemies, or arm Ourselves with like defence, to me deserves No less than for deliverance what we owe.' " Whereto with look compos'd Satan replied. * Not uninvented that, which thou aright Believ'st so main to our success, I bring. Which of us who beholds the bright surface Of this ethereous mould whereon we stand, This continent of spacious Heaven adorn'd With plant, fruit, flower ambrosial, gems, and gold ; Whose eye so superficially surveys These things, as not to mind from whence they grow Deep under ground, materials dark and crude, Of spiritous and fiery spume, till, touch'd With Heaven's ray, and temper'd, they shoot forth So beauteous, opening to the ambient light ? These in their dark nativity the deep Shall yield us, pregnant with infernal flame ; Which into hollow engines, long and round, Thick ramm'd,at the other bore with touch of fire Dilated and infuriate, shall send forth From far, with thundering noise, among our foes Such implements of mischief, as shall dash To pieces, and o'erwhelm whatever stands Adverse, that they shall fear we have disarm'd The Thunderer of his only dreaded bolt. Nor long shall be our labour ; yet ere dawn Effect shall end our wish. Meanwhile revive ; Abandon fear ; to strength and counsel join'd Think nothing hard, much less to be despair'd. " He ended, and his words their drooping cheat Enlighten'd, and their languish'd hope reviv'd. The invention all admir'd, and each, how he To be the inventor miss'd ; so easy it seem'd Once found, which yet unfound most would have thought Impossible : yet, haply, of thy race In future days, if malice should abound, Some one intent on mischief, or inspir'd With devilish machination, might devise Like instrument to plague the sons of men For sin, on war and mutual slaughter bent. Forthwith from council to the work they flew ; None arguing stood ; innumerable hands Were ready ; in a moment up they turn'd Wide the celestial soil, and saw beneath The originals of nature in their crude Conception ; sulphurous and nitrous foam They found, they mingled, and, with subtle art, Concocted and adusted they reduc'd To blackest grain, and into store convey'd : 68 MILTON. BOOK V Part hidden veins digg'd up (nor hath this Earth Entrails unlike) of mineral and stone, Whereof to found their engines and their balls Of missive ruin ; part incentive reed Provide, pernicious with one touch to fire. So all ere day-spring, under conscious night, Secret they finish'd, and in order set, With silent circumspection, unespied. " Now when fair morn orient in Heaven appear'd, Up rose the victor-angels, and to arms The matin trumpet sung : in arms they stood Of golden panoply, refulgent host, Soon banded ; others from the dawning hills Look'd round, and scouts each coast light armed scour, Each quarter, to descry the distant foe, Where lodg'd, or whither fled, or if for fight; In motion or in halt : him soon they met Under spread ensigns moving nigh, in slow But firm battalion : back with speediest sail Zophiel, of cherubim the swiftest wing, Came flying, and in mid air aloud thus cried. " * Arm, warriors, arm for fight ; the foe at hand, Whom fled we thought, will save us long pursuit This day ; fear not his flight ; so tliick a cloud He comes, and settled in his face I see Sad resolution, and secure : let each His adamantine coat gird well, and each Fit well his helm, gripe fast his orbed shield, Borne even or high ; for this day will pour down, If I conjecture aught, no drizzling shower, But rattling storm of arrows barb'd with fire.' " So warn'd he them, aware themselves, and soon In order, quit of all impediment ; Instant without disturb they took alarm, And onward inov'd embattled : when behold ! Not distant far with heavy pace the foe Approaching gross and huge, in hollow cube Training his devilish enginery, impal'd On every side with shadowing squadrons deep, To hide the fraud. At interview both stood A while ; but suddenly at head appear'd Satan, and thus was heard commanding loud. " ' Vanguard, to right and left the front unfold ; That all may see who hate us, how we seek Peace and composure, and with open breast Stand ready to receive them, if they like Our overture, and turn not back perverse : But that I doubt ; however witness Heaven ! Heaven, witness thou anon ! while we discharge Freely our part : ye, who appointed stand, Do as you have in charge, and briefly touch What we propound, and loud that all may hear ! " So scoffing in ambiguous words, he scarce Had ended ; when to right and left the front Divided, and to either flank retir'd : Which to our eyes discover'd, new and strange, A triple mounted row of pillars laid On wheels, (for like to pillars most they seem'd, Or hollow'd bodies made of oak or fir, With branches lopt, in wood or mountain fell'd,) Brass, iron, stony mould, had not their mouths With hideous orifice gap'd on us wide, Portending hollow truce : at each behind A serapli stood, and in his hand a reed Stood waving tipt with fire ; while we, suspense, Collected stood within our thoughts amus'd, Not long; for sudden all at once their reeds With nicest touch. Immediate in a flame, But soon obscur'd with smoke, all Heaven appear' From those deep-throated engines belch'd, who roar I Embowell'd with outrageous noise the air, And all her entrails tore, disgorging foul Their devilish glut, chain'd thunderbolts and hail Of iron globes ; which, on the victor host Levell'd, with such impetuous fury smote, That, whom they hit, none on their feet might stan Though standing else as rocks, but down they fel By thousands, angel on arch-angel roll'd ; The sooner for their arms ; unarm'd, they might Have easily, as spirits, evaded swift By quick contraction or remove ; but now Foul dissipation follow'd, and forc'd rout ; Nor serv'd it to relax their serried files. What should they do ? if on they rush'd, repulse Repeated, and indecent overthrow Doubled, would render them yet more despis'd, And to their foes a laughter ; for in view Stood rank'd of seraphim another row, In posture to displode their second tire Of thunder : back defeated to return They worse abhorr'd. Satan beheld their plight, And to his mates thus in derision call'd. [proud " O friends ! why come not on these victo] Ere while they fierce were coming ; and when we To entertain them fair with open front And breast (what could we more?) propounde terms Of composition, straight they chang'd their minds Flew off, and into strange vagaries fell, As they would dance ; yet for a dance they seem'c Somewhat extravagant and wild : perhaps For joy of ofFer'd peace : but I suppose, If our proposals once again were heard, We should compel them to a quick result. ' " To whom thus Belial, in like gamesome moot ' Leader ! the terms we sent were terms of weight, Of hard contents, and full of force urg'd home ; Such as we might perceive amus'd them all, And stumbled many : who receives them right, Had need from head to foot well understand ; Not understood, this gift they have besides, They show us when our foes walk not upright.' " So they among themselves in pleasant vein Stood scoffing, heighten'd in their thoughts beyond All doubt of victory : Eternal Might To match with their inventions they presum'd So easy, and of his thunder made a scorn, And all his host derided, while they stood Awhile in trouble : but they stood not long ; Rage prompted them at length, and found then arms Against such hellish mischief fit to oppose. Forthwith (behold the excellence, the power, Which God hath in his mighty angels plac'd !) Their arms away they threw, and to the hills (For Earth hath this variety from Heaven Of pleasure situate in hill and dale,) Light as the lightning glimpse they ran, they flew From their foundations loosening to and fro, They pluck'd the seated hills, with all their load, Rocks, waters, woods, and by the shaggy tops Up-lifting bore them in their hands : amaze, Be sure, and terrour, seiz'd the rebel host, When coming towards them so dread they saw The bottom of the mountains upward turn'd ; BOOK IV. PARADISE LOST. 69 They saw them whelm'd, and all their confidence Under the weight of mountains buried deep ; Themselves invaded next, and on. their heads Main promontories flung, which in the air Came shadowing, and oppress'd whole legions arm'd ; [bruis'd Their armour help'd their harm, crush'd in and Into their substance pent, which wrought them pain Implacable, and many a dolorous groan ; Long struggling underneath, ere they could wind Out of such prison, though spirits of purest light, Purest at first, now gross by sinning grown. The rest, in imitation, to like arms Betook them, and the neighbouring hills uptore : So hills amid the air encounter'd hills, Hurl'd to and fro with jaculation dire ; That under ground they fought in dismal shade j Infernal noise ! war seem'd a civil game To this uproar ; horrid confusion heap'd Upon confusion rose : and now all Heaven Had gone to wrack, with ruin overspread ; Had not the Almighty Father, where he sits Shrin'd in his sanctuary of Heaven secure, Consulting on the sum of things, foreseen This tumult, and permitted all, advis'd : That his great purpose he might so fulfil, To honour his anointed Son aveng'd Upon liis enemies, and to declare All power on him transferr'd : whence to his Son, The assessor of his throne, he thus began. " Effulgence of my glory, Son belov'd, Son, in whose face invisible is beheld Visibly, what by Deity I am ; And in whose hand what by decree I do, Second Omnipotence ! two days are past, Two days, as we compute the days of Heaven, Since Michael and his powers went forth to tame These disobedient : sore hath been their fight, As likeliest was, when two such foes met arm'd ; For to themselves I left them ; and thou know'st, Equal in their creation they were form'd, [wrought Save what sin hath impair'd ; which yet hath Insensibly, for I suspend their doom ; Whence in perpetual fight they needs must last Endless, and no solution will be found : War wearied hath performed what war can do, \nd to disorder'd rage let loose the reins, With mountains, as with weapons, arm'd ; which makes Vild work in Heaven, and dangerous to the main. Two days are therefore past, the third is thine ; ? or thee I have ordain'd it ; and thus far lave suffer'd, that the glory may be thine )f ending this great war, since none but thou ?an end it. Into thee such virtue and grace mmense I have transfus'd, that all may know n Heaven and Hell thy power above compare ; Ind, this perverse commotion govern'd thus, Y> manifest thee worthiest to be Heir )f all things ; to be Heir, and to be King Jy sacred unction, thy deserved right. Jo then, thou Mightiest, in thy Father's might ; vscend my chariot, guide the rapid wheels hat shake Heaven's basis, bring forth all my war, [y bow and thunder, my almighty arms drd on, and sword upon thy puissant thigh ; 'ursue these sons of darkness, drive them out 'rom all Heaven's bounds into the utter deep : here let them learn, as likes them, to despise od, and Messiah, his anointed king.' " He said, and on liis son with rays direct Shone full ; he all his Father full express'd Ineffably into his face receiv'd ; And thus the filial godhead answering spake. " ' O Father, O Supreme of heavenly thrones, First, Highest, Holiest, Best ; thou always seek'st To glorify thy Son ; I always thee, As is most just : this I my glory account, My exaltation, and my whole delight, That thou, in me well pleas'd, declar'st thy will Fulfill'd, which to fulfil is all my bliss. Sceptre and power, thy giving, I assume, And gladlier shall resign, when in the end Thou shalt be all in all, and I in thee For ever ; and in me all whom thou lov'st : But whom thou hat'st, I hate, and can put on Thy terrours, as I put thy mildness on, Image of thee in all things ; and shall soon, Arm'd with thy might, rid Heaven of these rebell'd ; To their prepar'd ill mansion driven down, To chains of darkness, and the undying worm ; That from thy just obedience could revolt, Whom to obey is happiness entire. Then shall thy saints unmix'd, and from the impure Far separate, circling thy holy mount, Unfeigned halleluiahs to thee sing, Hymns of liigh praise, and I among them chief. ' " So said, he, o'er his sceptre bowing, rose From the right hand of glory where he sat ; And the third sacred morn began to shine, Dawning through Heaven. Forth rush'd with whirlwind sound The chariot of Paternal Deity, Flashing thick flames, wheel within wheel undrawn, Itself instinct with spirit, but convoy'd By four cherubic shapes ; four faces each Had wonderous ; as with stars, their bodies all And wings were set with eyes ; with eyes the wheels Of beryl, and careering fires between j Over their heads a crystal firmament, Whereon a sapphire throne, inlaid with pure Amber, and colours of the showery arch. He, in celestial panoply all arm'd Of radiant Urim, work divinely wrought, Ascended ; at his right hand Victory Sat eagle- wing' d ; beside him hung his bow And quiver with three bolted thunder stor'd ; And from about him fierce effusion roll'd Of smoke, and bickering flame, and sparkles dire : Attended with ten thousand thousand saints, He onward came ; far off his coming shone ; And twenty thousand (I their number heard) Chariots of God, half on each hand, were seen t He on the wings of cherub rode sublime On the crystalline sky, in sapphire tliron'd, Illustrious far and wide ; but by his own First seen : them unexpected joy surpris'd, When the great ensign of Messiah blaz'd Aloft by angels borne, his sign in Heaven ; Under whose conduct Michael soon reduc'd His army, circumfus'd on either wing, Under their head imbodied all in one. Before him Power Divine his way prepar'd ; At his command the uprooted hills retir'd Each to his place ; they heard his voice, and went Obsequious ; Heaven his wonted face renew'd, And with fresh flowerets hill and valley smil'd, Tliis saw his hapless foes, but stood obdur'd, And to rebellious fight rallied their powers^ Insensate, hope conceiving from despaii. F 3 70 MILTON. BOOK VI. In heavenly spirits could such perverseness dwell ? But to convince the proud what signs avail, Or wonders move the obdurate to relent ? They, harden'd more by what might most reclaim, Grieving to see his glory, at the sight Took envy ; and, aspiring to his height, Stood re-embattled fierce, by force or fraud Weening to prosper, and at length prevail Against God and Messiah, or to fall In universal ruin last ; and now To final battle drew, disdaining flight, Or faint retreat ; when the great Son of God To all his host on either hand thus spake. [stand, " ' Stand still in bright array, ye saints j here Ye angels arm'd ; tliis day from battle rest : Faithful hath been your warfare, and of God Accepted, fearless in his righteous cause ; And as ye have receiv'd, so have ye done, Invincibly : but of this cursed crew The punishment to other hand belongs ; Vengeance is his, or whose he sole appoints : Number to this day's work is not ordain'd, Nor multitude ; stand only, and behold God's indignation on these godless pour'd By me ; not you, but me, they have despis'd, Yet envied ; against me is all their rage, Because the Father, to whom in Heaven supreme Kingdom, and power, and glory appertains, Hath honour'd me, according to his will, Therefore to me their doom he hath assign'd ; That they may have their wish to try with me In battle which the stronger proves : they all, Or I alone against them ; since by strength They measure all, of other excellence Not emulous, nor care who them excels ; Nor other strife with them do I vouchsafe.' " So spake the Son, and into terrour chang'd His countenance too severe to be beheld, And full of wrath bent on his enemies. At once the Four spread out their starry wings With dreadful shade contiguous, and the orbs Of his fierce chariot roll'd, as with the sound Of torrent floods, or of a numerous host. He on his impious foes right onward drove, Gloomy as night, under his burning wheels The stedfast empyrean shook throughout, All but the throne itself of God. Full soon Among them he arriv'd ; in his right hand Grasping ten thousand thunders, which he sent Before him, such as in their souls infix'd Plagues : they, astonish'd, all resistance lost, All courage ; down their idle weapons dropt : O'er shields, and helms, and helmed heads he rode Of thrones and mighty seraphim prostrate, That wish'd the mountains now might be again Thrown on them, as a shelter from his ire. Nor less on either side tempestuous fell His arrows, from the fourfold- visag'd Four Distinct with eyes, and from the living wheels Distinct alike with multitude of eyes ; One spirit in them rul'd ; and every eye Glar'd lightning, and shot forth pernicious fire Among the accurs'd, that wither'd all their strength, And of their wonted vigour left them drain'd, Exhausted, spiritless, afflicted, fall'n. Yet half his strength he put not forth, but check'd His thunder in mid volley ; for he meant Not to destroy, but root them out of Heaven : The overthrown he rais'd, and as a herd Of goals or timorous flock together throng' d Drove them before him thunder-struck, pursued With terrours, and with furies, to the bounds And crystal wall of Heaven ; which, opening wide, Roll'd inward, and a spacious gap disclos'd Into the wasteful deep : the monstrous sight Struck them with horrour backward, but far worse Urg'd them behind : headlong themselves they threw Down from the verge of Heaven ; eternal wrath Burnt after them to the bottomless pit. " Hell heard the unsufferable noise, Hell saw Heaven ruining from Heaven, and would have fled Affrighted ; but strict Fate had cast too deep Her dark foundations, and too fast had bound. Nine days they fell : confounded Chaos roar'd, And felt tenfold confusion in their fall Through his wild anarchy, so huge a rout Encumber'd him with ruin : Hell at last Yawning receiv'd them whole, and on them clos'd ; Hell their fit habitation, fraught with fire Unquenchable, the house of woe and pain. Disburden'd Heaven rejoic'd, and soon repair'd Her mural breach, returning whence it roll'd. Sole victor, from the expulsion of Ids foes, Messiah his triumphal chariot turn'd : To meet him all his saints, who silent stood Eye-witnesses of his almighty acts, With jubilee advanc'd ; and, as they went, Shaded with branching palm, each- order bright, Sung triumph, and him sung victorious King, Son, Heir, and Lord, to him dominion given, Worthiest to reign : He, celebrated, rode Triumphant through mid Heaven, into the courts And temple of his mighty Father thron'd On high ; who into glory him receiv'd, Where now he sits at the right hand of bliss. " Thus measuring things in Heaven by things on Earth, At thy request, and that thou may'st beware By what is past, to thee I have reveal'd What might have else to human race been hid ; The discord which befel, and war in Heaven Among the angelic powers, and the deep fall Of those too high aspiring, who rebell'd With Satan ; he who envies now thy state, Who now is plotting how he may seduce Thee also from obedience, that, with him Bereav'd of happiness, thou may'st partake His punishment, eternal misery ; Which would be all his solace and revenge, As a despite done against the Most High, Thee once to gain companion of his woe. But listen not to his temptations, warn Thy weaker ; let it profit thee to have heard, By terrible example, the reward Of disobedience ; firm they might have stood, Yet fell ; remember, and fear to transgress." BOOK VII. Tlie Argument. Raphael, at the request of Adam, relates how and wherefore this world was first created ; that God, after the expelling of Satan and his angels out of Heaven, declared his pleasure to create an- other world, and other creatures to dwell therein ; sends his Son with glory, and attendance of angels, to perform the work of creation in six BOOK VII. PAKADISE LOST. 71 days : the angels celebrate with hymns the performance thereof, and his re-ascension into Heaven. DESCEND from Heaven, Urania, by that name If rightly thou art call'd, whose voice divine Following, above the Olympian hill I soar, Above the flight of Pegasean wing. The meaning, not the name, I call : for thou Nor of the Muses nine, nor on the top Of old Olympus dwell'st ; but, heavenly-born, Before the hills appeared, or fountain flow'd, Thou with eternal Wisdom didst converse. Wisdom thy sister, and with her didst play In presence of the Almighty Father, pleas'd With thy celestial song. Up led by thee, Into the Heaven of Heavens I have presum'd, An earthly guest, and drawn empyreal air, Thy tempering : with like safety guided down Return me to my native element : Lest from this flying steed unrein'd, (as once Bellerophon, though from a lower clime,) Dismounted, on the Aleian field I fall, Erroneous there to wander, and forlorn. Half yet remains unsung, but narrower bound Within the visible diurnal sphere ; Standing on earth, not rapt above the pole, More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchang'd To hoarse or mute, though fall'n on evil days, On evil days though fall'n, and evil tongues j In darkness, and with dangers compass'd round, And solitude ; yet not alone, while thou Visit'st my slumbers nightly, or when morn Purples the east : still govern thou my song, Urania, and fit audience find, though few. But drive far off the barbarous dissonance Of Bacchus and his revellers, the race Of that wild rout that tore the Thracian bard In Rhodope, where woods and rocks had ears To rapture, till the savage clamour drown'd Both harp and voice : nor could the Muse defend Her son. So fail not thou, who thee implores : For thou art heavenly, she an empty dream. Say, goddess, what ensued when Raphael, The affable arch-angel, had forewarn'd Adam, by dire example, to beware Apostacy, by what befel in Heaven To those apostates ; lest the like befall In Paradise to Adam or his race, Charg'd not to touch the interdicted tree, If they transgress, and slight that sole command, So easily obey'd amid the choice Of all tastes else to please their appetite, Though wandering. He, with his consorted Eve, The story heard attentive, and was fill'd With admiration and deep muse, to hear [thought Of things so high and strange; things, to their So unimaginable, as hate in Heaven, And war so near the peace of God in bliss, With such confusion : but the evil, soon Driven back, redounded as a flood on those From whom it sprung ; impossible to mix With blessedness. Whence Adam soon repeal'd Fhe doubts that in his heart arose : and now Led on, yet sinless, with desire to know What nearer might concern him, h'ow this world Of Heaven and Earth conspicuous first began ; When, and whereof created : for what cause, What within Eden, or without, was done Before his memory : as one whose drought Yet scarce allay'd still eyes the current stream. Whose liquid murmur heard new thirst excites, Proceeded thus to ask his heavenly guest. " Great things, and full of wonder in our ears Far differing from this world, thou hast reveal'd, Divine interpreter ! by favour sent Down from the empyrean, to forewarn Us timely of what might else have been our loss, Unknown, which human knowledge could not reach : For which to the infinitely Good we owe Immortal thanks, and his admonishment Receive with solemn purpose to observe Immutably his sovran will, the end Of what we are. But since thou hast vouchsafd Gently, for our instruction, to impart Things above earthly thought, which yet concern'd Our knowing, as to highest Wisdom seem'd, Deign to descend now lower, and relate What may no less perhaps avail us known, How first began this Heaven which we behoJd Distant so high, with moving fires adorn'd Innumerable ; and this which yields or fills All space, the ambient air wide interfus'd Embracing round this florid Earth ? what cause Mov'd the Creator in his holy rest Through all eternity so late to build In Chaos ; and the work begun, how soon Absolv'd ; if unforbid thou may'st unfold What we, not to explore the secrets ask Of his eternal empire, but the more To magnify his works, the more we know. And the great light of day yet wants to run Much of his race though steep ; suspense in Heaven, Held by thy voice, thy potent voice, he hears, And longer will delay to hear thee tell His generation, and the rising birth Of Nature from the unapparent deep : Or if the star of evening and the Moon Haste to thy audience, Night with her will bring Silence ; and Sleep, listening to thee, will watch ; Or we can bid bis absence, till thy song End, and dismiss thee ere the morning shine." Thus Adam his illustrious guest besought : And thus the godlike angel answer'd mild. " This also thy request, with caution ask'd, Obtain ; though to recount almighty works What words or tongue of seraph can suffice, Or heart of man suffice to comprehend ? Yet what thou canst attain, which best may serve To glorify the Maker, and infer Thee also happier, shall not be withheld Thy hearing ; such commission from above I have receiv'd, to answer thy desire Of knowledge within bounds ; beyond, abstain To ask ; nor let thine own inventions hope Things not reveal'd, which the invisible King, Only Omniscient, hath suppress'd in night ; To none communicable in Earth or Heaven ; Enough is left besides to search and know. But knowledge is as food, and needs no less Her temperance over appetite, to know In measure what the mind may well contain ; Oppresses else with surfeit, and soon turns Wisdom to folly, as nourishment to wind. " Know then, that, after Lucifer from Heaven ( So call him, brighter once amidst the host Of angels, than that star the stars among) Fell with his flaming legions through the deep Into his place, and the great Son return'd F 4 72 MILTON. BOOK VII. Victorious with his saints, the Omnipotent Eternal Father from his throne beheld Their multitude, and to his Son thus spake. " ' At least our envious foe hath fail'd, who thought All like himself rebellious, by whose aid This inaccessible high strength, the seat Of Deity supreme, us dispossess'd, He trusted to have seiz'd, and into fraud Drew many, whom their place knows here no more : Yet far the greater part have kept, I see, Their station ; Heaven, yet populous, retains Number sufficient to possess her realms Though wide, and this high temple to frequent With ministeries due, and solemn rites : But, lest his heart exalt him in the harm Already done, to have dispeopled Heaven, My damage fondly deem'd, I can repair That detriment, if such it be to lose Self-lost ; and in a moment will create Another world, out of one man a race Of men innumerable, there to dwell, Not here ; till, by degrees of merit rais'd, They open to themselves at length the way Up hither, under long obedience tried ; [Earth And Earth be chang'd to Heaven, and Heaven to One kingdom, joy and union without end. Meanwhile inhabit lax, ye powers of Heaven ; And thou my Word, begotten Son, by thee This I perform ; speak thou, and be it done ! My overshadowing spirit and might with thee I send along ; ride forth, and bid the deep Within appointed bounds be Heaven and Earth ; Boundless the deep, because I am who till Infinitude, nor vacuous the space. Though I, uncircumscrib'd myself, retire, And put not forth my goodness, which is free To act or not, necessity and chance Approach not me, and what I will is fate. ' " So spake the Almighty, and to what he spake His Word, the filial Godhead, gave effect. Immediate are the acts of God, more swift Than time or motion, but to human ears Cannot without process of speech be told, So told as earthly notion can receive. Great triumph and rejoicing was in Heaven, When such was heard declared the Almighty's \\i\\ ; Glory they sung to the Most High, good will To future men, and in their dwellings peace : Glory to him, whose just avenging ire Had driven out the ungodly from his sight And the habitations of the just ; to him Glory and praise, whose wisdom had ordain'd Good out of evil to create ; instead Of spirits malign, a better race to bring Into their vacant room, and thence diffuse His good to worlds and ages infinite. " So sang the hierarchies : meanwhile the Son On his great expedition now appear'd, Girt with omnipotence, with radiance crown'd Of majesty divine ; sapience and love Immense, and all his Father in him shone. About his chariot numberless were pour'd Cherub, and seraph, potentates, and thrones, And virtues, winged spirits, and chariots wing'd From the armoury of God ; where stand of old Myriads, between two brazen mountains lodg'd Against a solemn day, harness'd at hand, Celestial equipage ; and now came forth Spontaneous, for within them spirit liv'd, Attendant on their Lord : Heaven open'd wide Her ever-during gates, harmonious sound On golden hinges moving, to let forth The King of Glory, in his powerful Word And Spirit, coming to create new worlds. [shore On heavenly ground they stood; and from the They view'd the vast immeasureable abyss Outrageous as a sea, dark, wasteful, wild, Up from the bottom turn'd by furious winds And surging waves, as mountains, to assault Heaven's height, and with the centre mix the pole. " * Silence, ye troubled waves, and thou deep, peace,' Said then the omnific Word ; ' your discord end ' ' Nor staid ; but, on the wings ol cherubim Uplifted, in paternal glory rode Far into Chaos, and the world unborn ; For Chaos heard his voice : him all his train Follow'd in bright procession, to behold Creation, and the wonders of his might. Then staid the fervid wheels, and in his hand He took the golden compasses, prepar'd In God's eternal store, to circumscribe This universe, and all created things : One foot he center'd, and the other turn'd Round through the vast profundity obscure ; And said, ' Thus far extend, thus far thy bounds, This be thy just circumference, O World !' Thus God the Heaven created, thus the Earth, Matter unform'd and void : darkness profound Cover'd the abyss ; but on the watery calm His brooding wings the Spirit of God outspread, And vital virtue infus'd, and vital warmth Throughout the fluid mass ; but downward purg'd The black tartareous cold infernal dregs, Adverse to life : then founded, then conglob'd Like things to like ; the rest to several place Disparted, and between spun out the air ; And Earth, self-balanc'd, on her centre hung. " ' Let there be light,' said God ; and forthwith Light Ethereal, first of things, quintessence pure Sprung from the deep ; and from her native east To journey through the aery gloom began, Spher'd in a radiant cloud, for yet the Sun Was not ; she in a cloudy tabernacle Sojourn'd the while. God saw the light was good ; And light from darkness by the hemisphere Divided : light the Day, and darkness Night, He nam'd. Tims was the first day even and morn : Nor past uncelebrated, nor unsung By the celestial quires, when orient light Exhaling first from darkness they beheld ; [shout Birth-day of Heaven and Earth, with joy and The hollow universal orb they fill'd, And touch'd their golden harps, and hymning prais'd God and his works ; Creator him they sung, Both when first evening was, and when first morn. *' Again, God said, * Let there be firmament Amid the waters, and let it divide The waters from the waters ;' and God made The firmament, expanse of liquid, pure, Transparent, elemental air, diffus'd In circuit to the uttermost convex Of this great round ; partition firm and sure, The waters underneath from those above Dividing : for as Earth, so he the world Built on circumfluous waters calm, in wide Crystalline ocean, and the loud misrule BOOK VII. PARADISE LOST. Of Chaos far remov'd ; lest fierce extremes Contiguous might distemper the whole frame : And Heaven he nam'd the Firmament : so even And morning chorus sung the second day. " The Earth was form'd, but in the womb as yet Of waters, embryon immature involv'd, Appear'd not : over all the face of Earth Main ocean flow'd, not idle ; but, with warm Prolific humour softening all her globe, Fermented the great mother to conceive, Satiate with genial moisture ; when God said, ' Be gather'd now ye waters under Heaven. Into one place, and let dry land appear.' Immediately the mountains huge appear Emergent, and their broad bare backs upheave Into the clouds ; their tops ascend the sky : So high as heav'd the tumid hills, so low Down sunk a hollow bottom broad and deep, Capacious bed of waters : tJiither they Hasted with glad precipitance, uproll'd, As drops on dust conglobing from the dry : Part rise in crystal wall, or ridge direct, For haste ; such flight the great command impress'd 3n the swift floods : as armies at the call }f trumpets (for of armies thou hast heard) Troop to their standard ; so the watery throng, iVave rolling after wave, where way they found, f steep, with torrent rapture, if through plain, Joft-ebbing ! nor withstood them rock or hill ; Jut they, or under ground, or circuit wide Vith serpent errour wandering, found their way, V.nd on the washy oose deep channels wore ; Sasy, ere God had bid the ground be dry, 111 but within those banks, where rivers now tream, and perpetual draw their humid train. Tie dry land, Earth ; and the great receptacle )f congregated waters, he call'd Seas : [Earth >.nd saw that it was good ; and said, * Let the "ut forth the verdant grass, herb yielding seed, ,nd fruit-tree yielding fruit after her kind, Those seed is in herself upon the Earth.' fe scarce had said, when the bare Earth, till then esert and bare, unsightly, unadorn'd, rought forth the tender grass, whose verdure clad [er universal face with pleasant green ; hen herbs of every leaf, that sudden flower'd pening their various colours, and made gay er bosom, smelling sweet : and, these scarce blown, jrth flourish'd thick the clustering vine, forth crept lie swelling gourd, up stood the corny reed mbattled in her field, and the humble shrub, nd bush with frizzled hair implicit : last ose, as in dance, the stately trees, and spread ieir branches hung with copious fruit, or gemm'd leir blossoms : with high woods the lulls were crown' d, itli tufts the valleys, and each fountain side ; ith borders long the rivers : that Earth now em'd like to Heaven a seat where gods might dwell, wander with delight, and love to haunt er sacred shades : though God had yet not rain'd )on the Earth, and man to till the ground >ne was ; but from the Earth a dewy mist 3nt up, and water'd all the ground, and each ant of the field ; which, ere it was in the Earth, Hi made, and every herb, before it grew i the green stem -. God saw that it was good : even and morn recorded the third day. " Again the Almighty spake, Let there be LVLts High in the expanse of Heaven, to divide The day from night ; and let them be for signs For seasons, and for days, and circling years ; And let them be for lights, as I ordain Their office in the firmament of Heaven, To give light on the Earth ;' and it was so. And God made two great lights, great for their use To Man, the greater to have rule by day, The less by night, altern ; and made the stars, And set them in the firmament of Heaven To illuminate the Earth, and rule the day In their vicissitude, and rule the night, And light from darkness to divide. God saw, Surveying his great work, that it was good : For of celestial bodies first the Sun A mighty sphere he fram'd, unlightsome first, Though of ethereal mould: then form'd the Moon Globose, and every magnitude of stars, And sow'd with stars the Heaven, thick as a field : Of light by far the greater part he took, Transplanted from her cloudy shrine, and plac'd In the Sun's orb, made porous to receive And drink the liquid light ; firm to retain Her gather'd beams, great palace now of light. Hither, as to their fountain, other stars Repairing, in their golden urns draw light, And hence the morning-planet gilds her horns ; By tincture or reflection they augment Their small peculiar, though from human sight So far remote, with diminution seen. First in his east the glorious lamp was seen, Regent of day, and all the horizon round Invested with bright rays, jocund to run His longitude through Heaven's high road ; the gray Dawn, and the Pleiades, before him danc'd, Shedding sweet influence : less bright the Moon, But opposite in levell'd west was set, His mirrour, with full face borrowing her light From him ; ifor other light she needed none In that aspect, and still that distance keeps Till night ; then in the east her turn she shines, llevolv'd on Heaven's great axle, and her reign With thousand lesser lights dividual holds, With thousand thousand stars, that then appear'd Spangling the hemisphere : then first adorn'd With their bright luminaries that set and rose, [day. Glad evening and glad morn crown'd the fourth " And God said, ' Let the waters generate Reptile with spawn abundant, living soul : And let fowl fly above the Earth, with wings Display'd on the open firmament of Heaven.' And God created the great whales, and each Soul living, each that crept, which plenteously The waters generated by their kinds ; And every bird of wing after his kind ; And saw that it was good, and bless'd them, saying, Be fruitful, multiply, and in the seas, And lakes, and running streams, the waters fill : And let the fowl be multiplied on the Earth.' Forthwith the sounds and seas, each creek and bay, With fry innumerable swarm, and shoals Of fish that with their fins, and shining scales, Glide under the green wave, in sculls that oft Bank the mid sea : part single, or with mate, Graze the sea-weed their pasture, and through groves Of coral stray ; or, sporting with quick glance. Show to the Sun their wav'd coats dropt with gold; Or, in their pearly shells at ease, attend MILTON. BOOK VII Moist nutriment ; or under rocks their food In jointed armour watch : on smooth the seal, And bended dolphins play : part huge of bulk Wallowing unwieldy, enormous in their gait, Tempest the ocean : there leviathan, Hugest of living creatures, on the deep Stretch'd Like a promontory sleeps or swims, And seems a moving land ; and at his gills Draws in, and at his trunk spouts out, a sea. Meanwhile the tepid caves, and fens, and shores, Their brood as numerous hatch, from the egg that soon Bursting with kindly rupture forth disclos'd Their callow young ; but feather 'd soon and fledge They summ'd their pens; and, soaring the air sublime, With clang despis'd the ground, under a cloud In prospect ; there the eagle and the stork On cliffs and cedar tops their eyries build : Part loosely wing the region, part more wise In common, rang'd in figure, wedge their way, Intelligent of seasons, and set forth Their aery caravan, high over seas Flying, and over lands, with mutual wing Easing their flight ; so steers the prudent crane Her annual voyage, borne on winds ; the air Floats as they pass, fann'd with unnumber'd plumes : From branch to branch the smaller birds with song Solac'd the woods, and spread their painted wings Till even ; nor then the solemn nightingale Ceas'd warbling, but all night tun'd her soft lays : Others, on silver lakes and rivers, bath'd Their downy breast ; the swan with arched neck, Between her white wings mantling proudly, rows Her state with oary feet ; yet oft they quit The dank, and, rising on stiff pennons, tower The mid aereal sky : others on ground Walk'd firm ; the crested cock whose clarion sounds The silent hours, and the other whose gay train Adorns him, colour'd with the florid hue Of rainbows and starry eyes. The waters thus With fish replenish' d, and the air with fowl, Evening and morn solemniz'd the fifth day. " The sixth, and of creation last, arose With evening harps and matin ; when God said, * Let the Earth bring forth soul living in her kind, Cattle, and creeping things, and beast of the Earth, Each in their kind.' The Earth obey'd, and straight Opening her fertile womb teem'd at a birth Innumerous living creatures; perfect forms, Limb'd and full grown : out of the ground up rose, As from his lair, the wild beast, where he wons In forest wild, in thicket, brake, or den ; Among the trees in pairs they rose, they walk'd : The cattle in the fields and meadows green : Those rare and solitary, these in flocks Pasturing at once, and in broad herds upsprung. The grassy clods now calv'd ; now half appear'd The tawny lion, pawing to get free His hinder parts, then springs, as broke from bonds, And rampant shakes his brinded mane ; the ounce, The libbard, and the tiger, as the mole Rising, the crumbled earth above them threw In hillocks : the swift stag from under ground Bore up his branching head ; scarce from his mould Behemoth, biggest born of Earth, upheav'd His vastness : fleec'd the flocks and bleating rose, As plants : ambiguous between sea and land The river-horse, and scaly crocodile. At once came forth whatever creeps the ground, Insect or worm : those wav'd their limber fans For wings, and smallest lineaments exact In all the liveries deck'd of summer's pride, With spots of gold and purple, azure and green : These, as a line, their long dimension drew, Streaking the ground with sinuous trace ; not all Minims of nature ; some of serpent-kind, Wonderous in length and corpulence, involv'd Their snaky folds, and added wings. First crept The parsimonious emmet, provident Of future ; in small room large heart enclos'd ; Pattern of just equality perhaps Hereafter, join'd in her popular tribes Of commonalty : swarming next appear'd The female bee, that feeds her husband drone Deliciously, and builds her waxen cells With honey stor'd : the rest are numberless, And thou their natures know'st, and gav'st then names, Needless to thee repeated : nor unknown The serpent, subtlest beast of all the field, Of huge extent sometimes, with brazen eyes And hairy mane terrific, though to thee Not noxious, but obedient at thy call. " Now Heaven in all her glory shone, and roll'i Her motions, as the great first Mover's hand First wheel'd their course : Earth in her rich atturt Consummate lovely smil'd ; air, water, earth, By fowl, fish, beast, was flown, was swum, wa walk'd Frequent ; and of the sixth day yet remain'd : There wanted yet the master-work, the end Of all yet done ; a creature, who, not prone And brute as other creatures, but endued With sanctity of reason, might erect His stature, and upright with front serene Govern the rest, self-knowing ; and from thence Magnanimous to correspond with Heaven, But grateful to acknowledge whence his good Descends, thither with heart, and voice, and eyes Directed in devotion, to adore And worship God Supreme, who made him chief Of all his works : therefore the Omnipotent Eternal Father (for where is not he Present?) thus to his Son audibly spake. " ' Let us make now Man in our image, Man In our similitude, and let them rule Over the fish and fowl of sea and air, Beast of the field, and over all the Earth, And every creeping thing that creeps the ground. 1 This said, he form'd thee, Adam, thee, O Man, Dust of the ground, and in thy nostrils breath'd The breath of life ; in his own image he Created thee, in the image of God Express ; and thou becam'st a living soul. Male he created thee ; but thy consort Female, for race ; then bless'd mankind, and said, Be fruitful, multiply, and fill th' Earth ; Subdue it, and throughout dominion hold Over fish of the sea, and fowl of th' air, And every living thing that moves on th' Earth.' Wherever thus created, for no place Is yet distinct by name, thence, as thou know'st, He brought thee into this delicious grove, This garden, planted with the trees of God, Delectable both to behold and taste ; And freely all their pleasant fruit for food Gave thee ; all sorts are here that all the Eart yields, BOOK VII. PARADISE LOST. Variety without end ; but of the tree, Which, tasted, works knowledge of good and evil, Thou may'st not; in the day thou eat'st, thou diest ; Death is the penalty imposed ; beware, And govern well thy appetite ; lest Sin Surprise thee, and her black attendant Death. ' " Here finish'd he, and all that he had made View'd, and behold all was entirely good ; So even and morn accomplish'd the sixth day : Yet not till the Creator from his work Desisting, though unwearied, up return'd, Up to the Heaven of Heavens, his high abode ; Thence to behold this new created world, The addition of his empire, how it show'd In prospect from his throne, how good, how fair, Answering his great idea. Up he rode Follow'd with acclamation, and the sound Symphonious of ten thousand harps, that tun'd Angelic harmonies : the Earth, the air Resounded, (thou remember'st, for thou heard' st,) The Heavens and all the constellations rung, The planets in their station listening stood, While the bright pomp ascended jubilant. Open, ye everlasting gates !' they sung, Open, ye Heavens ! your living doors ; let in Fhe great Creator from his work return'd Magnificent, his six days' work, a world ; 3pen, and henceforth oft ; for God will deign Co visit oft the dwellings of just men, delighted ; and with frequent intercourse Thither will send his winged messengers )n errands of supernal grace.' So sung Hie glorious train ascending : he through Heaven, Hhat open'd wide her blazing portals, led ?o God's eternal house direct the way ; I broad and ample road, whose dust is gold Vnd pavement stars, as stars to thee appear, een in the galaxy, that milky way, Vhich nightly, as a circling zone, thou seest 'owder'd with stars. And now on Earth the seventh Evening arose in Eden, for the Sun Vas set, and twilight from the east came on, 'orerunning night ; when at the holy mount 'f Heaven's high-seated top, the imperial throne >f Godhead fix'd for ever firm and sure, he filial Power arriv'd, and sat him down ^ith his great Father ! for he also went ivisible, yet staid, (such privilege [ath Omnipresence,) and the work ordain'd, uthor and End of all things ; and, from work ow resting, bless'd and hallow'd the seventh day s resting on that day from all his work, ut not in silence holy kept : the harp ad work and rested not ; the solemn pipe, nd dulcimer, all organs of sweet stop, 11 sounds on fret by string or golden wire, jmper'd soft tunings, intermix'd with voice loral or unison : of incense clouds, iming from golden censers, hid the mount, eation and the six days' acts they sung : jreat are thy works, Jehovah ! infinite [tongue ly power ! what thought can measure thee, or ilate thee ? Greater now in thy return ian from the giant angels : thee that day iy thunders magnified ; but to create greater than created to destroy, ho can impair thee, Mighty King, or bound iy empire ? Easily the proud attempt ' spirits apostate, and their counsels vain, Thou hast repell'd ; while impiously they thought Thee to diminish, and from thee withdraw The number of thy worshippers. Who seeks To lessen thee, against his purpose serves To manifest the more thy might : his evil Thou usest, and from thence creat'st more good. Witness this new-made world, another Heaven From Heaven-gate not far, founded in view On the clear hyaline, the glassy sea ; Of amplitude almost immense, with stars Numerous, and every star perhaps a world Of destin'd habitation ; but thou know'st Their seasons : among these the seat of men, Earth, with her nether ocean circumfus'd, Their pleasant dwelling-place. Thrice happy men, And sons of men, whom God hath thus advanc'd ! Created in liis image there to dwell And worship him ; and in reward to rule Over his works, on earth, in sea, or air, And multiply a race of worshippers Holy and just : thrice happy, if they know Their happiness, and persevere upright !' " So sung they, and the empyrean rung Witli halleluiahs : thus was sabbath kept. And thy request think now fulfill'd, that ask'd How first this world and face of things began, And what before thy memory was done From the beginning ; that posterity, Inform'd by thee, might know : if else thou seek'st Aught not surpassing human measure, say." BOOK VIII. The Argument. Adam inquires concerning celestial motions ; is doubtfully answered, and exhorted to search rather things more worthy of knowledge : Adam assents ; and, still desirous to detain Raphael, relates to him what he remembered since his own creation ; his placing in Paradise ; his talk with God concerning solitude and fit society: his first meeting and nuptials with Eve : his discourse with the angel thereupon ; who, after admonitions repeated, departs. THE angel ended, and in Adam's ear So charming left his voice, that he a while Thought him still speaking, still stood fix'd to hear ; Then, as new wak'd, thus gratefully replied. " What thanks sufficient, or what recompense Equal, have I to render thee, divine Historian, who thus largely hast allay'd The thirst I had of knowledge, and vouchsaf 'd This friendly condescension to relate Things else by me unsearchable ; now heard With wonder, but delight, and, as is due, With glory attributed to the high Creator ? Something yet of doubt remains, Which only thy solution can resolve. When I behold this goodly frame, this world, Of Heaven and Earth consisting ; and compute Their magnitudes ; this Earth a spot, a grain, An atom, with the firmament compar'd And all her number'd stars, that seem to roll Spaces incomprehensible, (for such Their distance argues, and their swift return Diurnal,) merely to officiate light Round this opacous Earth, this punctual spot, 76 MILTON. BOOK VIII, One day and night ; in all their vast survey Useless besides ; reasoning I oft admire, How Nature wise and frugal could commit Such disproportions, with superfluous hand So many nobler bodies to create, Greater so manifold, to this one use, For aught appears, and on their orbs impose Such restless revolution day by day Repeated ; while the sedentary Earth, That better might with far less compass move, Serv'd by more noble than herself, attains Her end without least motion, and receives, As tribute, such a sumless journey brought Of incorporeal speed, her warmth and light ; Speed, to describe whose swiftness number fails." So spake our sire, and by his countenance seem'd Entering on studious thoughts abstruse ; which Eve Perceiving, where she sat retir'd in sight, With lowliness majestic from her seat, And grace that won who saw to wish her stay, Rose, and went forth among her fruits and flowers, To visit how they prosper'd, bud and bloom, Her nursery ; they at her coming sprung, And, touch'd by her fair tendance, gladlier grew. Yet went she not, as not with such discourse Delighted, or not capable her ear Of what was high : such pleasure she reserv'd, Adam relating, she sole audi tress : Her husband the relater she preferr'd Before the angel, and of him to ask Chose rather ; he, she knew, would intermix Grateful digressions, and solve high dispute With conjugal caresses ; from his lip Not words alone pleas' d her. O ! when meet now Such pairs, in love and mutual honour join'd ? With goddess-like demeanour forth she went, Not unattended ; for on her, as queen, A pomp of winning graces waited still, And from about her shot darts of desire Into all eyes, to wish her still in sight. And Raphael now, to Adam's doubt propos'd, Benevolent and facile thus replied. " To ask or search, I blame thee not; for Heaven Is as the book of God before thee set, Wherein to read his wondrous works, and learn His seasons, hours, or days, or months, or years : This to attain, whether Heaven moTe or Earth, Imports not, if thou reckon right ; the rest From man or angel the great Architect Did wisely to conceal, and not divulge His secrets to be scann'd by them who ought Rather admire ; or, if they list to try Conjecture, he his fabric of the Heavens Hath left to their disputes, perhaps to move His laughter at their quaint opinions wide Hereafter ; when they come to model Heaven And calculate the stars, how they will wield The mighty frame ; how build, unbuild, contrive To save appearances ; how gird the sphere With centric and eccentric scribbled o'er, Cycle and epicycle, orb in orb : Already by thy reasoning this I guess, Who art to lead thy offspring, and supposest That bodies bright and greater should not serve The less not bright, nor Heaven such journeys run, Earth sitting still, when she alone receives The benefit : consider first, that great Or bright infers not excellence : the Earth, Though, in comparison of Heaven, so small, Nor glistering, may of solid good contain More plenty than the Sun that barren shines ; Whose virtue on itself works no effect, But in the fruitful Earth ; there first receiv'd, His beams, unactive else, their vigour find. Yet not to Earth are those bright luminaries Officious ; but to thee, Earth's habitant. And for the Heaven's wide circuit, let it speak The Maker's high magnificence, who built So spacious, and his line stretch'd out so far, That man may know he dwells not in his own ; An edifice too large for him to fill, Lodg'd in a small partition ; and the rest Ordain'd for uses to his Lord best known. The swiftness of those circles attribute, Though numberless, to his omnipotence, That to corporeal substances could add, Speed almost spiritual : me thou think'st not slow, Who since the rnorning-hour set out from Heaven Where God resides, and ere mid-day arriv'd In Eden ; distance inexpressible By numbers that have name. But this I urge, Admitting motion in the Heavens, to show Invalid that which thee to doubt it mov'd ; Not that I so affirm, though so it seem To thee who hast thy dwelling here on Earth. God, to remove his ways from human sense, Plac'd Heaven from Earth so far, that earthly sightj If it presume, might err in things too high, And no advantage gain. What if the Sun Be centre to the world ; and other stars, By his attractive virtue and their own. Incited, dance about him various rounds ? [hid, Their wandering course now high, now low, then Progressive, retrograde, or standing still, In six thou seest ; and what if seventh to these The planet Earth, so stedfast though she seem, Insensibly three different motions move ? Which else to several spheres thou must ascribe, Mov'd contrary with thwart obliquities ; Or save the Sun his labour, and that swift Nocturnal and diurnal rhomb suppos'd, Invisible else above all stars, the wheel Of day and night ; which needs not thy belief, If Earth, industrious of herself, fetch day Travelling east, and with her part averse From the Sun's beam meet night, her other part Still luminous by his ray. What if that light, Sent from her through the wide transpicuous air, To the terrestrial Moon be as a star, Enlightening her by day as she by night This Earth ? reciprocal if land be there, Fields and inhabitants : her spots thou seest As clouds, and clouds may rain, and rain produce Fruits in her soften'd soil, for some to eat Allotted there : and other suns perhaps, With their attendant moons, thou wilt descry Communicating male and female light ; Which two great sexes animate the world, Stor'd in each orb perhaps with some that live. For such vast room in Nature unpossess'd By living soul, desert, and desolate, Only to shine, yet scarce to contribute j Each orb a glimpse of light, convey 'd so far Down to this habitable, which returns Light back to them, is obvious to dispute. But whether thus these things, or whether not ; Whether the Sun, predominant in Heaven, Rise on the Earth ; or Earth rise on the Sun ; He from the east his flaming road begin ; Or she from west her silent course advance, BOOK VIII. PARADISE LOST. 77 With inoffensive pace that spinning sleeps On her soft axle, while she paces even, And bears thee soft with the smooth air along ; Solicit not thy thoughts with matters hid ; Leave them to God above ; liim serve, and fear ! Of other creatures, as him pleases best, Wherever plac'd, let him dispose ; joy thou In what he gives to thee, this Paradise And thy fair Eve ; Heaven is for thee too high To know what passes there ; be lowly wise : Think only what concerns thee, and thy being ; Dream not of other worlds, what creatures there Live, in what state, condition, or degree ; Contented that thus far hath been reveal'd Not of Earth only, but of liighest Heaven." To whom thus Adam, clear'd of doubt, replied. " How fully hast thou satisfied me, pure Intelligence of Heaven, angel serene ! And freed from intricacies, taught to live The easiest way ; nor with perplexing thoughts To interrupt the sweet of life, from which God hath bid dwell far off all anxious cares, And not molest us ; unless we ourselves [vain. Seek them with wandering thoughts, and notions But apt the mind or fancy is to rove Uncheck'd, and of her roving is no end ; Till warn'd, or by experience taught, she learn, That not to know at large of things remote From use, obscure and subtle ; but to know That which before us lies in daily life, Is the prime wisdom : what is more, is fume, Or emptiness, or fond impertinence : And renders us, in things that most concern, Unpractis'd, unprepar'd, and still to seek. Therefore from this high pitch let us descend A lower flight, and speak of things at hand Useful ; whence, haply, mention may arise Of something not unseasonable to ask, By sufferance, and thy wonted favour deign'd. Fhee I have heard relating what was done Ere my remembrance : now, hear me relate My story, which perhaps thou hast not heard ; \nd day is not yet spent : till then thou seest How subtly to detain thee I devise ; inviting thee to hear while I relate ; ?ond, were it not in hope of thy reply : ?or, while I sit with thee, I seem in Heaven ; Vnd sweeter thy discourse is to my ear Chan fruits of palm-tree pleasantest to thirst \.nd hunger both, from labour at the hour )f sweet repast ; they satiate, and soon fill, though pleasant ; but thy words, with grace divine mbued, bring to their sweetness no satiety." To whom thus Raphael answer'd heavenly meek. Nor are thy lips ungraceful, sire of men, for tongue ineloquent ; for God on thee Abundantly his gifts hath also pour'd nward and outward both, his image fair . peaking, or mute, all comeliness and grace attends thee ; and each word, each motion, forms ; for less think we in Heaven of thee on Earth Tian of our fellow-servant, and inquire iladly into the ways of God with Man . 'or God, we see, hath honour'd thee, and set >n Man his equal love : say therefore on ; or I that day was absent, as befel, Sound on a voyage uncouth and obscure, ar on excursion toward the gates of Hell ; quar'd in full legion (such command we had) 'o see that none thence issued forth a spy, Or enemy, while God was in his work ; Lest he, incens'd at such eruption bold, Destruction with creation might have inix'd. Not that they durst without his leave attempt ; But us he sends upon his high behests For state, as Sovran King ; and to inure Our prompt obedience. Fast we found, fast shut, The dismal gates, and barricado'd strong ; But long ere our approaching heard within Noise, other than the sound of dance or song, Torment, and loud lament, and furious rage. Glad we return'd up to the coasts of light Ere sabbath-evening : so we had in charge. But thy relation now ; for I attend, [mine." Pleas'd with thy words no less than thou with So spake the godlike power, and thus our sire. " For Man to tell how human life began Is hard ; for who himselt beginning knew ? Desire with tbee still longer to converse Induc'd me. As new wak'd from soundest sleep, Soft on the flowery herb I found me laid, In balmy sweat ; which with his beams the Sun Soon dried, and on the reeking moisture fed. Straight toward Heaven my wondering eyes I turn'd, And gaz'd a while the ample sky ; till, rais'd By quick instinctive motion, up I sprung, As thitherward endeavouring, and upright Steed on my feet : about me round I saw Hill, dale, and shady woods, and sunny plains, And liquid lapse of murmuring streams ; by these, Creatures that liv'd and mov'd, and walk'd, cr flew ; Birds on the branches warbling ; all things srail'd ; With fragrance and with joy my heart o'verflow'd. Myself I. then perus'd, and limb by limb Survey'd, and sometimes went, and sometimes ran With supple joints, as lively vigour led : But who I was, or where, or from what cause, Knew not ; to speak I tried, and forthwith spake ; My tongue obey'd, and readily could name Whate'er I saw. Thou Sun,' said I, < fair light, And thou enlighten'd Earth, so fresh and gay, Ye hills, and dales, ye rivers, woods, and plains, And ye that live and move, fair creatures, tell, Tell, if ye saw, how I came thus, how here ? Not of myself; by some great Maker then, In goodness and in power pre-eminent : Tell me, how may I know him, how adore, From whom I have that thus I move and live, And feel that I am happier than I know.' While thus I call'd, and stray'd I knew not whither, From where I first drew air, and first beheld This happy light ; when answer none return'd, On a green shady bank, profuse of flowers, Pensive I sat me down ; there gentle sleep First found me, and with soft oppression seiz'd My drowsed sense, untroubled, though I thought I then was passing to my former state Insensible, and forthwith to dissolve : When suddenly stood at my head a dream, Whose inward apparition gently mov'd My fancy to believe I yet had being, And liv'd : one came, methought, of shape divine. And said, Thy mansion wants thee, Adam ; rise, First man, of men innumerable ordain'd First father ! call'd by thee, I come thy guide To the Garden of Bliss, thy seat prepar'd.' So saying, by the hand he took me rais'd, And over fields and waters, as in air Smooth-sliding without step, last led me up 78 MILTON. BOOK VIII. A woody mountain ; whose high top was plain, A circuit wide, enclos'd, with goodliest trees Planted, with walks, and bowers ; that what I saw Of Earth before scarce pleasant seem'd. Each tree, Loaden with fairest fruit that hung to the eye Tempting, stirr'd in me sudden appetite To pluck and eat ; whereat I wak'd, and found Before mine eyes all real, as the dream Had lively shadow'd : here had new begun My wandering, had not he, who was my guide Up hither, from among the trees appear'd, Presence Divine. Rejoicing, but with awe, In adoration at his feet I fell [I am,' Submiss : he rear'd me, and Whom thou sought' st Said mildly, ' Author of all this thou seest Above, or round about thee, or beneath. This Paradise I give thee, count it thine To till and keep, and of the fruit to eat : Of every tree that in the garden grows Eat freely with glad heart ; fear here no dearth : But of the tree whose operation brings Knowledge of good and ill, which I have set The pledge of thy obedience and thy faith, Amid the garden by the tree of life, Remember what I warn thee, shun to taste, And shun the bitter consequence : for know, The day thou eat'st thereof, my sole command Transgress'd, inevitably thou shalt die, From that day mortal ; and this happy state Shalt lose, expell'd from hence into a world Of woe and sorrow.' Sternly he pronounced The rigid interdiction, which resounds Yet dreadful in mine ear, though in my choice Not to incur ; but soon his clear aspect Return'd, and gracious purpose thus renew'd. ' Not only these fair bounds, but all the Earth To thee and to thy race I give ; as lords Possess it, and all things that therein live, Or live in sea, or air ; beast, fish, and fowl. In sign whereof, each bird and beast behold After their kinds ; I bring them to receive From thee their names, and pay thee fealty With low subjection ; understand the same Of fish within their watery residence, Not hither summon'd, since they cannot change Their element, to draw the thinner air.' As thus he spake, each bird and beast behold Approaching two and two ; these cowering low With blandishment ; each bird stoop'd on his wing. I nam'd them as they pass'd, and understood Their nature, with such knowledge God endued My sudden apprehension : but in these I found not what methought I wanted still ; And to the heavenly vision thus presum'd. " ' O, by what name, for thou above all these, Above mankind, or aught than mankind higher, Surpassest far my naming ; how may I Adore thee, Author of this universe, And all this good to Man ? for whose well being So amply, and with hands so liberal, Thou hast provided all things : but with me I see not who partakes. In solitude What happiness, who can enjoy alone, Or, all enjoying, what contentment find ?' Thus I presumptuous ; and the vision bright, As with a smile more brighten'd, thus replied. " * What call'st thou solitude ? Is not the Earth With various living creatures, and the air Replenish'd, and all these at thy command To come and play before thee ? Know'st thou not Their language and their ways ? They also know, And reason not contemptibly : with these Find pastime, and bear rule : thy realm is large. ' So spake the Universal Lord, and seem'd So ordering : I, with leave of speech implor'd, And humble deprecation, thus replied. [Power, " ' Let not my words offend thee, Heavenly My Maker, be propitious while I speak. Hast thou not made me here thy substitute, And these inferior far beneath me set ? Among unequals what society Can sort, what harmony, or true delight ? Which must be mutual, in proportion due Given and receiv'd ; but in disparity The one intense, the other still remiss Cannot well suit with either, but soon prove Tedious alike : of fellowship I speak Such as I seek, fit to participate All rational delight : wherein the brute Cannot be human consort : they rejoice Each with their kind, lion with lioness ; So fitly them in pairs thou hast combin'd : Much less can bird with beast, or fish with fowl So well converse, nor with the ox the ape ; Worse then can man with beast, and least of all.' " Whereto the Almighty answer'd, not displeas'd. ' A nice and subtle happiness, I see, Thou to thyself proposest. in the choice Of thy associates, Adam ! and wilt taste No pleasure, though in pleasure, solitary. What think'st thou then of me, and this my state ? Seem I to thee sufficiently possess'd Of happiness, or not ? who am alone From all eternity ; for none I know Second to me or like, equal much less. How have I then with whom to hold converse, Save with the creatures which I made, and those To me inferior, infinite descents Beneath what other creatures are to thee ?' He ceas'd ; I lowly answered. * To attain The height and depth of thy eternal ways All human thoughts come short, Supreme of things! Thou in thyself art perfect, and in thee Is no deficience found : not so is Man, But in degree ; the cause of his desire By conversation with his like to help, Or solace his defects. No need that thou Shouldst propagate, already infinite ; And through all numbers absolute, though one : But Man by number is to manifest His single imperfection, and beget Like of his Hike, his image multiplied, In unity defective ; which requires Collateral love, and dearest amity. Thou in thy secresy although alone, Best with thyself accompanied, seek'st not Social communication ; yet, so pleas' d, Canst raise thy creature to what height thou wilt Of union or communion, deified : I, by conversing, cannot these erect From prone; nor in their ways complacence find.' Thus I embolden'd spake, and freedom us'd Permissive, and acceptance found ; which gain'd This answer from the gracious voice divine. " ' Tims far to try thee, Adam, I was pleas'd ; And find thee knowing, not of beasts alone, Which thou hast rightly nam'd, but of thyself; Expressing well the spirit within thee free, My image, not imparted to the brute : Whose fellowship therefore unmeet for thee 30K VIII. PARADISE LOST. xxl reason was thou freely shouldst dislike ; id be so minded still : I, ere thou spak'st, lew it not good for Man to be alone ; id no such company as then thou saw'st tended thee ; for trial only brought, see how thou could'st judge of fit and meet : hat next I bring shall please thee t be assur'd, y likeness, thy tit help, thy other self, y wish exactly to thy heart's desire.' ' He ended, or I heard no more ; for now r earthly by his heavenly overpower 'd, lich it had long stood under, strain'd to the height that celestial colloquy sublime, with an object that excels the sense zzled and spent, sunk down, and sought repair sleep, which instantly fell on me, call'd Nature as in aid, and clos'd mine eyes, ne eyes he clos'd, but open left the cell fancy, my internal sight ; by which, stract as in a trance, methought I saw, 3ugh sleeping, where I lay, and saw the shape 1 glorious before whom awake I stood : 10 stooping open'd my left side, and took >m thence a rib, -with cordial spirits warm, d life-blood streaming fresh : wide was the wound, t suddenly with flesh fill'd up and heal'd : i rib he form'd and fashion'd with his hands: der his forming hands a creature grew, n-like, but different sex ; so lovely fair, it what seein'd fair in all the world, seem'd now an, or in her summ'd up, in her contain'd d in her looks ; which from that time infus'd wetness into my heart, unfelt before, d into all things from her air inspir'd i spirit of love and amorous delight. disappear'd, and left me dark ; I wak'd find her, or for ever to deplore r loss, and other pleasures all abjure : en out of hope, behold her, not far off} h as I saw her in my dream, adorn'd :h what all Earth or Heaven could bestow make her amiable : on she came, I by her heavenly Maker, though unseen, I guided by his voice ; nor uninform'd nuptial sanctity, and marriage rites : ^e was in all her steps, Heaven in her eye, jvery gesture dignity and love, verjoy'd, could not forbear aloud. [fill'd ' This turn hath made amends ; thou hast ful- ' words, Creator bounteous and benign, er of all things fair ! but fairest this all thy gifts ! nor enviest. I now see le of my bone, flesh of my flesh, myself ore me : woman is her name ; of man racted : for this cause he shall forego her and mother, and to his wife adhere ; i they shall be one flesh, one heart, one soul.' She heard me thus ; and though divinely brought, innocence, and virgin modesty, * virtue, and the conscience of her worth, it would be woo'd, and not unsought be won, obvious, not obtrusive, but, r.ui'd, more desirable ; or, to say all ,ure herself, though pure of sinful thought, ought in her so, that, seeing me, she turn'd : >llowed her ; she what was honour knew, d with obsequious majesty approv'd pleaded reason. To the nuptial bower I led her blushing like the morn : all Heaven, And happy constellations, on that hour Shed their selectest influence ; the Earth Gave sign of gratulation, and each hill ; Joyous the birds ; fresh gales and gentle airs Whisper'd it to the woods, and from their wings Flung rose, flung odours from the spicy shrub, Disporting, till the amorous bird of night Sung spousal, and bid haste the evening-star On his hill-top, to light the bridal lamp. Thus have I told thee all my state, and brought My story to the sum of earthly bliss, Which I enjoy ; and must confess to find In all tilings else delight indeed, but such As, us'd or not, works in the mind no change Nor vehement desire : these delicacies [flowers, I mean of taste, sight, smell, herbs, fruits, and Walks, and the melody of birds : but here Far otherwise, transported I behold, Transported touch ; here passion first I felt, Commotion strange ! in all enjoyments else Superior and unmov'd ; here only weak Against the charm of beauty's powerful glance. Or Nature fail'd in me, and left some part Not proof enough such object to sustain ; Or, from my side subducting, took perhaps More than enough ; at least on her bestovv'd Too much of ornament, in outward show Elaborate, of inward less exact. For well I understand in the prime end Of Nature her the inferior, in the mind And inward faculties, which most excel ; In outward also her resembling less His image who made both, and less expressing The character of that dominion given O'er other creatures : yet when I approach Her loveliness, so absolute she seems And in herself complete, so well to know Her own, that what she wills to do or say Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best : All higher knowledge in her presence falls Degraded ; Wisdom in discourse with her Loses discountenanc'd, and like Folly shows ; Authority and reason on her wait, As one intended first, not after made Occasionally ; and, to consummate all, Greatness of mind, and Nobleness, their seat Build in her loveliest, and create an awe About her, as a guard angelic plac'd." To whom the angel with contracted brow. " Accuse not Nature, she hath done her part ; Do thou but thine ; and be not diffident Of Wisdom ; she deserts thee not, if thou Dismiss not her, when most thou need'st her nigh, By attributing overmuch to things Less excellent, as thou thyself perceiv'st. For, what admir'st thou, what transports thee so, An outside ? fair, no doubt, and worthy well Thy cherishing, thy honouring, and thy love ; Not thy subjection ; weigh with her thyself ; Then value : oft-times nothing profits more Than self-esteem, grounded on just and right Well manag'd ; of that skill the more thou know'st, The more she will acknowledge thee her head, And to realities yield all her shows : Made so adorn for thy delight the more, So awful, that with honour thou may'st love Thy mate, who sees when thou art seen least wise, But if the sense of touch, whereby mankind Is propagated, seem such dear delight 80 MILTON. BOOK IS Beyond all other ; think the same vouchsaf VI To cattle and each beast ; which would not be To them made common and divulg'd, if aught Therein enjoy'd were worthy to subdue The soul of man, or passion in him move. What higher in her society thou find'st Attractive, human, rational, love still ; In loving thou dost well, in passion not, Wherein true love consists not : Love refines The thoughts, and heart enlarges ; hath his seat In reason, and is judicious ; is the scale By which to Heavenly love thou may'st ascend, Not sunk in carnal pleasure ; for which cause, Among the beasts no mate for thee was found." To whom thus, half abash'd, Adam replied. " Neither her outside form'd so fair, nor aught In procreation common to all kinds, (Though higher of the genial bed by far, And with mysterious reverence I deem,) So much delights me, as those graceful acts, Those thousand decencies, that daily flow From all her words and actions mix'd with love And sweet compliance, which declare unfeign'd Union of mind, or in us both one soul ; Harmony to behold in wedded pair More grateful than harmonious sound to the car. Yet these subject not : I to thee disclose What inward thence I feel, not therefore foil'd Who meet with various objects, from the sense Variously representing : yet, still free, Approve the best, and follow what I approve. To love, thou blam'st me not; for Love, thou say'st, Leads up to Heaven, is both the way and guide ; Bear with me then, if lawful what I ask : Love not the heavenly spirits, and how their love Express they? by looks only? or do they mix Irradiance, virtual or immediate touch ?" To whom the angel, with a smile that glow'd Celestial rosy red, Love's proper hue, Answered : " Let it suffice thee that thou know'st Us happy, and without love no happiness. Whatever pure thou in the body enjoy'st, (And pure thou wert created) we enjoy In eminence ; and obstacle find none Of membrane, joint, or limb, exclusive bars ; Easier than air with air, if spirits embrace, Total they mix, union of pure with pure Desiring ; nor restrain'd conveyance need, As flesh to mix with flesh, or soul with soul. But I can now no more ; the parting Sun Beyond the Earth's green cape and verdant isles Hesperian sets, my signal to depart. Be strong, live happy, and love ! but, first of all, Him, whom to love is to obey, and keep His great command : take heed lest passion sway Thy judgment to do aught, which else free will Would not admit: thine, and of all thy sons, The weal or woe in thee is plac'd ; beware ! I in thy persevering shall rejoice, And all the blest : stand fast ; to stand or fall Free in thine own arbitrement it lies. Perfect within, no outward aid require ; And all temptation to transgress repel." So saying, he arose ; whom Adam thus Follow'd with benediction. " Since to part, Go, heavenly guest, ethereal messenger, Sent from whose sovran goodness I adore ! Gentle to me and affable hath been Thy condescension, and shall be honour'd ever With grateful memory : thou to mankind Be good and friendly still, and oft return !" So parted they ; the angel up to Heaven From the thick shade, and Adam to his bower. BOOK IX. The Argument. Satan, having compassed the Earth, with med tated guile returns, as a mist, by night int Paradise ; enters into the serpent sleeping. Adai and Eve in the morning go forth to their labour: which Eve proposes to divide in several place: each labouring apart: Adam consents not, al leging the danger, lest that enemy, of whom the were forewarned, should attempt her foun alone: Eve, loth to be thought not circum spect or firm enough, urges her going apar the rather desirous to make trial of her strength Adam at last yields : the serpent finds her alone his subtle approach, first gazing, then speaking with much flattery extolling Eve above all otht creatures. Eve, wondering to hear the serper speak, asks how he attained to human speed and such understanding, not till now ; the sei pent answers, that by tasting of a certain tree i the garden he attained both to speech and reasoi till then void of both : Eve requires him to brin her to that tree, and finds it to be the tree c knowledge forbidden : the serpent now grow bolder, with many wiles and arguments, induce her at length to eat ; she, pleased with the taste deliberates a while whether to impart thereof t Adam or not ; at last brings him of the fruit relates what persuaded her to eat thereof : Adair at first amazed, but perceiving her lost, resolve* through vehemence of love, to perish with her and, extenuating the trespass, eats also of th fruit : the effects thereof in them both ; they see to cover their nakedness ; then fall to varianc and accusation of one another. No more of talk where God or angel guest With Man, as with his friend, familiar us'd To sit indulgent, and with him partake Rural repast ; permitting him the while Venial discourse unblam'd. I now must change Those notes to tragic ; foul distrust, and breach Disloyal on the part of Man, revolt And disobedience : on the part of Heaven Now alienated, distance and distaste, Anger and just rebuke, and judgment given,. That brought into this world a world of woe, Sin and her shadow Death, and Misery Death's harbinger : sad task, yet argument Not less but more heroic than the wrath Of stern Achilles on his foe pursued Thrice fugitive about Troy wall ; or rage Of Turnus for Lavinia disespous'd ; Or Neptune's ire, or Juno's, that so long Perplex'd the Greek, and Cytherea's son j If answerable style I can obtain Of my celestial patroness, who deigns Her nightly visitation unimplor'd, And dictates to me slumbering ; or inspires Easy my unpremeditated verse : Since first this subject for heroic song Pleas'd me lonsr choosing, and bt'jmminff late : BOOK. IX. PARADISE LOST. 8J Not sedulous by nature to indite Wars, hitherto the only argument Heroic deem'd ; chief mastery to dissect With long and tedious havoc fabled knights In battles feign'd ; the better fortitude Of patience and heroic martyrdom Unsung ; or to describe races and games, Or tilting furniture, imblazon'd shields, Impresses quaint, caparisons and steeds, Bases and tinsel trappings, gorgeous knights At joust and tournament ; then marshall'd feast Serv'd up in hall with sewers and seneshals ; The skill of artifice or office mean, Not that which justly gives heroic name To person or to poem. Me, of these Nor skill'd nor studious, higher argument Remains ; sufficient of itself to raise Fliat name, unless an age too late, or cold Climate, or years, damp my intended wing Oepress'd ; and much they may, if all be mine, ^ot hers, who brings it nightly to my ear. The Sun was sunk, and after him the star )f Hesperus, whose office is to bring Twilight upon the Earth, short arbiter Twixt day and night, and now from end to end fight's hemisphere had veil'd the horizon round : Vhen Satan, who late fled before the threats )f Gabriel out of Eden, now improv'd n meditated fraud and malice, bent )n Man's destruction, maugre what might hap >f heavier on himself, fearless returned. !y night he fled, and at midnight return'd rom compassing the Earth ; cautious of day, ince Uriel, regent of the Sun, descried [is entrance, and forewarn'd the cherubim hat kept their watch ; thence full of anguish driven, he space of seven continued nights he rode r ith darkness, thrice the equinoctial line e circled ; four times cross'd the car of night om pole to pole traversing each colure ; n the eighth return'd ; and on the coast averse om entrance or cherubic watch, by stealth mnd unsuspected way. There was a place, 3W not, though sin, not time, first wrought the change, here Tigris at the foot of Paradise, to a gulf shot under ground, till part se up a fountain by the tree of life : with the river sunk, and with it rose tan, involv'd in rising mist ; then sought liere to lie hid ; sea he had search'd, and land, am Eden over Pontus and the pool eotis, up beyond the river Ob ; wnward as far antarctic ; and in length, !St from Orontes to the ocean barr'd Darien ; thence to the land where flows nges and Indus : thus the orb he roam'd th narrow search ; and with inspection deep isider'd every creature, which of all st opportune might serve his wiles ; and found > serpent subtlest beast of all the field, n after long debate, irresolute thoughts revolv'd, his final sentence chose vessel, fittest imp of fraud, in whom enter, and his dark suggestions hide m sharpest sight : for, in the wily snake atever sleights, none would suspicious mark, from his wit and native subtlety ceeding ; which, in other beasts observ'd, Doubt might beget of diabolic power Active within, beyond the sense of brute. Thus he resolv'd, but first from inward gri'ef His bursting passion into plaints thus pour'd. " O Earth, how like to Heaven, if not preferr'd More justly, seat worthier of Gods, as built With second thoughts, reforming what was old ! For what god, after better, worse would build ? Terrestrial Heaven, danc'd round by other Heavens That shine, yet bear their bright officious lamps, Light above light, for thee alone as seems, In thee concentring all their precious beams Of sacred influence ! As God in Heaven Is centre, yet extends to all ; so tliou, Centring, receiv'st from all those orbs : in thee, Not in themselves, all their known virtue appears Productive in herb, plant, and nobler birth Of creatures animate with gradual life Of growth, sense, reason, all summ'd up in Man. With what delight could I have walk'd thee round, If I could joy in aught, sweet interchange Of hill, and valley, rivers, woods, and plains, Now land, now sea, and shores with forest crown'd, Rocks, dens, and caves ! But I in none of these Find place or refuge ; and the more I see Pleasures about me, so much more I feel Torment within me, as from the hateful siege Of contraries : all good to me becomes [state. Bane, and in Heaven much worse would be my But neither here seek I, no nor in Heaven To dwell, unless by mastering Heaven's Supreme ; Nor hope to be myself less miserable By what I seek, but others to make such As I, though thereby worse to me redound : For only in destroying I find ease To my relentless thoughts ; and, him destroyed, Or won to what may work his utter loss, For whom all this was made, all this will soon Follow, as to him link'd in weal or woe ; In woe then ; that destruction wide may range : To me shall be the glory sole among The infernal powers, in one day to have marr'd What he, Almighty styl'd, six nights and days Continued making ; and who knows how long Before had been contriving ? though perhaps Not longer than since I, in one night, freed From servitude inglorious well nigh half The angelic name, and thinner left the throng Of his adorers : he, to be aveng'd. And to repair his numbers thus impair'd, Whether such virtue spent of old now fail'd More angels to create, if they at least Are his created, or, to spite us more, Determin'd to advance into our room A creature form'd of earth, and him endow, Exalted from so base original, With heavenly spoils, our spoils : what he decreed, He effected ; Man he made, and for him built Magnificent this world, and Earth his seat, Him lord pronounc'd ; and, O indignity ! Subjected to his service angel-wings, And flaming ministers to watch and tend Their earthy charge : of these the vigilance I dread : and, to elude, thus wrapt in mist Of midnight vapour glide obscure, and pry In every bush and brake, where hap may find The serpent sleeping ; in whose mazy folds To hide me, and the dark intent I bring. O foul descent ! that I, who erst contended With Gods to sit the highest, am now constrain'd G 82 MILTON. BOOK . Into a beast ; and, mix'd with bestial slime, This essence to incarnate and imbrute, That to the height of deity aspir'd ! But what will not ambition and revenge Descend to ? Who aspires, must down as low As high he soar'd ; obnoxious, first or last, To basest things. Revenge, at first though sweet, Bitter ere long, back on itself recoils : Let it ; I reck not, so it light well aim'd, Since higher I fell short, on him who next Provokes my envy, this new favourite Of Heaven, this man of clay, son of despite, Whom, us the more to spite, his Maker rais'd From dust: spite then with spite is best repaid." So saying, through each thicket dank or dry, Like a black mist low-creeping, he held on His midnight-search, where soonest he might find The serpent : him fast sleeping soon he found In labyrinth of many a round self-roll'd, His head the midst, well stor'd with subtle wiles : Not yet in horrid shade or dismal den, Nor nocent yet ; but, on the grassy herb, Fearless unfear'd he slept: in at his mouth The Devil enter'd ; and his brutal sense, In heart or head, possessing, soon inspir'd With act intelligential ; but his sleep Disturb'd not, waiting close the approach of morn. Now, when as sacred light began to dawn In Eden on the humid flowers, that breath'd Their morning incense, when all things, that breathe, From the Earth's great altar send up silent praise To the Creator, and his nostrils till With grateful smell, forth came the human pair, And join'd their vocal worship to the quire Of creatures wanting voice ; that done, partake The season, prime for sweetest scents and airs : Then commune, how that day they best may ply Their growing work : for much their work outgrew The hands' despatch of two gardening so wide, And Eve first to her husband thus began. " Adam, well may we labour still to dress This garden, still to tend plant, herb, and flower, Our pleasant task enjoin'd ; but till more hands Aid us, the work under our labour grows, Luxurious by restraint ; what we by day Lop overgrown, or prune, or prop, or bind, One night or two with wanton growth derides Tending to wild. Thou therefore now advise, Or bear what to my mind first thoughts present : Let us divide our labours ; thou, where choice Leads thee, or where most needs, whether to wind The woodbine round this arbour, or direct The clasping ivy where to climb ; while I, In yonder spring of roses intermix'd With myrtle, find what to redress till noon : For, while so near each other thus all day Our task we choose, what wonder if so near Looks intervene and smiles, or object new Casual discourse draw on ; which intermits Our day's work, brought to little, though begun Early, and the hour of supper comes unearn'd ?" To whom mild answer Adam thus return'd. " Sole Eve, associate sole, to me beyond Compare above all living creatures dear ! Well hast thou motion'd, well thy thoughts employ'd, How we might best fulfil the work which here God hath assign'd us ; nor of me shalt pass Unprais'd : for nothing lovelier can be found In woman, than to study household good, And good works in her husband to promote. Yet not so strictly hath our Lord impos'd Labour, as to debar us when we need Refreshment, whether food, or talk between, Food of the mind, or this sweet intercourse Of looks and smiles ; for smiles from reason flow To brute denied, and are of love the food ; Love, not the lowest end of human life. For not to irksome toil, but to delight, He made us, and delight to reason join'd. [ham These paths and bowers doubt not but our joii Will keep from wilderness with ease, as wide As we need walk, till younger hands ere long Assist us : but, if much converse perhaps Thee satiate, to short absence I could yield : For solitude sometimes is best society, And short retirement urges sweet return. But other doubt possesses me, lest harm Befall thee sever'd from me ; for thou know'st What hath been warn'd us, what malicious foe Envying our happiness, and of his own Despairing, seeks to work us woe and shame By sly assault ; and somewhere nigh at hand Watches, no doubt, with greedy hope to find His wish and best advantage, us asunder ; Hopeless to circumvent us join'd, where each To other speedy aid might lend at need : Whether his first design be to withdraw Our fealty from God, or to disturb Conjugal love, than which perhaps no bliss Enjoy'd by us excites his envy more ; Or this, or worse, leave not the faithful side That gave thee being, still shades thee, and protect: The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks, Safest and seemliest by her husband stays, Who guards her, or with her the worst endures." To whom the virgin majesty of Eve, As one who loves, and some unkindness meets, With sweet austere composure thus replied. " Offspring of Heaven and Earth, and all Earth Lord! That such an enemy we have, who seeks Our ruin, both by thee inform'd I learn, And from the parting angel over-heard, As in a shady nook I stood behind, Just then return'd at shut of evening flowers. But that thou shouldst my firmness therefore doul To God or thee, because we have a foe May tempt it, I expected not to hear. His violence thou fear'st not, being such As we, not capable of death or pain, Can either not receive, or can repel. His fraud is then thy fear ; which plain infers Thy equal fear, that my firm faith and love Can by his fraud be shaken or seduc'd : [brea Thoughts, which how found they harbour in t Adam, mis-thought of her to thee so dear?" To whom with healing words Adam replied. " Daughter of God and Man, immortal Eve ! For such thou art ; from sin and blame entire : Not diffident of thee do I dissuade Thy absence from my sight, but to avoid The attempt itself, intended by our foe. For he who tempts, though in vain, at least asper The tempted with dishonour foul ; suppos'd Not incorruptible of faith, not proof Against temptation : thou thyself with scorn And anger wouldst resent the offer'd wrong, Though ineffectual found : misdeem not then, If such affront I labour to avert From thee alone, which on us both at o;:ce BOOK IX. PARADISE LOST. 83 The enemy, though bold, will hardly dare ; Or daring, first on me the assault shall light. Nor thou his malice and false guile contemn ; Subtle he needs must be, who could seduce Angels ; nor think superfluous other's aid. I from the influence of thy looks receive Access in even' virtue ; in thy sight More wise, more watchful, stronger, if need were Of outward strength ; while shame, thou looking on, Shame to be overcome or over-reach'd, Would utmost vigour raise, and rais'd unite. Why shouldst not thou like sense within thee feel When I am present, and thy trial choose With me, best witness of thy virtue tried?" So spake domestic Adam in his care And matrimonial love ; but Eve, who thought Less attributed to her faith sincere, Fhus her reply with accent sweet renew'd. " If this be our condition, thus to dwell .n narrow circuit straiten'd by a foe, Subtle or violent, we not endued Jingle with like defence, wherever met ; fow are we happy, still in fear of harm? Jut harm precedes not sin : only our foe, ^empting, affronts us with his foul esteem )f our integrity : his foul esteem ticks no dishonour on our front, but turns : oul on himself*; then wherefore shunn'd or fear'd Jy us ? who rather double honour gain Vom his surmise prov'd false ; find peace within, 'avour from Heaven, our witness, from the event, md what is faith, love, virtue, unassay'd Jone, without exterior help sustain'd ? ,et us not then suspect our happy state icft so imperfect by the Maker wise, .s not secure to single or combin'd. rail is our happiness, if this be so, nd Eden were no Eden, thus expos'd." To whom thus Adam fervently replied. O Woman, best are all things as the will f God ordain' d them : his creating hand othing imperfect or deficient left f all tliat he created, much less Man, r aught that might his happy state secure, ?cure from outward force ; within himself he danger lies, yet lies within his power : gainst his will he can receive no harm, ut God left free the will ; for what obeys eason, is free ; and reason he made right, ut bid her well beware, and still erect ; ?st, by some fair-appearing good surpris'd, ie dictate false ; and mis-inform the will ) do what God expressly hath forbid. 3t then mistrust, but tender love, enjoins, iat I should mind thee oft : and mind thou me. rm we subsist, yet possible to swerve ; ice reason not impossibly may meet me specious object by the foe suborn'd, id fall into deception unaware, )t keeping strictest watch, as she was warn'd. ok not temptation then, which to avoid ere better, and most likely if from me 'ou sever not : trial will come unsought, ouldst thou approve thy constancy, approve st thy obedience ; the other who can know, it seeing thee attempted, who attest ? it, if thou think, trial unsought may find both securer than thus warn'd thou seem'st, ; for thy stay, not free, absents thee more ; > in thy native innocence, rely On what thou hast of virtue ; summon all ! For God towards thee hath done his part, do thine." So spake the patriarch of mankind ; but Eve Persisted ; yet submiss, though last, replied. " With thy permission then, and thus forewarn'd Chiefly by what thy own last reasoning words Touch'd only ; that our trial, when least sought, May find us both perhaps far less prepar'd, The willinger I go, nor much expect A foe so proud will first the weaker seek ; So bent, the more shall shame him his repulse." Thus saying, from her husband's hand her hand Soft she withdrew ; and, like a wood-nymph light. Oread or Dryad, or of Delia's train, Betook her to the groves ; but Delia's self In gait surpassed, and goddess-like deport, Though not as she with bow and quiver arm'd, But with such gardening tools as art yet rude, Guiltless of fire, had form'd, or angels brought. To Pales, or Pomona, thus adorn'd, Likest she seem'd, Pomona when she fled Vertumnus, or to Ceres in her prime, Yet virgin of Proserpina from Jove. Her long with ardent look his eye pursued Delighted, but desiring more her stay. Oft he to her his charge of quick return Repeated ; she to him as oft engag'd To be return'd by noon amid the bower, And all things in best order to invite Noontide repast, or afternoon's repose. O much deceiv'd, much failing, hapless Eve, Of thy presum'd return ! event perverse ! Thou never from that hour in Paradise Found' st either sweet repast, or sound repose ; Such ambush, hid among sweet flowers and shades, Waited with hellish rancour imminent To intercept thy way, or send thee back Despoil'd of innocence, of faith, of bliss ! For now, and since first break of dawn, the fiend, Mere serpent in appearance, forth was come ; And on his quest, where likeliest he might find The only two of mankind, but in them The whole included race, his purpos'd prey. In bower and field he sought where any tuft Of grove or garden-plot more pleasant lay, Their tendance, or plantation for delight ; By fountain or by shady rivulet He sought them both, but wish'd his hap might find Eve separate ; he wish'd, but not with hope Of what so seldom chanc'd ; when to his wish, Beyond his hope, Eve separate he spies, Veil'd in a cloud of fragrance, where she stood, Half spied, so thick the roses blushing round About her glow'd, oft stooping to support Each flower of slender stalk, whose head, though gay- Carnation, purple, azure, or speck'd with gold, Hung drooping unsustain'd ; them she upstays Gently with myrtle band, mindless the while Herself, though fairest unsupported flower, From her best prop so far, and storm so nigh. Nearer he drew, and many a walk travers'd Of stateliest covert, cedar, pine, or palin ; Then voluble and bold, now hid, now seen, Among thick-woven arborets, and flowers Imborder'd on each bank, the hand of Eve : Spot more delicious than those gardens feign'd Or of reviv'd Adonis, or renown'd Alcinous, host of old Laertes' son ; Or that, not mystic, where the sapient king Held dalliance with his fair Egyptian spouse. , G 2 84- MILTON. BOOK IX. Much he the place admir'd, the person more. As one who long in populous city pent, Where houses thick and sewers annoy the air, Forth issuing on a summer's morn, to breathe Among the pleasant villages and farms Adjoin'd, from each thing met conceives delight ; The smell of grain, or tedded grass, or kine, Or dairy, each rural sight, each rural sound ; If chance, with nymph-like step, fair virgin pass, What pleasing seem'd, for her now pleases more , She most, and in her look sums all delight : Such pleasure took the serpent to behold This flowery plat, the sweet recess of Eve Thus early, thus alone : her heavenly form Angelic, but more soft, and feminine, Her graceful innocence, her every air Of gesture, or least action, overaw'd His malice, and with rapine sweet bereav'd His fierceness of the fierce intent it brought : That space the evil-one abstracted stood From his own evil, and for the time remain'd Stupidly good ; of enmity disarm'd, Of guile, of hate, of envy, of revenge. But the hot Hell that always in him burns, Though in mid Heaven, soon ended his delight, And tortures him HOW more, the more he sees Of pleasure, not for him ordain'd : then soon Fierce hate he recollects, and all his thoughts Of mischief, gratulating, thus excites. " Thoughts, whither have ye led me ! with what sweet Compulsion thus transported, to forget What hither brought us ! hate, not love ; nor hope Of Paradise for Hell, hope here to taste Of pleasure ; but all pleasure to destroy, Save what is in destroying ; other joy To me is lost. Then, let me not let pass Occasion which now smiles ; behold alone The woman, opportune to all attempts, Her husband, for I view far round, not nigh, Whose higher intellectual more I shun, And strength, of courage haughty, and of limb Heroic built, though of terrestrial mould ; Foe not informidable ! exempt from wound, I not ; so much hath Hell debas'd, and pain Enfeebled me, to what I was in Heaven. She fair, divinely fair, fit love for gods ! Not terrible, though terrour be in love And beauty, not approach'd by stronger hate, Hate stronger, under show of love well feign'd ; The way which to her ruin now I tend. ' ' So spake the enemy of mankind, enclos'd In serpent, inmate bad ! and toward Eve Address'd his way : not with indented wave, Prone on the ground, as since ; but on his rear, Circular base of rising foHs, that tower'd Fold above fold, a surging maze ! his head Crested aloft, and carbuncle his eyes ; With burnish'd neck of verdant gold, erect Amidst his circling spires, that on the grass Floated redundant : pleasing was his shape And lovely ; never since of serpent-kind Lovelier, not those that in Illyria chang'd Hermione and Cadmus, or the god In Epidaurus ; nor to which transform'd Ammonian Jove, or Capitoline was seen ; He with Olympias ; this with her who bore Scipio, the height of Rome. With tract oblique At first, as one who sought access, but fear'd To interrupt, side long he works his way. As when a ship, by skilful steersman wrought Nigh river's mouth or foreland, where the wind Veers oft, as oft so steers, and shifts her sail : So varied he, and of his tortuous train CmTd many a wanton wreath in sight of Eve, To lure her eye ; she, busied, heard the sound Of rustling leaves, but minded not, as us'd To such disport before her through the field, From every beast ; more duteous at her call, Than at Circean call the herd disguis'd. He, bolder now, uncall'd before her stood, But as in gaze admiring : oft he bow'd His turret crest, and sleek enamell'd neck, Fawning ; and lick'd the ground whereon she trod. His gentle dumb expression turn'd at length The eye of Eve, to mark his play ; he, glad Of her attention gain'd, with serpent-tongue Organic, or impulse of vocal air, His fraudulent temptation thus began. " Wonder not, sovran mistress, if perhaps Thou canst who art sole wonder ! much less arm Thy looks, the Heaven of mildness, with disdain, Displeas'd that I approach thee thus, and gaze Insatiate ; I thus single ; nor have fear'd Thy awful brow, more awful thus retir'd. Fairest resemblance of thy Maker fair, Thee all things living gaze on, all things thine By gift, and thy celestial beauty adore With ravishment beheld ! there best beheld, Where universally admir'd ; but here In this enclosure wild, these beasts among, Beholders rude, and shallow to discern Half what in thee is fair, one man except, [seen Who sees thee ? (and what is one ?) who should be A goddess among gods, ador'd and serv'd By angels numberless, thy daily train." So gloz'd the tempter, and his proem tun'd : Into the heart of Eve his words made way, Though at the voice much marvelling ; at length, Not unamaz'd, she thus in answer spake, [nounc'd " What may this mean ? language of man pro- By tongue of brute, and human sense exprcss'd ? The first, at least, of these I thought denied To beasts ; whom God, on their creation-day, Created mute to all articulate sound : The latter I demur ; for in their looks Much reason, and in their actions, oft appears. Thee, serpent, subtlest beast of all the field I knew, but not with human voice endued ; Redouble then this miracle, and say, How cam'st thou speakable of mute, and how To me so friendly grown above the rest Of brutal kind, that daily are in sight ? Say, for such wonder claims attention due." To whom the guileful tempter thus replied. " Empress of this fair world, resplendent Eve ! Easy to me it is to tell thee all [be obey'd What thou command'st ; and right thou shoulds I was at first as other beasts that graze The trodden herb, of abject thoughts and low, As was my food ; nor aught but food discern'd Or sex, and apprehended nothing high : Till, on a day roving the field, I chanc'd A goodly tree far distant to behold Leaden with fruit of fairest colours mix'd, Ruddy and gold : I nearer drew to gaze ; When from the boughs a savoury odour blown, Grateful to appetite, more pleas'd my sense Than smell of sweetest fennel, or the teats Of ewe or goat, dropping with milk at oven. BOOK IX. PARADISE LOST. 85 Unsuck'd of lamb or kid, tliut tend their play To satisfy the sharp desire I had Of tasting those fair apples, I resolv'd Not to defer ; hunger and thirst at once, Powerful persuaders, quicken'd at the scent Of that alluring fruit, urg'd me so keen. About the mossy trunk I wound me soon ; For, high from ground, the branches would require Thy utmost reach or Adam's : round the tree All other beasts ,that saw, with like desire Longing and envying stood, but could not reach. Amid the tree now got, where plenty hung Tempting so nigh, to pluck and eat my fill f spar'd not ; for, such pleasure till that hour, At feed or fountain, never had I found. Sated at length, ere long I might perceive Strange alteration in me, to degree )f reason in my inward powers ; and speech Vanted ,not long ; though to this shape retain'd. Thenceforth to speculations high or deep turn'd my thoughts, and with capacious mind Consider % d all things visible in Heaven, )r Earth, or Middle ; all things fair and good : Jut all that fair and good in thy divine emblance, and in thy beauty's heavenly ray, Inited I beheld ; no fair to thine Equivalent or second ! which compell'd le thus, though importune perhaps, to come >.nd gaze, and worship thee of right declar'd ovran of creatures, universal dame !" So talk'd the spirited sly snake ; and Eve, 'et more amaz'd, unwary thus replied. " Serpent, thy overpraising leaves in doubt 'he virtue of that fruit, in thee first prov'd : tit say, where grows the tree? from hence how far? or many ure the trees of God that grow i Paradise, and various, yet unknown o us ; in such abundance lies our choice, s leaves a greater store of fruit untouch'd, ill hanging incorruptible, till men row up to their provision, and more hands eip to disburden Nature of her birth." To whom the wily adder, blithe and glad. Empress, the way is ready, and not long ; v'vond a row of myrtles, on a flat, ist by a fountain, one small thicket past f blowing myrrh and balm : if thou accept y conduct, I ctin bring thee thither soon." [roll'd " Lead then," said Eve. He, leading, swiftly tangles, and made intricate seem straight, > mischief swift. Hope elevates, and joy ightens his crest ; as when a wandering fire, wnpact of unctuous vapour, which the night mdenses, and the cold environs round, ndled tlirough agitation to a flame, hich oft, they say, some evil spirit attends, ivering and blazing with delusive light, isleads the amaz'd night-wanderer from his way bogs and mires, and oft through pond or pool ; ere swallow'd up and lost, from succour far : glister 'd the dire snake, and into fraud d Eve, our credulous mother, to the tree ' prohibition, root of all our woe ; lich when she saw, thus to her guide she spake. Serpent, we might have spar'd our coming hither, uitless to me, though fruit be here to excess, e credit of whose virtue rest with thee ; uidroiis indeed, if cause of such effects, t of this tree we may not taste nor touch ; God so commanded, and left that command Sole daughter of his voice ; the rest, we live Law to ourselves; our reason is our law." To whom the tempter guilefully replied. " Indeed ! hath God then said that of the fruit Of all these garden-trees ye shall not eat, Yet lords declar'd of all in Earth or Air?" To whom thus Eve, yet sinless. " Of the fruit Of each tree in the garden we may eat ; But of the fruit of this fair tree amidst The garden, God hath said, ' Ye shall not eat Thereof, nor shall ye touch it, lest ye die.' " She scarce had said, though brief, when now more bold The tempter, but with show of zeal and love To Man, and indignation at his wrong, New part puts on ; and, as to passion mov'd, Fluctuates disturb'd, yet comely and in act Rais'd, as of some great matter to begin. As when of old some orator renown'd, In Athens or free Rome, where eloquence Flourist'd, since mute ! to some great cause ad- dress'd, Stood in himself collected ; while each part, Motion, each act, won audience ere the tongue ; Sometimes in height began, as ne delay Of preface brooking, through his zeal of right : So standing, moving, or to height up grown, The tempter, all impassion'd, thus began. " O sacred, wise, and wisdom-giving plant, Mother of science ! now I feel thy power Within me clear ; not only to discern Things in their causes, but to trace the ways Of highest agents, deem'd however wise. Queen of this universe ! do not believe Those rigid threats of death : ye shall not die : How should you ? by the fruit ? it gives you life To knowledge ; by the threatener ? look on me, Me, who have touch'd and tasted ; yet both live, And life more perfect have attain'd than Fate Meant me, by venturing higher than my lot. Shall that be shut to man, which to the beast Is open ? or will God incense his ire For such a petty trespass ? and not praise Rather your dauntless virtue, whom the pain Of death denounc'd, whatever thing death be, Deterr'd not from achieving what might lead To happier life, knowledge of good and evil ; Of good, how just? of evil, if what is evil Be real, why not known, since easier shunn'd ? God therefore cannot hurt ye, and be just; Not just, not God : not fear'd then, nor obey'd : Ymir fear itself of death removes the fear. Why then was this forbid? Why, but to awe ; Why, but to keep ye low and ignorant, His worshippers? He knows that in the day Ye eat thereof, your eyes that seem so clear, Yet are but dim, shall perfectly be then Open'd and clear' d, and ye shall be as gods, Knowing both good and evil, as they know. That ye shall be as gods, since I as Man, Internal Man, is but proportion meet ; I, of brute, human ; ye, of human, gods. So ye shall die, perhaps, by putting off Human, to put on gods ; death to be wish'd, Though threaten'd, which no worse than this can bring, And what are gods, that man may not become As they, participating god-like food ? The gods are first, and that advantage use G 3 86 MILTON. BOOK 13 On our belief, that all from them proceeds : I question it ; for this fair Earth I see, Warm'd by the Sun, producing every kind ; Them, nothing : if they all tilings, who enclos'd Knowledge of good and evil in this tree, That whoso eats thereof forthwith attains Wisdom without their leave ? and wherein lies The offence, that man should thus attain to know ? What can your knowledge hurt him, or this tree Impart against his will, if all be his ? Or is it envy ? and can envy dwell [more In heavenly breasts ? These, these, and many Causes import your need of this fair fruit. Goddess humane, reach then, and freely taste." He ended ; and his words, replete with guile Into her heart too easy entrance won : Fix'd on the fruit she gaz'd, which to behold Might tempt alone ; and in her ears the sound Yet rung of his persuasive words, impregn'd With reason, to her seeming, and with truth : Meanwhile the hour of noon drew on, and wak'd An eager appetite, rais'd by the smell So savoury of that fruit, which with desire, Inclinable now grown to touch or taste, Solicited her longing eye ; yet first Pausing a while, thus to herself she mus'd. " Great are thy virtues, doubtless, best of fruits, Though kept from man, and worthy to be admir'd ; Whose taste, too long forborn, at first assay Gave elocution to the mute, and taught [praise : The tongue not made for speech, to speak thy Thy praise he also, who forbids thy use, Conceals not from us, naming thee the tree Of knowledge, knowledge both of good and evil ; Forbids us then to taste ! but his forbidding Commends thee more, while it infers the good By thee communicated, and our want : For good unknown sure is not had ; or, had And yet unknown, is as not had at all. In plain then, what forbids he but to know, Forbids us good, forbids us to be wise ? Such prohibitions bind not. But, if death Bind us with after-bands, what profits then Our inward freedom ? In the day we eat Of this fair fruit, our doom is, we shall die ! How dies the serpent ? he hath eat'n and lives, And knows, and speaks, and reasons, and discerns, Irrational, till then. For us alone Was death invented ? or to us denied This intellectual food, for beasts reserv'd? For beasts it seems : yet that one beast which first Hath tasted envies not, but brings with joy The good befall'n him, author unsuspect, Friendly to man, far from deceit or guile. What fear I then ? rather, what know to fear Under this ignorance of good and evil, Of God or death, of law or penalty ? Here grows the cure of all, this fruit divine, Fair to the eye, inviting to the taste, Of virtue to make wise : what hinders then To reach, and feed at once both body and mind?" So saying, her rash hand in evil hour Forth reaching to the fruit, she pluck'd, she eat ! Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat, Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe, That all was lost. Back to the thicket slunk The guilty serpent ; and well might ; for Eve, Intent now wholly on her taste, nought else Regarded ; such delight till then, as seem'd, In fruit she never tasted, whether true Or fancied so, through expectation high Of knowledge ; nor was godhead from her though Greedily she engorg'd without restraint, And knew riot eating death : satiate at length, And heighten'd as with wine, jocund and boon, Thus to herself she pleasingly began. " O sovran, virtuous, precious of all trees In Paradise ! of operation blest To sapience, hitherto obscur'd, infam'd. And thy fair fruit let hang, as to no end Created ; but henceforth my early care, Not without song, each morning, and due praise, Shall tend thee, and the fertile burden ease Of thy full branches offer'd free to all ; Till, dieted by thee, I grow mature In knowledge, as the gods, who all things know ; Though others envy what they cannot give. For, had the gift been theirs, it had not here Thus grown. Experience, next, to thee I owe, Best guide : not following thee, I had remain'd In ignorance ; thou open'st wisdom's way. And giv'st access, though secret she retire. And I perhaps am secret : Heaven is high, High, and remote to see from thence distinct Each thing on Earth ; and other care perhaps May have diverted from continual watch Our great Forbidder, safe with all his spies About him. But to Adam in what sort Shall I appear ? shall I to him make known As yet my change, and give liim to partake Full happiness with me, or rather not, But keep the odds of knowledge in my power Without copartner ? so to add what wants In female sex, the more to draw his love, And render me more equal ; and perhaps, A thing not undesirable, sometime Superior : for, inferior, who is free ? This may be well : but what if God have seen, And death ensue ? then I shall be no more ! And Adam, wedded to another Eve, Shall live with her enjoying, I extinct ; A death to think ! Confirm'd then I resolve, Adam shall share with me in bliss or woe : So dear I love him, that with him all deaths I could endure, without him live no life." So saying, from the tree her step she turn'd ; But first low reverence done, as to the Power That dwelt within, whose presence had infus'd Into the plant sciential sap, deriv'd From nectar, drink of gods, Adam the while Waiting desirous her return, had wove Of choicest flowers a garland, to adorn Her tresses, and her rural labours crown ; As reapers oft are wont their harvest-queen. Great joy he promis'd to his thoughts, and new Solace in her return, so long delay'd : Yet oft his heart, divine of something ill, Misgave him ; he the faltering measure felt ; And forth to meet her went, the way she took That morn when first they parted : by the tree Of knowledge he must pass ; there he her met, Scarce from the tree returning ; in her hand A bough of fairest fruit, that downy smil'd, New gather' d, and ambrosial smell diffus'd. To him she hasted ; in her face excuse Came prologue, and apology too prompt ; Which, with bland words at will, she thus.address' " Hast thou not wonder'd, Adam, at my stay i Thee I have miss'd, and thought it long, depriv'd Thy presence ; agony of love till now BOOK IX. PARADISE LOST. 87" Vot felt, nor shall be twice ; for never more VIean I to try, what rash untried I sought, The pain of absence from thy sight. But strange HEath been the cause, and wonderful to hear : Phis tree is not, as we are told, a tree )f danger tasted, nor to evil unknown Opening the way, but of divine effect To open eyes, and make them gods who taste ; \nd hath been tasted such : the serpent wise, )r not restrain'd as we, or not obeying, lath eaten of the fruit ; and is become, f all God's works, creature in whom excell'd Whatever can to sight or thought be form'd, loly, divine, good, amiable, or sweet ! low art thou lost ! how on a sudden lost, )efac'd, deflower'd, and now to death devote ! Lather, how hast thou yielded to transgress Tie strict forbiddance, how to violate "he sacred fruit forbidden ! Some cursed fraud >f enemy hath beguil'd thee, yet unknown, nd me with thee hath ruin'd; for with thee ertain my resolution is to die : [ow can I live without thee ! how forego hy sweet converse, and love so dearly join'd, 'o live again in these wild woods forlorn ! hould God create another Eve, and I .nother rib afford, yet loss of thee /buld never from my heart : no, no ! I feel he link of Nature draw me : flesh of flesh, one of my bone thou art, and from thy state [ine never shall be parted, bliss or woe." So having said, as one from sad dismay ^comforted, and after thoughts disturb'd iibmitting to what seem'd remediless, hus in calm mood liis words to Eve he turn'd. " Bold deed thou hast presum'd, adventurous Eve, nd peril great provok'd, who thus hast dar'd, fad it been only coveting to eye hat sacred fruit, sacred to abstinence, luch more to taste it under ban to touch, 'ut past who can recall, or done undo ? r ot God Omnipotent, nor Fate ; yet so erhaps thou shalt not die, perhaps the fact | Is not so heinous now, foretasted fruit, Profan'd first by the serpent, by him first Made common, and unhallow'd, ere our taste : Nor yet on him found deadly ; he yet lives ; Lives, as thou saidst, and gains to live, as Man, Higher degree of life : inducement strong To us, as likely tasting to attain Proportional ascent ; which cannot be But to be gods, or angels, demi-gods. Nor can I think that God, Creator wise, Though threatening, will in earnest so destroy Us his prime creatures, dignified so high, Set over all his works ; wliich in our fall, For us created, needs with us must fail, Dependant made ; so God shall uncreate, Be frustrate, do, undo, and labour lose ; Not well conceiv'd of God, who, though his power Creation could repeat, yet would be loth Us to abolish, lest the adversary Triumph, and say ; * Fickle their state whom God Most favours ; who can please him long ? Me first He ruin'd, now Mankind ; whom will he next ?' Matter of scorn, not to be given the foe. However I with thee have fix'd my lot, Certain to undergo like doom : if death Consort with thee, death is to me as life ; So forcible within my heart I feel The bond of Nature draw me to my own ; My own in thee, for what thou art is mine ; Our state cannot be sever'd ; we are one, One flesh ; to lose thee were to lose myself." So Adam ; and thus Eve to him replied. " O glorious trial of exceeding love, Illustrious evidence, example high ! Engaging me to emulate ; but, short Of thy perfection, how shall I attain, Adam ? from whose dear side I boast me sprung, And gladly of our union hear thee speak, One heart, one soul in both ; whereof good proof This day affords, declaring thee resolv'd, Rather than death, or aught than death more dread, Shall separate us, link'd in love so dear, To undergo with me one guilt, one crime, If any be, of tasting this fair fruit ; Whose virtue, (for of good still good proceeds; Direct, or by occasion,) hath presented This happy trial of thy love, which else So eminently never had been known. Were it I thought death rnenac'd would ensue This my attempt, I would sustain alone The worst, and not persuade thee, rather die Deserted, than oblige thee with a fact Pernicious to thy peace ; chiefly, assur'd Remarkably so late of thy so true, So faithful, love unequall'd : but I feel Far otherwise the event ; not death, but life Augmented, open'd eyes, new hopes, new joys, Taste so divine, that what of sweet before Hath touch'd my sense, flat seems to this, and harsh. On my experience, Adam, freely taste, And fear of death deliver to the winds." So saying, she embrac'd him, and for joy Tenderly wept ; much won, that he his love Had so ennobled, as of choice to incur Divine displeasure for her sake, or death. In recompense (for such compliance bad Such recompense best merits) from the bough She gave him of that fair enticing fruit With liberal hand : he scrupled not to eat, Against his better knowledge ; not deceiv'd, G 4 83 MILTON. BOOK i: But fondly overcome with female charm. Earth trembled from her entrails, as again In pangs ; and Nature gave a second groan ; Sky lour'd ; and, muttering thunder, some sad drops Wept at completing of the mortal sin Original : while Adam took no thought, Eating his fill : nor Eve to iterate Her former trespass fear'd, the more to sooth Him with her lov'd society ; that now, As with new wine intoxicated both, They swim in mirth, and fancy that they feel Divinity within them breeding wings, Wherewith to scorn the Earth : but that false fruit Far other operation first display'd, Carnal desire inflaming : he on Eve Began to cast lascivious eyes ; she him As wantonly repaid ; in lust they burn : Till Adam thus 'gan Eve to dalliance move. " Eve, now I see thou art exact of taste, And elegant, of sapience no small part ; Since to each meaning savour we apply And palate call judicious ; I the praise Yield thee, so well this day thou hast purvey'd. Much pleasure we have lost, while we abstain'd From this delightful fruit, nor known till now True relish, tasting ; if such pleasure be In things to us forbidd'n, it might be wish'd, For this one tree had been forbidden ten. But come, so well refresh'd, now let us play, As meet is, after such delicious fare ; For never did thy beauty, since the day I saw thee first and wedded thee, adorn'd With all perfections, so inflame my sense With ardour to enjoy thee, fairer now Than ever : bounty of this virtuous tree !" So said he, and forbore not glance or toy Of amorous intent ; well understood Of Eve, whose eye darted contagious fire. Her hand he seiz'd ; and to a shady bank, Thick over-head with verdant roof imbower'd, He led her nothing loth ; flowers were the couch, Pansies, and violets, and asphodel, And hyacinths ; Earth's freshest softest lap. There they their fill of love and love's disport. Took largely, of their mutual guilt the seal, The solace of their sin : till dewy sleep Oppress'd them, wearied with their amorous play. Soon as the force of that fallacious fruit, That with exhilarating vapour bland About their spirits had play'd, and inmost powers Made err, was now exhal'd ; and grosser sleep, Bred of unkindly fumes, with conscious dreams Encumberd, now had left them ; up they rose As from unrest ; and, each the other viewing, Soon found their eyes how open'd, and their minds How darken'd ; innocence, that as a veil Had shadow'd them from knowing ill, was gone ; Just confidence, and native righteousness, And honour, from about them, naked left To guilty shame ; he cover'd, but his robe Uncover' d more. So rose the Danite strong, Herculean Samson, from the harlot-lap Of Philistean Dalilah, and wak'd Shorn of his strength, they destitute and bare Of all their virtue : silent, and in face Confounded, long they sat, as strucken mute : Till Adam, though not less than Eve abash'd, At length gave utterance to these words eonstrain'd. " O Eve, in evil hour thou didst give ear To that fals worm, of whomsoever taught To counterfeit man's voice ; true in our fall, False in our promis'd rising ; since our eyes Open'd we find indeed, and find we know Both good and evil ; good lost, and evil got ; Bad fruit of knowledge ; if this be to know ; Which leaves us naked thus, of honour void, Of innocence, of faith, of purity, Our wonted ornaments now soil'd and stain'd. And in our faces evident the signs Of foul concupiscence ; whence evil store Even shame, the last of evils ; of the first Be sure then. How shall I behold the face Henceforth of God or angel, erst with joy And rapture so oft beheld ? Those heavenly shape Will dazzle now this earthly with their blaze Insufferably bright. O ! might I here In solitude live savage ; in some glade Obscur'd, where highest woods, impenetrable To star or sun-light, spread their umbrage broad And brown as evening : cover me, ye pines ! Ye cedars, with innumerable boughs Hide me, where I may never see them more ! But let us now, as in bad plight, devise What best may for the present serve to hide The parts of each from other, that seem most To shame obnoxious, and unseemliest seen ; Some tree, whose broad smooth leaves together sew V And girded on our loins, may cover round Those middle parts ; that this new comer, Shame, There sit not, and reproach us as unclean." So counsell'd he, and both together went Into the thickest wood ; there soon they chose The fig-tree ; not that kind for fruit renown'd, But such as at this day, to Indians known, In Malabar or Decan spreads her arms Branching so broad and long, that in the ground The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow About the mother tree, a pillar'd shade High over-arch' d, and echoing walks between : There oft the Indian herdsman, shunning heat, Shelters in cool, and tends his pasturing herds At loop-holes cut through thickest shade : tlio? leaves They gather'd, broad as Amazonian targe ; And, with what skill they had, together sew'd, To gird their waist ; vain covering, if to hide Their guilt and dreaded shame ! O, how unlike To that first naked glory ! Such of late Columbus found the American, so girt With feather'd cincture ; naked else, and wild Among the trees on isles and woody shores, [pa Thus fenc'd, and, as they thought, their shame i Cover'd, but not at rest or ease of mind, They sat them down to weep ; nor only tears Rain'd at their eyes, but high winds worse within Began to rise, high passions, anger, hate, Mistrust, suspicion, discord ; and shook sore Their inward state of mind, calm region once And full of peace, now tost and turbulent : For Understanding rul'd not, and the Will Heard not her lore ; both in subjection now To Sensual Appetite, who from beneath Usurping over sovran Reason claim'd Superior sway : from thus distemper 'd breast, Adam, estrang'd in look and alter'd style Speech intermitted thus to Eve renew'd. [stai " Would thou hadst hearkened to my words, an With me, as I besought thee, when that strange Desire of wandering, this unhappy morn, I know not whence possess'd thee ; we had then BOOK X. PARADISE LOST. 89 Icmain'd still happy ; not, as now, dospoil'd If all our good ; sham'd, naked, miserable ! Jet none henceforth seek needless cause to approve Hie faith they owe ; when earnestly they seek >uch proof, conclude, they then begin to fail." To whom, soon mov'd with touch of blame, thus Eve. What words have pass'd thy lips, Adam severe ! mput'st thou that to my default, or will )f wandering, as thou call'st it, which who knows Jut might as ill have happen'd thou being by, )r to thyself perhaps ? Hadst thou been there, )r here the attempt, thou couldst not have discern'd Vaud in the serpent, speaking as he spake ; Jo ground of enmity between us known, Vhy he should mean me ill, or seek to harm. Vas I to have never parted from thy side ? >.s good have grown there still a lifeless rib. teing as I am, why didst not thou, the head, 'ommand me absolutely not to go, loing into such danger, as thou saidst ? bo facile then, thou didst not much gainsay ; r ay, didst permit, approve, and fair dismiss, [adst thou been firm and fix'd in thy dissent, either had I transgress 'd, nor thou with me." To whom, then first incens'd, Adam replied. Is this the love, is this the recompense f mine to thee, ingrateful Eve ! Express'd nmutable, when thou wert lost, not I ; Tio might have liv'd, and joy'd immortal bliss, 3t willingly chose rather death with thee ? nd am I now upbraided as the cause f thy transgressing ? Not enough severe, seems, in thy restraint : what could I more ? warn'd thee, I admonish'd thee, foretold 1e danger, and the lurking enemy lat lay in wait ; beyond this had been force ; nd force upon free-will hath here no place, at confidence then bore thee on ; secure ither to meet no danger, or to find atter of glorious trial ; and perhaps also err'd, in overmuch admiring hat seem'd in thee so perfect, that I thought j evil durst attempt thee ; but I rue lat errour now, which is become my crime, id thou the accuser. Thus it shall befall im, who, to worth in women over-trusting, ;ts her will rule : restraint she will not brook ; id, left to herself, if evil thence ensue, e first his weak indulgence will accuse." Thus they in mutual accusation spent ie fruitless hours, but neither self-condemning, id of their vain contest appear'd no end. BOOK X. The Argument. m's transgression known; the guardian-angels brsake Paradise, and return up to Heaven to ipprove their vigilance, and are approved ; God leclaring that the entrance of Satan could lot be by them prevented. He sends his Son o judge the transgressors, who descends and ;ives sentence accordingly ; then in pity clothes hem both, and re-ascends. Sin and Death, I iitting till then at the gates of Hell, by won- lerous sympathy feeling the success of Satan ii this new world, and the Sin by Man there committed, resolve to sit no longer confined in Hell, but to follow Satan their sire up to the place of Man : to make the way easier from Hell to this world to and fro, they pave a broad highway or bridge over Chaos, according to the track that Satan first made ; then, preparing for Earth, they meet him, proud of his success, re- turning to Hell ; their mutual gratulation. Satan arrives at Pandemonium, in full assembly relates with boasting his success against Man ; instead of applause is entertained with a general hiss by all his audience, transformed with himself also suddenly into serpents according to his doom given in Paradise ; then, deluded with a show of the forbidden tree springing up before them, they, greedily reaching to take of the fruit, chew dust and bitter ashes. The proceedings of Sin and Death ; God foretels the final victory of his Son over them, and the renewing of all things ; but for the present, commands his angels to make several alterations in the Heavens and elements. Adam, more and more perceiving his fallen con- dition, heavily bewails, rejects the condolement of Eve ; she persists, and at length appeases him : then, to evade the curse likely to fall on their oflf- spring, proposes to Adam violent ways, which he approves not ; but, conceiving better hope, puts her in mind of the late promise made them, that her seed should be revenged on the serpent ; and exhorts her with him to seek peace of the offended Deity, by repentance and supplication. MEANWHILE the heinous and despiteful act Of Satan done in Paradise ; and how He, in the serpent, had perverted Eve, Her husband she, to taste the fatal fruit, Was known in Heaven ; for what can 'scape the eye Of God all-seeing, or deceive his heart Omniscient ? who, in all things wise and just, Hinder'd not Satan to attempt the mind Of Man, with strength entire, and free-will, arm'd Complete to have discover'd and repuls'd Whatever wiles of foe or seeming friend. For still they knew, and ought to have still re- . member'd, The high injunction, not to taste that fruit, Whoever tempted ; which they not obeying Incurr'd (what could they less?) the penalty j And, manifold in sin, deserv'd to fall. Up into Heaven from Paradise in haste The angelic guards ascend, mute, and sad, For Man ; for of his state by this they knew, Much wondering how the subtle fiend had stol'ii Entrance unseen. Soon as the unwelcome news From Earth arrived at Heaven-gate, displeas'd All were who heard ; dim sadness did not spare That time celestial visages, yet, mix'd With pity, violated not their bliss. About the new-arriv'd, in multitudes The ethereal people ran, to hear and know How all befell : they towards the throne supreme, Accountable, made haste, to make appear With righteous plea their utmost vigilance, And easily approv'd ; when the Most High Eternal Father, from his secret cloud Amidst, in thunder utter'd thus his voice. " Assembled angels, and ye powers return'd From unsuccessful charge, be not dismay'd, Nor troubled at these tidings from the Earth Which your sincerest care could not prevent, 90 MILTON. BOOK X. Foretold so lately what would come to pass, When first this tempter cross'd the gulf from Hell. I told ye then he should prevail, and speed On his bad errand ; Man should be seduc'd. And flatter'd out of all, believing lies Against his Maker; no decree of mine Concurring to necessitate his fall, Or touch with lightest moment of impulse His free-will, to her own inclining left In even scale. But fall'n he is ; and now What rests, but that the mortal sentence pass On his transgression, death denounc'd that day ? Which he presumes already vain and void, Because not yet inflicted, as he fear'd, By some immediate stroke ; but soon shall find Forbearance no acquittance, ere day end. Justice shall not return as bounty scorn'd. But whom send I to judge them? whom but thee, Vicegerent Son ? To thee I have transferr'd All judgment, whether in Heaven, or Earth, or Hell. Easy it may be seen that I intend Mercy colleague with justice, sending thee Man's friend, his Mediator, his design'd Both ransom and Redeemer voluntary, And destin'd Man himself to judge Man fall'n. " So spake the Father ; and, unfolding bright Toward the right hand his glory, on the Son Blaz'd forth unclouded deity : he full Resplendent all his Father manifest Express'd, and thus divinely answer'd mild. " Father Eternal, thine is to decree ; Mine, both in Heaven and Earth, to do thy will Supreme ; that thou in me, thy Son belov'd, May'st ever rest well pleas'd. I go to judge On Earth these thy transgressors ; but thou know'st, Whoever judg'd, the worst on me must light, When time shall be ; for so I undertook Before thee ; and, not repenting, this obtain Of right, that I may mitigate their doom On me deriv'd ; yet I shall temper so Justice with mercy, as may illustrate most Them fully satisfied, and thee appease. Attendance none shall need, nor train, where none Are to behold the judgment, but the judg'd, Those two ; the third best absent is condemn'd, Convict by flight, and rebel to all law : Conviction to the serpent none belongs." Thus saying, from his radiant seat he rose Of high collateral glory. Him thrones, and powers, Princedoms, and dominations ministrant, Accompanied to Heaven-gate ; from whence Eden, and all the coast, in prospect lay. Down he descended straight ; the speed of gods Time counts not, though with swiftest minutes wing'd. Now was the Sun in western cadence low From noon, and gentle airs, due at their hour, To fan the Earth now wak'd, and usher in The evening cool ; when he, from wrath more cool, Came the mild judge, and intercessor both, To sentence Man : the voice of God they heard Now walking in the garden, by soft winds [heard, Brought to their ears, while day declin'd; they And from his presence hid themselves among The thickest trees, both man and wife ; till God, Approaching, thus to Adarn call'd aloud. " Where art thou, Adorn, wont with joy to meet My coming seen far off' ? I miss thee here, Not pleas'd, thus entertain'd with solitude, Where obvious duty ere while appcar'd unsought : Or come I less conspicuous, or what change Absents thee, or what chance detains ? Come forth!" [first He came ; and with him Eve, more loth, though To offend ; discountenanc'd both, and discompos'd ; Love was not in their looks, either to God, Or to each other ; but apparent guilt, And shame, and perturbation, and despair, Anger, and obstinacy, and hate, and guile. Whence Adam, faltering long, thus answer'd brief. " I heard thee in the garden, and of thy v6ice Afraid, being naked, hid myself." To whom The gracious Judge without revile replied, [fear'd, " My voice thou oft hast heard, and hast not But still rejoic'd; how is it now become So dreadful to thee? That thou art naked, who Hath told thee ? Hast thou eaten of the tree, Whereof I gave thee charge thou shouldst not eat?" To whom thus Adam sore beset replied. " O Heaven ! in evil strait this day I stand Before my judge; either to undergo Myself the total crime, or to accuse My other self, the partner of my life ; Whose failing, while her faith to me remains, I should conceal, and not expose to blame By my complaint : but strict necessity Subdues me, and calamitous constraint ; Lest on my head both sin and punishment, However insupportable, be all Devolv 'd ; though should I hold my peace, yet thou Wouldst easily detect what I conceal. This woman, whom thou mad'st to be my help, And gav'st me as thy perfect gift, so good, So fit, so acceptable, so divine, That from her hand I could suspect no ill, And what she did, whatever in itself, Her doing seem'd to justify the deed ; She gave me of the tree, and I did eat.' To whom the Sovran Presence thus replied. " Was she thy God, that her thou didst obey Before his voice ? or was she made thy guide, Superior, or but equal, that to her Thou didst resign thy manhood, and the place Wherein God set thee above her made of thee, And for thee, whose perfection far excell'd Hers in all real dignity ? Adorn'd She was indeed, and lovely, to attract Thy love, not thy subjection ; and her gifts Were such, as under government well seem'd ; Unseemly to bear rule ; which was thy part And person, hadst thou known thyself aright." So having said, he thus to Eve in few. " Say, woman, what is this which thou hast done?" To whom sad Eve, with shame nigh overwhelm'd. Confessing soon, yet not before her judge Bold or loquacious, thus abash' d replied. " The serpent me beguil'd, and I did eat." Which when the Lord God heard, without delay To judgment he proceeded on the accus'd Serpent, though brute ; unable to transfer The guilt on him, who made him instrument Of miscliief, and polluted from the end Of his creation ; justly then accurs'd, As vitiated in nature : more to know Concern'd not Man, (since he no further knew,) Nor alter'd his offence ; yet God at last To Satan first in sin his doom applied, Though in mysterious terms, judg'd as then best : And on the serpent thus his curse let fall. " Because thou hast done this, thou art accurs'd BOOK X. PARADISE LOST. 91 Above all cattle, each beast of the field ; Upon thy belly grovelling thou shalt go, And dust shall eat all the days of thy life. Between thee and the woman I will put Enmity, and between thine and her seed ; Her seed shall bruise thy head, thou bruise his heel. " So spake this oracle, then verified When Jesus, son of Mary, second Eve, Saw Satan fall, like lightning, down from Heaven, Prince of the air ; then, rising from his grave Spoil'd principalities and powers, triumph'd In open show ; and, with ascension bright, Captivity led captive through the air, The realm itself of Satan, long usurp'd ; Whom he shall tread at last under our feet ; Ev'n he, who now foretold his fatal bruise : And to the woman thus his sentence turn'd. " Thy sorrow I will greatly multiply By thy conception ; children thou shalt bring In sorrow forth ; and to thy husband's will Thine shall submit ; he over thee shall rule." On Adam last thus judgment he pronounc'd. " Because thou hast hearken'd to the voice of thy wife, And eaten of the tree, concerning which I charg'd thee, saying, ' Thou shalt not eat thereof : ' Curs'd is the ground for thy sake ; thou in sorrow Shalt eat thereof, all the days of thy life ; Thorns also and thistles it shall bring thee forth Unbid ; and thou shalt eat the herb of the field ; In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, Till thou return unto the ground ; for thou Out of the ground wast taken, know thy birth, For dust thou art, and shalt to dust return." So judg'd he Man, both judge and saviour sent ; And the instant stroke of death, denounc'd that day, Remov'd far off; then, pitying how they stood Before him naked to the air, that now Must suffer change, disdain 'd not to begin Thenceforth the form of servant to assume ; As when he wash'd his servants' feet ; so now, As father of his family, he clad Their nakedness with skins of beasts, or slain, Or as the snake with youthful coat repaid ; And thought not much to clothe his enemies : Nor he their outward only with the skins Of beasts, but inward nakedness, much more Opprobrious, with his robe of righteousness Arraying, cover'd from his Father's sight. To him with swift ascent he up return'd, [nto his blissful bosom reassum'd [n glory, as of old ; to him appeas'd, All, though all-knowing, what had pass'd with Man Recounted, mixing intercession sweet. [Earth, Meanwhile, ere thus was sinn'd and judg'd on Within the gates of Hell sat Sin and Death, [n counterview within the gates, that now Stood open wide, belching outrageous flame Far into Chaos, since the fiend pass'd through, >in opening ; who thus now to Death began. " O son, why sit we here each other viewing [dly, while Satan, our great author, thrives [n other worlds, and happier seat provides 7or us, his offspring dear ? It cannot be ?ut that success attends him ; if mishap, 2re this he had return'd, with fury driven By his avengers ; since no place like this Dan fit his punishment, or their revenge. VIethinks I feel new strength within me rise, Vings growing, and dominion given me large, Beyond this deep : whatever draws me on, Or sympathy, or some connatural force, Powerful at greatest distance to unite, With secret amity, things of like kind, By secretest conveyance. Thou, my shade Inseparable, must with me along : For Death from Sin no power can separate. But, lest the difficulty of passing back Stay his return perhaps over this gulf Impassable, impervious ; let us try Adventurous work, yet to thy power and mine Not unagreeable, to found a path Over this main from Hell to that new world, Where Satan now prevails ; a monument Of merit high to all the infernal host, Easing their passage hence, for intercourse, Or transmigration, as their lot shall lead. Nor can I miss the way, so strongly drawn By this new-felt attraction and instinct." Whom thus the meagre shadow answer' d soon. " Go whither Fate, and inclination strong, Leads thee ; I shall not lag behind, nor err The way, thou leading ; such a scent I draw Of carnage, prey innumerable, and taste The savour of death from all things there that live : Nor shall I to the work thou enterprisest Be wanting, but afford thee equal aid." j So saying, with delight he snuff'd the smell Of mortal change on Earth. As when a flock Of ravenous fowl, though many a league remote, Against the day of battle, to a field, Where armies lie encamp'd, come flying, lur'd With scent of living carcasses design'd For death, the following day, in bloody fight : So scented the grim feature, and upturn'd His nostril wide into the murky air ; Sagacious of his quarry from so far. Then both from out Hell-gates, into the waste Wide anarchy of Chaos, damp and dark, [great) Flew diverse ; and with power (their power was Hovering upon the waters, what they met Solid or slimy, as in raging sea Tost up and down, together crouded drove, From each side shoaling towards the mouth of Hell : As when two polar winds, blowing adverse Upon the Cronian sea, together drive Mountains of ice, that stop the imagin'd way Beyond Petsora eastward, to the rich Cathaian coast. The aggregated soil Death with his mace petrific, cold and dry, As with a trident smote, and fix'd as firm As Del os, floating once ; the rest his look Bound with Gorgonian rigour not to move ; And with Asphaltic slime, broad as the gate, Deep to the roots of Hell the gather'd beach They fasten'd, and the mole immense wrought on Over the foaming deep high-arch'd, a bridge Of length prodigious, joining to the wall Immoveable of this now fenceless world, Forfeit to Death ; from hence a passage broad, Smooth, easy, inoffensive, down to Hell. So, if great things to small may be compar'd, Xerxes, the liberty of Greece to yoke, From Susa, his Memnonian palace high, Came to the sea ; and, over Hellespont Bridging his way, Europe with Asia join'd, And scourg'd with many a stroke the indignant waves. Now had they brought the work by wondrous art Pontifical, a ridge of pendant rock, 92 MILTON. BOOK X Over the vex'tl abyss, following the track Of Satan to the self-same place where he First lighted from his wing, and landed safe From out of Chaos, to the outside bare Of this round world : with pins of adamant And chains they made all fast, too fast they made And durable ! And now in little space The confines met of empyrean Heaven, And of this world ; and, on the left hand, Hell With long reach interpos'd ; three several ways In sight, to each of these three places led. And now their way to Earth they had descried, To Paradise first tending ; when, behold ! Satan, in likeness of an angel bright, Betwixt the Centaur and the Scorpion steering His zenith, while the Sun in Aries rose : Disguis'd he came ; but those his children dear Their parent soon discern'd, though in disguise. He, after Eve seduc'd, unminded slunk Into the wood fast by ; and, changing shape, To observe the sequel, saw his guileful act By Eve, though all unweeting, seconded Upon her husband ; saw their shame that sought v'ain covertures ; but when he saw descend The Son of God to judge them, terrified He fled ; not hoping to escape, but shun The present ; fearing, guilty, what his wrath Might suddenly inflict ; that past, return'd By night, and listening where the hapless pair Sat in their sad discourse, and various plaint, Thence gather'd his own doom ; which understood Not instant, but of future time, with joy And tidings fraught, to Hell he now return'd And at the brink of Chaos, near the foot Of this new wondrous pontifice, unhop'd Met, who to meet him came, his offspring dear Great joy was at their meeting, and at sight Of that stupendous bridge his joy increas'd. Long he admiring stood, till Sin, his fair Enchanting daughter, thus the silence broke. " O parent, these are thy magnific deeds, Thy trophies ! which thou view'st as not thine own ; Thou art their author, and prime architect : For I no sooner in my heart divin'd, My heart, which by a secret harmony Still moves with thine, join'd in connexion sweet , That thou on Earth hadst prosper'd, which thy looks Now also evidence, but straight I felt, Though distant from thee worlds between, yet felt That I must after thee, with this thy son ; Such fatal consequence unites us three ; Hell could no longer hold us in our bounds, Nor this unvoyageable gulf obscure Detain from following thy illustrious track : Thou hast achiev'd our liberty, confin'd Within Hell-gates till now ; thou us impower'd To fortify thus far, and overlay, With this portentous bridge, the dark abyss. Thine now is all this world ; thy virtue hath won What thy hands builded not ; thy wisdom gain'd With odds what war hath lost, and fully aveng'd Our foil in Heaven ; here thou shalt monarch reign, There didst not ; there let him still victor sway, As battle hath adjudg'd ; from this new world Retiring, by his own doom alienated ; And henceforth monarchy with thee divide Of all things, parted by the empyreal bounds, His quadrature, from thy orbicular world ; Or try thee now more dangerous to his throne." Whom thus the prince of darkness answer'd glad. " Fair daughter, and thou son and grand-child both High proof ye now have given to be the race Of Satan, (for I glory in the name, Antagonist of Heaven's Almighty King,) Amply have merited of me, of all The infernal empire, that so near Heaven's door Triumphal with triumphal act have met, Mine, with this glorious work ; and made one realn 3 Hell and this world, one realm, one continent Of easy thoroughfare. Therefore, while I Descend through darkness, on your road with ease. To my associate powers, them to acquaint With these successes, and with them rejoice ; You two this way, among these numerous orbs, All yours, right down to Paradise descend ; There dwell, and reign in bliss ; thence on the Earth Dominion exercise and in the air, Chiefly on man, sole lord of all declar'd ; Him first make sure your thrall, and lastly kill. My substitutes I send ye, and create Plenipotent on Earth, of matchless might Issuing from me : on your joint vigour now My hold of this new kingdom all depends, Through Sin to Death expos'd by my exploit. If your joint power prevail, the affairs of Hell No detriment need fear ; go, and be strong !" So saying he dismiss'd them ; they with speed Their course through thickest constellations held, Spreading their bane ; the blasted stars look'd wan, And planets, planet-struck, real eclipse Then suffer 'd. The other way Satan w r ent down The causey to Hell-gate : on either side Disparted Chaos over built exclaim'd, And with rebounding surge the bars assail'd, That scorn'd his indignation : through the gate, Wide open and unguarded, Satan pass'd, And all about found desolate ; for those, Appointed to sit there, had left their charge, Flown to the upper world ; the rest were all Far to the inland retir'd, about the walls Of Pandemonium ; city and proud seat Of Lucifer, so by allusion call'd Of that bright star to Satan paragon'd ; There kept their watch the legions, while the grand In council sat, solicitous what chance Might intercept their emperor sent ; so he Departing gave command, and they observ'd. As when the Tartar from his Russian foe, By Astracan, over the snowy plains, I let 'res ; or Bactrian Sophi, from the horns Of Turkish crescent, leaves all waste beyond The realm of Aladule, in his retreat To Tauris or Casbeen : so these, the late Heaven-banish'd host, left desert utmost Hell Many a dark league, reduc'd in careful watch Round their metropolis ; and now expecting Each hour their great adventurer, from the searcli Of foreign worlds ; lie through the midst unmark'd, In show plebeian angel militant Of lowest order, pass'd ; and from the door Of that Plutonian hall, invisible Ascended his high throne ; which, under state Of richest texture spread, at the upper end Was plac'd in regal lustre. Down a while He sat, and round about him saw, unseen : At last, as from a cloud, his fulgent head And shape star-bright appear'd, or brighter ; clad With what permissive glory since his fall Was left him, or false glitter : all amaz'd At that so sudden blaze, the Stygian throng BOOK X. PARADISE LOST. 93 Sent, their aspect, and whom they wish VI beheld, Their mighty chief return VI : loud was the acclaim '""orth rush'd in haste the great consulting peers, lais'd from their dark divan, and with like joy ^ongratulaut approach'd him ; who with hand 'Hence, and with these words, attention won. " Thrones, dominations, princedoms, virtues, powers ; ""or in possession such, not only of right, call ye, and declare ye now ; return VI uccessful beyond hope, to lead ye forth .Yiumphant out of this infernal pit Abominable, accurs'd, the house of woe, Ind dungeon of our tyrant : now possess, k.s lords, a spacious world, to our native Heaven ^ittle inferior, by my adventure hard Vith peril great achiev'd. Long were to tell Vhat I have done ; what sufferVl ; with what pain 7 oyag'd th' unreal, vast, unbounded deep )f horrible confusion ; over which Jy Sin and Death a broad way now is pav'd \> expedite your glorious march ; but I .'oiPd out my uncouth passage, forc'd to ride "he untractable abyss, plung'd in the womb )f unoriginal Night and Chaos wild ; liat, jealous of their secrets, fiercely oppos'd ly journey strange, with clamorous uproar 'rotesting Fate supreme ; thence how I found 'he new created world, which fame in Heaven -ong had foretold, a fabric wonderful >f absolute perfection ! therein Man 'lac'd in a Paradise, by our exile lade happy : him by fraud I have seduc'd rom liis Creator ; and, the more to increa.sc our wonder, with an apple ; he, thereat ffended, worth your laughter ! hath given up enmity, which he will put between fe and mankind ; I am to bruise his heel ; [is seed, when is not set, shall bruise my head : world who would not purchase with a bruise, r much more grievous pain? Ye have the ac- count f my performance : what remains, ye gods, ut up, and enter now into full bliss ?" So having said, a while he stood, expecting heir universal shout and high applause, o fill his ear ; when, contrary, he hears n all sides, from innumerable tongues, dismal universal hiss, the sound f public scorn ; he wonder'd, but not long "ad leisure, wondering at himself now more ; is visage drawn he felt to sharp and spare ; .is arms clung to his ribs ; his legs entwining ach other, till supplanted down he fell monstrous serpent on his belly prone, eluctant, but in vain ; a greater power ow rul'd him, punish'd in the shape he sinn'd, ccording to his doom : he would have spoke, ut hiss for hiss return'd with forked tongue o forked tongue ; for now were all transform VI like, to serpents all, as accessories .> his bold riot : dreadful was the din I Of hissing through the hall, thick swarming no.v I With complicated monsters head and tail, Scorpion, and asp, and ampliisba-na dire, Cerastes horn'd, hydrus, and el ops drear, i And dipsas ; (not so thick swarm'd once the soil ! Bedropt with blood of Gorgon, or the isle j Ophiusa,) but still greatest he the midst, ; Now dragon grown, larger than whom the Sun ; Engender'd in the Pythian vale or slime, Huge Python, and his power no less he seem'd Above the rest still to retain ; they all Him follow'd, issuing forth to the open field, | Where all yet left of that revolted rout, ' Heaven-fall'n, in station stood or just array ; J Sublime with expectation when to see j In triumph issuing forth their glorious chief; . They saw, but other sight instead ! a croud I Of ugly serpents ; horrour on them fell, j And horrid sympathy ; for, what they saw, [arms, I They felt themselves, now changing ; down their j Down fell both spear and shield ; down they as fast ; j And the dire hiss renew VI, and the dire form J Catch'd, by contagion ; like in punishment, [meant, j As in their crime. Thus was the applause they Turn VI to exploding hiss, triumph to shame [stood [ Cast on themselves from their own mouths. There ; A grove hard by, sprung up with this their change, I His will who reigns above, to aggravate Their penance, laden with fair fruit, like that Which grew in Paradise, the bait of Eve Us'd by the tempter : on that prospect strange Their earnest eyes they fix'd, imagining i For one forbidden tree a multitude ' Now ris'n, to work them further woe or shame ; Yet, parch'd with scalding thirst and hunger fierce, Though to delude them sent, could not abstain ; But on they roll'd in heaps, and, up the trees Climbing, sat thicker than the snaky locks That curl'd Megasra : greedily they pluck VI The fruitage fair to sight, like that which grew Near that bituminous lake where Sodom flam VI : This more delusive, not the touch, but taste Deceiv'd : they, fondly thinking to allay ! Their appetite with gust, instead of fruit i Chew'd bitter ashes, which the offended taste ' With spattering noise rejected : oft they assay'd, Hunger and thirst constraining ; drugg'd as oft, With hatefullest disrelish writh'd their jaws, With soot and cinders fill'd ; so oft they fell Into the same illusion, not as Man [plagu'd Whom they triumph'd once laps'd. Thus were they And worn with famine, long and ceaseless hiss, Till their lost shape, permitted, they resum'd ; Yearly enjoin VI, some say, to undergo, This annual humbling certain number'd days, To dash their pride, and joy, for Man seduc'd. However, some tradition they dispers'd Among the Heathen, of their purchase got, And fabled how the serpent, whom they call'd Ophion, with Eurynome, the wide- Encroaching Eve perhaps, had first the rule Of high Olympus ; thence by Saturn driven And Ops, ere yet Dictaean Jove was born. Meanwhile in Paradise the hellish pair Too soon arriv'd ; Sin, there in power before, Once actual ; now in body, and to dwell Habitual habitant ; behind her Death, Close following pace for pace, not mounted yet On his pale horse : to whom Sin thus began. " Second of Satan sprung, all-conquering Death ! MILTON. BOOK X Whatthink'st thou of our empire now, though earn'd With travel difficult, not better far [watch, Than still at Hell's dark threshold to have sat Unnam'd, undreaded, and thyself half-starv'd ?" Whom thus the Sin-born monster answer'd soon. " To me, who with eternal famine pine, Alike is Hell, or Paradise, or Heaven ; There best, where most with ravine I may meet ; Which here, though plenteous, all too little seems To stuff this maw, this vast unhide-bound corps." To whom the incestuous mother thus replied. " Thou therefore on these herbs, and fruits, and flowers, Feed first ; on each beast next, and fish and fowl ; No homely morsels ! and whatever thing The sithe of Time mows down, devour unspar'd ; Till I, in Man residing, through the race, His thoughts, his looks, words, actions, all infect ; And season him thy last and sweetest prey." This said, they both betook them several ways, Both to destroy, or unimmortal make All kinds, and for destruction to mature Sooner or later ; which the Almighty seeing, From his transcendent seat the saints among, To those bright orders uttered thus his voice. " See, with what heat these dogs of Hell advance To v/aste and havoc yonder world, which I So fair and good created ; and had still Kept in that state, had not the folly of Man Let in these wasteful furies, who impute Folly to me ; so doth the prince of Hell And his adherents, that with so much ease I suffer them to enter and possess A place so heavenly : and, conniving, seem To gratify my scornful enemies, That laugh, as if, transported with some fit Of passion, I to them had quitted all, At random yielded up to their misrule ; And know not that I call'd, and drew them thither, My Hell-hounds, to lick up the draff and filth Which Man's polluting sin with taint hath shed On what was pure ; till cramm'd and gorg'd, nigh burst With suck'd and glutted offal, at one sling Of thy victorious arm, well pleasing Son, Both Sin, and Death, and yawning Grave, at last, Through Chaos hurl'd, obstruct the mouth of Hell For ever, and seal up his ravenous jaws. [pure Then Heaven and Earth renew'd shall be made To sanctity, that shall receive no stain : Till then, the curse pronounc'd on both precedes." He ended, and the heavenly audience loud Sung Halleluiah, as the sound of seas, Through multitude that sung: " Just are thy ways, Righteous are thy decrees on all thy works ; Who can extenuate thee ? Next, to the Son, Destin'd Restorer of mankind, by whom New Heaven and Earth shall to the ages rise, Or down from Heaven descend." Such was their song; While the Creator, calling forth by name His mighty angels, gave them several charge, As sorted best with present tilings. The Sun Had first his precept so to move, so shine, As might affect the Earth with cold and heat Scarce tolerable, and from the north to call Decrepit winter ; from the south to bring Solstitial summer's heat. To the blanc Moon Her office they prescribed ; to the other five Their planetary motions, and aspects, In sextile, square, and trine, and opposite, Of noxious efficacy, and when to join In synod unbenign ; and taught the fix'd Their influence malignant when to shower, Which of them rising with the Sun, or falling, Should prove tempestuous ; to the winds they set Their corners, when with bluster to confound Sea, air, and shore ; the thunder when to roll With terrour through the dark aereal hall. Some say he bid his angels turn ascanse The poles of Earth, twice ten degrees and more, From the Sun's axle ; they with labour push'd Oblique the centric globe : some say, the Sun Was bid turn reins from the equinoctial road Like distant breadth to Taurus with the seven Atlantic Sisters, and the Spartan Twins, Up to the tropic Crab : thence down amain By Leo, and the Virgin, and the Scales, As deep as Capricorn ; to bring in change Of seasons to each clime ; else had the spring Perpetual smil'd on Earth with vernant flow'rs, Equal in days and nights, except to those Beyond the polar circles ; to them day Had unbenighted shone, while the low Sun, To recompense his distance, in their sight Had rounded still the horizon, and not known Or east or west ; which had forbid the snow From cold Estotiland, and south as far Beneath Magellan. At that tasted fruit The Sun, as from Thyestean banquet, turn'd His course intended ; else, how had the world Inhabited, though sinless, more than now, Avoided pinching cold and scorching heat? [duc'c These changes in the Heavens, though slow, pro Like change on sea and land ; sideral blast, Vapour, and mist, and exhalation hot, Corrupt and pestilent : now, from the north Of Norumbega, and the Samoed shore, Bursting their brazen dungeon, arm'd with ice, And snow, and hail, and stormy gust and flaw, Boreas, and Caecias, and Argestes loud, And Thrascias, rend the woods, and seas upturn ; With adverse blast upturns them from the south Notus, and Afer black with thunderous clouds From Serraliona ; thwart of these, as fierce, Forth rush the Levant and the Ponent winds, Eurus and Zephyr, with their lateral noise, Sirocco and Libecchio. Thus began Outrage from lifeless things ; but Discord first, Daughter of Sin, among the irrational Death introduc'd, through fierce antipathy : Beast now with beast 'gan war, and fowl with fowl And fish with fish : to graze the herb all leaving, Devour' d each other ; nor stood much in awe Of Man, but fled him : or, with countenance grim Glar'd on him passing. These were from without The growing miseries, wliich Adam saw Already in part, though hid in gloomiest shade, To sorrow abandon'd, but worse felt within ; And, in a troubled sea of passion tost, Thus to disburden sought with sad complaint. " O miserable of happy ! Is this the end Of this new glorious world, and me so late The glory of that glory, who now become Aceurs'd, of blessed ? hide me from the face Of God, whom to behold was then my height Of happiness ! Yet well, if here would end The misery ; I deserv'd it, and would bear My own deservings ; but this will not serve : All that I eat or drink, or shall beget, BOOK X. PARADISE LOST. 9.5 Is propagated curse. O voice, once heard Delightfully, Increase and multipli/ Now death to hear ! for what can I increase, Or multiply, but curses on my head ? Who of all ages to succeed, but, feeling The evil on him brought by me, will curse My head ? Ill fare our ancestor impure, For this we may thank Adam ! but his thanks Shall be the execration : so, besides Mine own that bide upon me, all from me Shall with a fierce reflux on me rebound ; On me, as on their natural centre, light Heavy, though in their place. O fleeting joys Of Paradise, dear bought with lasting woes ! Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay To mould me Man ? Did I solicit thee From darkness to promote me, or here place In this delicious garden ? As my will Concurr'd not to my being, it were but right A.nd equal to reduce me to my dust ; Desirous to resign and render back All I receiv'd ; unable to perform Thy terms too hard, by which I was to hold The good I sought not. To the loss of that, Sufficient penalty, why hast thou added Fhe sense of endless woes ? Inexplicable Thy justice seems; yet, to say truth, too late L thus contest ; then should have been refus'd Fhose terms, whatever, when they were propos'd : Thou didst accept them : wilt thou enjoy the good, fhen cavil the conditions ? and, though God Vlade thee without thy leave, what if thy son ?rove disobedient ; and, reprov'd, retort, Wherefore didst thou beget me ? I sought it not : ' Vouldst thou admit for his contempt of thee That proud excuse ? yet him not thy election, 3ut natural necessity, begot, jod made thee of choice his own, and of his own To serve him ; thy reward was of his grace ; Thy punishment then justly is at his will. 3e it so, for I submit ; his doom is fair, Chat dust I am, and shall to dust return : ) welcome hour whenever \ Why delays lis hand to execute what his decree 'ix'd on this day ? Why do I overlive ? Vhy am I mock'd with death, and lengthened out ?o deathless pain ? How gladly would I meet Mortality my sentence, and be earth nsensible ! How glad would lay me down Vs in my mother's lap ! There I should rest Lnd sleep secure ; his dreadful voice no more Vould thunder in my ears ; no fear of worse To me, and to my offspring, would torment me Vith cruel expectation. Yet one doubt 'ursues me still, lest all I cannot die ; -.est that pure breath of life, the spirit of Man V'hich God inspir'd, cannot together perish Vith this corporeal clod : then, in the grave, )r in some other dismal place, who knows Jut I shall die a living death ? O thought lorrid, if true ! Yet why ? It was but breath )f life that sinn'd ; what dies but what had life Vnd sin ? The body properly hath neither. Jl of me then shall die : let this appease Tie doubt, since human reach no further knows. 'or though the Lord of all be infinite, s his wrath also ? Be it, Man is not so, Jut mortal doom'd. How can he exercise V'rath without end on Man, whom death must end? 'an he make deathless death ? That were to make Strange contradiction, which to God himself Impossible is held ; as argument Of weakness, not of power. Will he draw out, For anger's sake, finite to infinite, In punish'd Man, to satisfy his rigour, Satisfied never ? That were to extend His sentence beyond dust and Nature's law . By which all causes else, according still To the reception of their matter, act ; Not to the extent of their own sphere. But say That death be not one stroke, as I suppos'd, Bereaving sense, but endless misery From this day onward ; which I feel begun Both in me, and without me ; and so last To perpetuity : Ay me ! that fear Comes thundering back with dreadful revolution On my defenceless head ; both Death and I Are found eternal, and incorporate both ; Nor I on my part single ; in me all Posterity stands curs'd : fair patrimony That I must leave ye, sons ! O, were I able To waste it all myself, and leave ye none ! So disinherited, how would you bless Me, now your curse ! Ah, why should all mankind For one man's fault, thus guiltless be condemn'd, If guiltless ? But from me what can proceed, But all corrupt ; both mind and will deprav'd Not to do only, but to will the same With me ? How can they then acquitted stand In sight of God ? Him, after all disputes, Forc'd I absolve : all my evasions vain, And reasonings, though through mazes, lead me still But to my own conviction : first and last On me, me only, as the source and spring Of all corruption, all the blame lights due ; So might the wrath ! fond wish ! couldst thou support That burden, heavier than the Earth to bear ; Than all the world much heavier, though divided With that bad woman ? Thus, what thou desir'st, And what thou fear'st, alike destroys all hope Of refuge, and concludes thee miserable Beyond all past example and future ; To Satan only like both crime and doom. Conscience ! into what abyss of fears And horrours hast thou driven me ; out of which 1 find no way, from deep to deeper plung'd !" Thus Adam to himself lamented loud, Through the still night ; not now, as ere Man fell, Wholesome, and cool, and mild, but with black air Accompanied ; with damps, and dreadful gloom ; Which to his evil conscience represented All tilings with double terrour : on the ground Outstretch'd he lay, on the cold ground ; and oft Curs'd his creation ; Death as oft accus'd Of tardy execution, since denounc'd The day of his offence. " Why comes not Death," Said he, " with one thrice-acceptable stroke To end me ? Shall Truth fail to keep her word, Justice Divine not hasten to be just ? But Death comes not at call ; Justice Divine Mends not her slowest pace for prayers or cries. O woods, O fountains, liillocks, dales, and bowers ! With other echo late I taught your shades To answer, and resound far other song." Whom thus afflicted when sad Eve beheld Desolate where she sat, approaching nigh, Soft words to his fierce passion she assay'd : But her with stern regard he thus repell'd. " Out of my sight, thou serpent ! That name best Befits thee with him leagu'd, thyself as false 96 MILTON. BOOK X And hateful ; nothing wants, but that thy shape > Like his, and colour serpentine, may show Thy inward fraud ; to warn all creatures from thee Henceforth ; lest that too heavenly form, pretended To hellish falsehood, snare them ! But for thee I had persisted happy ; had not thy pride And wandering vanity, when least was safe, Rejected my forewarning, and disdain'd Not to be trusted ; longing to be seen, Though by the Devil himself; him overweening To over-reach ; but, with the serpent meeting, Fool'd and beguil'd ; by him thou, I by thee, To trust thee from my side ; imagin'd wise, Constant, mature, proof against all assaults ; And understood not all was but, a show, Rather than solid virtue ; all but a rib Crooked by nature, bent, as now appears, More to the part sinister, from me drawn ; Well if thrown out, as supernumerary To my just number found. O ! why did God, Creator wise, that peopled highest Heaven With spirits masculine, create at last This novelty on Earth, this fair defect Of Nature, and not fill the world at once With men, as angels, without feminine ; Or find some other way to generate Mankind ? This mischief had not then bcfall'ii, And more that shall befall ; innumerable Disturbances on Earth through female snares, And straight conjunction with this sex : for either He never shall find out fit mate, but such As some misfortune brings him, or mistake ; Or whom he wishes most shall seldom gain Through her perverseness, but shall see her gain'd By a far worse ; or, if she love, withheld By parents ; or his happiest choice too late Shall meet, already link'd and wedlock-bound To a fell adversary, his hate or shame ; Which infinite calamity shall cause To human life, and household peace confound." He added not, and from her turn'd ; but Eve, Not so repuls'd, with tears that ceas'd not flowing And tresses all disorder'd, at his feet Fell humble ; and, embracing them, besought His peace, and thus proceeded in her plaint. " Forsake me not thus, Adam ! witness Heaven What love sincere, and reverence in my heart I bear thee, and unweeting have offended, Unhappily deceiv'd ! Thy suppliant I beg, and clasp thy knees ; bereave me not, Whereon I live, thy gentle looks, thy aid, Thy counsel, in this uttermost distress, My only strength and stay : forlorn of thee, Whither shall I betake me, where subsist ? While yet we live, scarce one short hour perhaps, Between us two let there be peace ; both joining, As join'd in injuries, one enmity Against a foe by doom express assign'd us, That cruel serpent : on me exercise not Thy hatred for this misery befall' n ; On me already lost, me than thyself More miserable ! Both have sinn'd ; but thou Against God only ; I against God and thee ; And to the place of judgment will return, There with my crimes importune Heaven ; that all The sentence, from thy head remov'd, may light On me, sole cause to thee of all this woe ; Me, me only, just object of his ire !" She ended weeping ; and her lowly plight, Irnmoveable, till peace obtain'd from fault Acknowledg'd and deplor'd, in Adam wrought Commiseration : soon his heart relented Towards her, his life so late, and sole delight, Now at his feet submissive in distress ; Creature so fair his reconcilement seeking, His counsel, whom she had displeas'd, his aid : As one disarm'd, his anger all he lost, And thus with peaceful words uprais'd her soon. " Unwary, and too desirous, as before, So now of what thou know'st not, who desir'st The punishment all on thyself; alas ! Bear thine own first, ill able to sustain His full wrath, whose thou feel'st as yet least part, And my displeasure bear'st so ill. If prayers Could alter high decrees, I to that place Would speed before thee, and be louder heard, That on my head all might be visited ; Thy frailty and infirmer sex forgiven, To rne committed, and by me expos'd. But rise ; let us no more contend, nor blame Each other, blam'd enough elsewhere ; but strive In offices of love, how we may lighten Each other's burthen, in our share of woe ; Since this day's death denounc'd, if aught I see, Will prove no sudden, but a slow pac'd, evil ; A long day's dying to augment our pain And to our seed (O hapless seed !) deriv'd." To whom thus Eve, recovering heart, replied. " Adam, by sad experiment I know How little weight my words with thee can find, Found so erroneous; thence by just event Found so unfortunate : nevertheless, llestor'd by thee, vile as I am, to place Of new acceptance, hopeful to regain Thy love, the sole contentment of my heart Living or dying, from thee I will not hide What thoughts in my unquiet breast are risen, Tending to some relief of our extremes, Or end ; though sharp and sad, yet tolerable, As in our evils, and of easier choice. If care of our descent perplex us most, Which must be born to certain woe, devour'd By Death at last ; and miserable it is, To be to others cause of misery, Our own begotten, and of our loins to bring Into this cursed world a woeful race, That after wretched life must be at last Food for so foul a monster ; in thy power It lies, yet ere conception to prevent The race unblest, to being yet unbegot. Childless thou art, childless remain : so Death Shall be deceiv'd his glut, and with us two Be forc'd to satisfy his ravenous maw. But if thou judge it hard and difficult, Conversing, looking, loving, to abstain From love's due rites, nuptial embraces sweet; And with desire to languish without hope, Before the present object languishing With like desire ; which would be misery And torment less than none of what we dread : Then, both ourselves and seed at once to free From what we fear for both, let us make short, Let us seek Death ; or, he not found, supply With our own hands his office on ourselves : Why stand we longer shivering under fears, That show no end but death, and have the power, Of many ways to die the shortest choosing, Destruction with destruction to destroy ?" She ended here, or vehement despair Broke off' the rest : so much of death her thoughts X. PARADISE LOST. 97 lad entertain'd, as dy'd her cheeks with pale. Jut Adam, with such counsel nothing sway'd, ."V) better hopes his more attentive mind ^abouring had rais'd ; and thus to Eve replied. " Eve, thy contempt of life and pleasure seems 'o argue in thee something more sublime .nd excellent, than what thy mind contemns ; 5ut self-destruction therefore sought, refutes liat excellence thought in thee ; and implies, fot thy contempt, but anguish and regret or loss of life and pleasure overlov'd. >r if thou covet death, as utmost end >f misery, so thinking to evade he penalty pronounc'd ; doubt not but God [ath wiselier arm'd his vengeful ire, than so 'o be forestall'd ; much more I fear lest death, > snatch'd, will not exempt us from the pain /e are by doom to pay ; rather, such acts f contumacy will provoke the Highest o make death in us live : then let us seek >me safer resolution, which methinks have in view, calling to mind with heed art of our sentence, that thy seed shall bruise !e serpent's head ; piteous amends ! unless 3 meant, whom I conjecture, our grand foe, tan ; who, in the serpent, hath rontriv'd gainst us this deceit : to crush his head ould be revenge indeed ! which will be lost f death brought on ourselves, or childless days asolv'd, as thou proposest ; so our foe ,all 'scape his punishment ordain'd, and we stead shall double ours upon our heads. ) more be mention'd then of violence gainst ourselves ; and wilful barrenness, lat cuts us off from hope ; and savours only mcour and pride, impatience and despite, :luctance against God and his just yoke id on our necks. Remember with what mild id gracious temper he both heard, and judg'd, ithout wrath or reviling ; we expected imediate dissolution, which we thought as meant by death that day ; when lo ! to thee ins only in child-bearing were foretold, id bringing forth ; soon recompens'd with joy, nit of thy womb : on me the curse aslope anc'd on the ground ; with labour I must earn r bread ; what harm ? Idleness had been worse ; r labour will sustain me ; and, lest cold heat should injure us, his timely care ith, unbesought, provided ; and his hands th'd us unworthy, pitying while he judg'd ; >w much more if we pray him, will his ear open, and his heart to pity incline, d teach us further by what means to shun 2 inclement seasons, rain, ice, hail, and snow ? lich now the sky, with various face, begins show us in this mountain ; while the winds iw moist and keen, shattering the graceful locks these fair spreading trees ; which bids us seek ae better shroud, some better warmth to cherish r Kmbs benumm'd, ere this diurnal star ive cold the night, how we his gather'd beams fleeted may with matter sere foment ; by collision of two bodies, grind ; air attrite to fire ; as late the clouds tling, or push'd with winds, rude in their shock, .e the slant lightning ; whose thwart flame, driven down, idles the gummy bark of fir or pine ; 1 sends a comfortable heat from far Which might supply the Sun : such fire to use, And what may else be remedy or cure To evils which our own misdeeds have wrought, He will instruct us praying, and of grace Beseeching him ; so as we need not fear To pass commodiously this life, sustain'd By him with many comforts, till we end In dust, our final rest and native home. What better can we do, than, to the place Repairing where he judg'd us, prostrate fall Before him reverent ; and there confess Humbly our faults, and pardon beg ; with tears Watering the ground, and with our sighs the air Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign Of sorrow unfeign'd, and humiliation meek ? Undoubtedly he will relent, and turn From his displeasure ; in whose looks serene, When angry most he seem'd and most severe, What else but favour, grace, and mercy, shone ?" So spake our father penitent ; nor Eve Felt less remorse : they, forthwith to the place Repairing where he judg'd them, prostrate fell Before him reverent ; and both confess'd Humbly their faults, and pardon begg'd ; with tears Watering the ground, and with their sighs the air Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign Of sorrow unfeign'd, and humiliation meek. BOOK XI. The Argument. The Son of God presents to his Father the prayers of our first parents now repenting, and inter- cedes for them : God accepts them, but declares that they must no longer abide in Paradise ; sends Michael with a band of cherubim to dispossess them ; but first to reveal to Adam future things : Michael's coming down. Adam shows to Eve certain ominous signs ; he discerns Michael's approach ; goes out to meet him : the angel de- nounces their departure. Eve's lamentation. Adam pleads, but submits ; the angel leads him up to a high hill ; sets before him in vision what shall happen till the Flood. THUS they, in lowliest plight, repentant stood Praying ; for from the mercy-seat above Prevenient grace descending had remov'd The stony from their hearts, and made new flesh Regenerate grow instead ; that sighs now breath'd Unutterable ; which the spirit of prayer Inspir'd, and wing'd for Heaven with speedier flight Than loudest oratory : yet their port Not of mean suitors ; nor important less Seem'd their petition, than when the ancient pair In fables old, less ancient yet than these, Deucalion and chaste Pyrrha, to restore The race of mankind drown'd, before the shrine Of Themis stood devout. To Heaven their prayers Flew up, nor miss'd the way, by envious winds Blown vagabond or frustrate : in they pass'd Dimensionless through heavenly doors ; then clad With incense, where the golden altar fum'd, By their great Intercessor, came in sight Before the Father's throne : them the glad Son Presenting, thus to intercede began. [sprung < See, Father, what first-fruits on Earth are From thy implanted grace in Man ; these sighs H 98 MILTON. BOOK X And prayers, which in this golden censer, mix'd With incense, I thy priest before thee bring ; Fruits of more pleasing savour, from thy seed Sown with contrition in his heart, than those Which, his own hand manuring, all the trees Of Paradise could have produc'd ere fall'n From innocence. Now, therefore, bend thine ear To supplication ; hear his sighs, though mute ; Unskilful with what words to pray, let me Interpret for him ; me, his advocate And propitiation ; all his works on me, Good, or not good, ingraft ; my merit those Shall perfect, and for these my death shall pay. Accept me ; and, in me, from these receive The smell of peace toward mankind : let him live- Before thee reconcil'd, at least his days Number'd though sad; till death, his doom, (which I To mitigate thus plead, not to reverse,) To better life shall yield him : where with me All my redeem'd may dwell in joy and bliss ; Made one with me, as I with thee am one." To whom the Father, without cloud, serene. " All thy request for Man, accepted Son, Obtain ; all thy request was my decree : But, longer in that Paradise to dwell, The law I gave to Nature him forbids : Those pure immortal elements, that know No gross, no unharmonious mixture foul, Eject him, tainted now ; and purge him off, As a distemper, gross, to air as gross, And mortal food ; as may dispose him best For dissolution wrought by sin,\that first Distemper 'd all things, and of incorrupt Corrupted. I, at first, with two fair gifts Created him endow'd ; with happiness, And immortality : that fondly lost, This other serv'd but to eternize woe ; Till I provided death : so death becomes His final remedy : and, after life, Tried in sharp tribulation, and refin'd By faith and faithful works, to second life, Wak'd in the renovation of the just, Resigns him up with Heaven and Earth renew 'd. But let us call to synod all the blest, Through Heaven's wide bounds : from them I will not hide My judgments ; how with mankind I proceed, As how with peccant angels late they saw, And in their state, though firm, stood more con- firm'd." , He ended, and the Son gave signal high To the bright minister that watch'd ; he blew His trumpet, heard in Oreb since perhaps When God descended, and perhaps once more To sound at general doom. The angelic blast Fill'd all the regions : from their blissful bowers Of amarantine shade, fountain or spring, By the waters of life, where'er they sat In fellowships of joy, the sons of light Hasted, resorting to the summons high : And took their seats : till from his throne supreme The Almighty thus pronounc'd his sovran will. " O sons, like one of us Man is become To know both good and evil, since his taste Of that defended fruit ; but let him boast His knowledge of good lost, and evil got ; Happier ! had it suffic'd him to have known Good by itself, and evil not at all. He sorrows now, repents, and prays contrite, My motions in him ; longer than they move, His heart I know, how variable and vain, Self-left. Lest therefore his now bolder hand Reach also of the tree of life, and eat, And live for ever, dream at least to live For ever, to remove him I decree, And send him from the garden forth to till The ground whence he was taken, fitter soil. " Michael, this my behest have thou in charge Take to thee from among the cherubim Thy choice of flaming warriours, lest the fiend, Or in behalf of Man, or to invade Vacant possession, some new trouble raise ; Haste thee, and from the Paradise of God Without remorse drive out the sinful pair ; From hallow'd ground the unholy ; and denounct To them, and to their progeny, from thence Perpetual banishment. Yet, lest they faint At the sad sentence rigorously urg'd, ( For I behold them soften'd, and with tears Bewailing their excess,) all terrour hide. If patiently thy bidding they obey, Dismiss them not disconsolate ; reveal To Adam what shall come in future days, As I shall thee enlighten ; intermix My covenant in the woman's seed renew'd : So send them forth, though sorrowing, yet in peac< And on the east side of the garden place, Where entrance up from Eden easiest climbs, Cherubic watch ; and of a sword the flame Wide- waving ; all approach far off 'to fright, And guard all passage to the tree of life : Lest Paradise a receptacle prove To spirits foul, and all my trees their prey ; With whose stol'n fruit man once more to delude He ceas'd ; and the arch-angelic power prepar' For swift descent ; with him the cohort bright Of watchful cherubim : four faces each Had, like a double Janus ; all their shape Spangled with eyes more numerous than those Of Argus, and more wakeful than to drouse, Charm'd with Arcadian pipe, the pastoral reed Of Hermes, or his opiate rod. Meanwhile, To re-salute the world with sacred light, Leucothea wak'd ; and with fresh dews embalm' The Earth ; when Adam and first matron Eve Had ended now their orisons, and found Strength added from above ; new hope to spring Out of despair ; joy, but with fear yet link'd ; Which thus to Eve his welcome words renew'd. , " Eve, easily may faith admit, that all The good which we enjoy, from Heaven descent But, that from us aught should ascend to Heavei So prevalent as to concern the mind Of God high-blest, or to incline his will, Hard to belief may seem ; yet this will prayer Or one short sigh of human breath, upborne Even to the seat of God. For since I sought \ By prayer the offended Deity to appease ; Kneel'd, and before him humbled all my heart ; Methought I saw him placable and mild, Bending his ear ; persuasion in me grew That I was heard with favour ; peace return'd Home to my breast, and to my memory His promise, that thy seed shall bruise our foe Which, then not minded in dismay, yet now Assures me that the bitterness of death Is past, and we shall live. Whence hail to thee Eve rightly call'd, mother of all mankind, Mother of all things living, since by thee Man is to live ; and all things live for Man." BOOK XI. PARADISE LOST. 99 To whom thus Eve with sad demeanour meek. " Ill-worthy I such title should belong To me transgressor ; who, for thee ordain'd A help, became thy snare ; to me reproach Rather belongs, distrust, and all dispraise : But infinite in pardon was my judge, That I, who first brought death on all, am grac'd The source oflife ; next favourable thou, Who highly thus to entitle me vouchsaf 'st, Far other name deserving. But the field To labour calls us, now with sweat impos'd, Though after sleepless night ; for see ! the Morn, All unconcern'd with our unrest, begins Her rosy progress smiling : let us forth ; I never from thy side henceforth to stray, Where'er our day's work lies, though now enjoin'd Laborious till day droop ; while here we dwell, What can be toilsome in these pleasant walks ? Here let us live, though in fall'n state, content." So spake, so wish'd much-humbled Eve; but Fate Subscrib'd not ; Nature first gave signs, impress'd On bird, beast, air ; air suddenly eclips'd, After short blush of morn : nigh in her sight Fhe bird of Jove, stoop'd from his aery tour, Two birds of gayest plume before him drove ; Down from a hill the beast that reigns in woods, First hunter then, pursu'd a gentle brace joodliest of all the forest, hart and hind Direct to the eastern gate was bent their flight. Vdam observ'd, and with his eye the chase 'ursuing, not unmov'd, to Eve thus spake. " O Eve, some further change awaits us nigh, Vhich Heaven, by these mute signs in Nature, shows 'orerunners of his purpose ; or to warn Js, haply too secure, of our discharge 'rom penalty, because from death releas'd ome days ; how long, and what till then our life, Vho knows ? or more than this, that we are dust, .nd thither must return, and be no more ? /liy else this double object in our sight 'f flight pursued in the air, and o'er the ground, ne way the self-same hour ? why in the east "arkness ere day's mid-course, and morning-light 'ore orient in yon western cloud, that draws 'er the blue firmament a radiant white, nd slow descends with something heavenly fraught?" He err'd not ; for by this the heavenly bands awn from a sky of jasper lighted now Paradise, and on a hill made halt ; glorious apparition, had not doubt id carnal fear that day dimm'd Adam's eye. )t that more glorious, when the angels met cob in Mahanaim, where he saw ie field pavilion'd with his guardians bright ; r that, which on the flaming mount appear'd Dothan, cover'd with a camp of fire, gainst the Syrian king, who to surprise ie man, assassin-like, had levied war, ir unproclaim'd. The princely hierarch their bright stand there left liis powers, to seize ^session of the garden ; he alone, find where Adam shelter'd, took his way, t unperceiv'd of Adam : who to Eve, lile the great visitant approach'd, thus spake. ' Eve, now expect great tidings, which perhaps us will soon determine, or impose w laws to be observ'd ; for I descry, m yonder blazing cloud that veils the hill, One of the heavenly host ; and, by his gaf t. None of the meanest ; some great potentate Or of the thrones above ; such majesty Invests him coming ! yet not terrible, That I should fear ; nor sociably mild, As Raphael, that I should much confide ; But solemn and sublime ; whom not to offend, With reverence I must meet, and thou retire." He ended ; and the arch-angel soon drew nigh, Not in his shape celestial, but as man Clad to meet man ; over his lucid arms A military vest of purple flow'd, Livelier than Melibcean, or the grain Of Sarra, worn by kings and heroes old In time of truce ; Iris had dipt the woof; His starry helm unbuckled show'd him prime In manhood where youth ended ; by his side, As in a glistering zodiac, hung the sword, Satan's dire dread ; and in his hand the spear. Adam bow'd low ; he, kingly, from his state Inclin'd not, but his coming thus declar'd. " Adam, Heaven's high behest no preface needs: Sufficient that thy prayers are heard ; and Death, Then due by sentence when thou didst transgress, Defeated of his seizure many days Given thee of grace ; wherein thou may'st repent, And one bad act with many deeds well done May'st cover : well may then thy Lord, appeas'd, Redeem thee quite from Death's rapacious claim ; But longer in this Paradise to dwell Permits not : to remove thee I am come, And send thee from the garden forth to till The ground whence thou wast taken, fitter soil." He added not ; for Adam at the news Heart-struck with chilling gripe of sorrow stood, That all his senses bound ; Eve, who unseen Yet all had heard, with audible lament Discover'd soon the place of her retire. " O unexpected stroke, worse than of Death : Must I thus leave thee, Paradise ? thus leave Thee, native soil ! these happy walks and shades, Fit haunt of gods ? where I had hope to spend, Quiet though sad, the respite of that day That must be mortal to us both. O flowers, That never will in other climate grow, My early visitation, and my last At even, which I bred up with tender hand From the first opening bud, and gave ye names ! Who now shall rear ye to the Sun, or rank Your tribes, and water from the ambrosial fount ? Thee lastly, nuptial bower ! by me adorn'd With what to sight or smell was sweet ! from thee How shall I part, and wliither wander down Into a lower world ; to this obscure And wild ? how shall we breathe in other air Less pure, accustom'd to immortal fruits?" Whom thus the angel interrupted mild. " Lament not, Eve, but patiently resign What justly thou hast lost, nor set thy heart, Thus over-fond, on that which is not thine : Thy going is not lonely ; with thee goes Thy husband ; him to follow thou art bound ; Where he abides, think there thy native soil." Adam, by this from the cold sudden damp Recovering, and his scatter'd spirits return "d, To Michael thus his humble words address'd. " Celestia], whether among the thrones, or nam'd Of them the highest ; for such of shape may seem Prince above princes ! gently hast thou told Thy message, which might else in telling wound, 100 MILTON. BOOK XI And in performing end us ; what besides Of sorrow, and dejection, and despair, Our frailty can sustain, thy tidings bring, Departure from this happy place, our sweet Recess, and only consolation left Familiar to our eyes ! all places else Inhospitable appear, and desolate; Nor knowing us, nor known : and, if by prayer Incessant I could hope to change the will Of him who all things can, I would not cease To weary him with my assiduous cries : But prayer against his absolute decree No more avails than breath against the wind, Blown stifling back on him that breathes it forth : Therefore to his great bidding I submit. This most afflicts me, that, departing hence, As from his face I shall be hid, depriv'd His blessed countenance : here I could frequent With worship place by place where he vouchsaf 'd Presence Divine ; and to my sons relate, * On this mount he appear'd ; under this tree Stood visible ; among these pines his voice I heard ; here with him at this fountain talk'd : So many grateful altars I would rear Of grassy turf, and pile up every stone Of lustre from the brook, in memory Or monument to ages ; and thereon Offer sweet-smelling gums, and fruits, and flowers : In yonder nether world where shall I seek His bright appearances, or foot-step trace ? For though I fled him angry, yet, recall'd To life prolong'd and promis'd race, I now Gladly behold though but his utmost skirts Of glory ; and far off his steps adore." To whom thus Michael with regard benign. " Adam, thou know'st Heaven his, and all the Earth ; Not this rock only ; his Omnipresence fills Land, sea, and air, and every kind that lives, Fomented by his virtual power and warm'd : All the Earth he gave thee to possess and rule, No despicable gift ; surmise not then His presence to these narrow bounds confin'd Of Paradise, or Eden : this had been Perhaps thy capital seat, from whence had spread All generations ; and had hither come From all the ends of the Earth, to celebrate And reverence thee, their great progenitor. But this pre-eminence thou hast lost, brought down To dwell on even ground now with thy sons : Yet doubt not but in valley, and in plain, God is, as here ; and will be found alike Present ; and of his presence many a sign Still following thee, still compassing thee round With goodness and paternal love, his face Express, and of his steps the track divine. Which that thou may'st believe, and be confirm'd Ere thou from hence depart ; know, I am sent To show thee what shall come in future days To thee, and to thy offspring : good witli bad Expect to hear ; supernal grace contending With sinfulness of men ; thereby to learn True patience, and to temper joy with fear And pious sorrow ; equally inur'd By moderation either state to bear, Prosperous or adverse : so shalt thou lead Safest thy life, and best prepar'd endure Thy mortal passage when it comes. Ascend This hill ; let Eve (for I have drench 'd her eyes) Here sleen below while t.linii tr> foresio-ht. wnk'st ; As once thou slept'st, while she to life wa form'd." To whom thus Adam gratefully replied. " Ascend, I follow thee, safe guide, the path Thou lead'st me; and to the hand of Heaven submit However chastening ; to the evil turn My obvious breast ; arming to overcome By suffering, and earn rest from labour won, If so I may attain." So both ascend In the visions of God. It was a hill, Of Paradise the highest ; from whose top The hemisphere of Earth, in clearest ken, Stretch'd out to the amplest reach of prospect lay. Not higher that hill, nor wider looking round, Whereon, for different cause, the Tempter set Our second Adam, in the wilderness ; To show him all Earth's kingdoms, and their glory His eye might there command wherever stood City of old or modern fame, the seat Of mightiest empire, from the destin'd walls Of Cambalu, scat of Cathaian Can, And Sainarchand by Oxus, Temir's throne, To Paquin of Sina>an kings ; and thence To Agra and Lahor of great Mogul, Down to the golden Chersonese ; or where The Persian in Ecbatan sat, or since In Hispahan ; or where the Russian ksar In Mosco ; or the sultan in Bizance, Turchestan-born ; nor could his eye not ken The empire of Negus to Ins utmost port Ercoco, and the less maritim kings Mombasa, and Quiloa, and Melind, And Sofala, thought Ophir, to the realm Of Congo, and Angola farthest south ; Or thence from Niger flood to Atlas mount The kingdoms of Almansor, Fez and Sus, Morocco, and Algiers, and Tremisen ; On Europe thence, and where Rome was to sway The world : in spirit perhaps he also saw Rich Mexico, the seat of Montezume, And Cusco in Peru, the richer seat Of Atabalipa ; and yet unspoil'd Guiana, whose great city Geryon's sons Call El Dorado. But to nobler sights Michael from Adam's eyes the film remov'd, Which that false fruit that promis'd clearer sight Had bred ; then purg'd with euphrasy and rue The visual nerve, for he had much to see ; And from the well of life three drops instill'd. So deep the power of these ingredients pierc'd, Even to the inmost seat of mental sight, That Adam, now enforc'd to close his eyes, Sunk down, and all his spirits became entranc'd ; But him the gentle angel by the hand Soon rais'd, and his attention thus recall'd. " Adam, now ope thine eyes ; and first behold The effects, which thy original crime hath wrougl In some to spring from thee ; who never touch'd The excepted tree ; nor with the snake conspir'd Nor sinn'd thy sin ; yet from that sin derive Corruption, to bring forth more violent deeds.' His eyes he open'd, and beheld a field, Part arable and tilth, whereon were sheaves New reap'd ; the other part sheep-walks and fold I' the midst an altar as the land-mark stood Rustic, of grassy sord ; thither anon A sweaty reaper from his tillage brought First fruits, the green ear, and the yellow sheaf, Uncull'd, as came to hand ; a shepherd next, More meek, came with the firstlings of his flock. BOOK XI. PARADISE HOST. 101 Choicest and best ; then, sacrificing, laid The inwards and their fat, with incense strow'd, On the cleft wood, and all due rites perform 'd : His offering soon propitious fire from Heaven Consum'd with nimble glance, and grateful steam ; The other's not, for his was not sincere ; Whereat he inly rag'd, and, as they talk'd, Smote him into the midriff with a stone That beat out life ! he fell ; and, deadly pale, Groan'd out his soul with gushing blood effus'd. Much at that sight was Adam in his heart Dismay'd, and thus in haste to the angel cried. " O teacher, some great mischief hath befall'n To that meek man, who well had sacrific'd ; Is piety thus and pure devotion paid ?" To whom Michael thus, he also mov'd, replied. " These two are brethren, Adam, and to come Out of thy loins ; the unjust the just hath slain, For envy that his brother's offering found From Heaven acceptance ; but the bloody fact Will be aveng'd ; and the other's faith, approv'd, Lose no reward ; though here thou see him die, Rolling in dust and gore." To which our sire. " Alas ! both for the deed, and for the cause ! But have I now seen Death ? Is this the way I must return to native dust ? O sight Of terrour, foul and ugly to behold, Horrid to think, how horrible to feel !" To whom thus Michael. " Death thou hast seen In his first shape on Man ; but many shapes Of Death, and many are the ways that lead To his grim cave, all dismal ; yet to sense More terrible at the entrance, than within. Some, as thou saw'st, by violent stroke shall die ; By fire, flood, famine, by intemperance more In meats and drinks, which on the Earth shall bring Diseases dire, of which a monstrous crew Before thee shall appear ; that thou may'st know What misery the inabstinence of Eve Shall bring on men." Immediately a place Before his eyes appear'd, sad, noisome, dark ; A lazar-house it seem'd ; wherein were laid Numbers of all diseas'd : all maladies Of ghastly spasm, or racking torture, qualms Of heart-sick agony, all feverous kinds, Convulsions, epilepsies, fierce catarrhs, Intestine stone and ulcer, colic-pangs, Demoniac phrensy, moping melancholy, And moon-struck madness, pining atrophy, Marasmus, and wide- wasting pestilence, Dropsies, and asthmas, and joint-racking rheums. Dire was the tossing, deep the groans ; Despair Tended the sick busiest from couch to couch ; And over them triumphant Death his dart Shook, but delay'd to strike, though oft invok'd With vows, as their chief good, and final hope. Sight so deform what heart of rock could long Dry-ey'd behold ? Adam could not, but wept, Though not of woman born ; compassion quell'd His best of man, and gave him up to tears A space, till firmer thoughts restrain'd excess ; And, scarce recovering words, his plaint renew'd. " O miserable mankind, to what fall Degraded, to what wretched state reserv'd ! Better end here unborn. Why is life given To be thus wrested from us ? rather, why Obtruded on us thus ? who, if we knew What we receive, would either not accept Life offer'd, or soon beg to lay it down ; Glad to be so dismiss'd in peace. Can tJbus The image of God in Man, created once So goodly and erect, though faulty since, To such unsightly sufferings be debas'd Under inhuman pains ? Why should not Man, Retaining still divine similitude In part, from such deformities be free, And, for his Maker's image sake, exempt ?' " Their Maker's image," answer'd Michael, " then Forsook them, when themselves they vilified To serve ungovern'd Appetite ; and took His image whom they serv'd, a brutish vice, Inductive mainly to the sin of Eve. Therefore so abject is their punishment, Disfiguring not God's likeness, but their own ; Or if his likeness, by themselves defac'd ; While they pervert pure Nature's healthful rules To loathsome sickness ; worthily, since they God's image did not reverence in themselves." " I yield it just," said Adam, " and submit. But is there yet no other way, besides These painful passages, how we may come To death, and mix with our connatural dust ?" " There is," said Michael, " if thou well observe The rule of Not too much ; by temperance taught, In what thou eat'st and drink'st ; seeking from thence Due nourishment, not gluttonous delight, Till many years over thy head return : So may'st thou live ; till, like ripe fruit, thou drop Into thy mother's lap ; or be with ease Gather'd, not harshly pluck'd ; for death mature : This is Old Age ; but then, thou must outlive Thy youth, thy strength, thy beauty ; which will change To wither'd, weak, and gray ; thy senses then, Obtuse, all taste of pleasure must forego, To what thou hast ; and, for the air of youth, Hopeful and cheerful in thy blood will reign A melancholy damp of cold and dry To weigh thy spirits down, and last consume The balm of life." To whom our ancestor. " Henceforth I fly not death, nor would prolong Life much ; bent rather, how I may be quit, Fairest and easiest of this cumbrous charge ; Which I must keep till my appointed day Of rendering up, and patiently attend My dissolution." Michael replied. [liv'st, " Nor love thy life, nor hate ; but what thou Live well ; how long, or short, perarit to Heaven : And now prepare thee for another sight." He look'd, and saw a spacious plain, whereon Were tents of various hue ; by some, were herds Of cattle grazing ; others, whence the sound Of instruments, that made melodious chime, Was heard, of harp and organ ; and, who mov'd Their stops and chords, was seen ; his volant touch, Instinct through all proportions, low and high, Fled and pursued transverse the resonant fugue. In other part stood one who, at the forge Labouring, two massy clods of iron and brass Had melted, (whether found where casual fire Had wasted woods on mountain or in vale, Down to the veins of Earth ; thence gliding hot To some cave's mouth ; or whether wash'd by stream From underground ;) the liquid ore he drain' d Into fit moulds prepar'd ; from which he form'd First his own tools ; then, what might else b*> wrought Fusil or jrraven in metal. After these, H 3 102 But on the hither side, a different sort From the high neighbouring hills, which was their Down to the plain descended ; by their guise Just men they seem'd, and all their study bent To worship God aright, and know his works Not hid ; nor those things last, which might preserve Freedom and peace to men : they on the plain Long had not walk'd, when from the tents, behold ! A bevy of fair women, richly gay In gems and wanton dress ; to the harp they sung Soft amorous ditties, and in dance came on : The men, though grave, ey'd them ; and let their eyes Rove without rein ; till, in the amorous net Fast caught, they lik'd ; and each his liking chose ; And now of love they treat, till the evening-star, Lore's harbinger, appear'd ; then, all in heat They light the nuptial torch, and bid invoke Hymen, then first to marriage rites invok'd : With feast and music all the tents resound. Such happy interview, and fair event Of love and youth not lost, songs, garlands, flowers, And charming symphonies, attach'd the heart Of Adam, soon inclin'd to admit delight, The bent of nature ; which he thus expressed. " True opener of mine eyes, prime angel blest ; Much better seems this vision, and more hope Of peaceful days portends, than those two past ; Those were of hate and death, or pain much worse ; Here Nature seems fulfill' d in all her ends." To whom thus Michael. " Judge not what is best By pleasure, though to nature seeming meet ; Created, as thou art, to nobler end Holy and pure, conformity divine. Those tents thou saw'st so pleasant, were the tents Of wickedness, wherein shall dwell his race Who slew his brother ; studious they appear Of arts that polish life, inventers rare ; Unmindful of their Maker, though his spirit Taught them ; but they his gifts acknowledg'd none. Yet they a beauteous offspring shall beget ; For that fair female troop thou saw'st, that seem'd Of goddesses, so blithe, so smooth, so gay, Yet empty of all good wherein consists Woman's domestic honour and cliief praise ; Bred only and completed to the taste Of lustful appetence, to sing, to dance, To dress, and troll the tongue, and roll the eye. To these that sober race of men, whose lives Religious titled them the sons of God, Shall yield up all their virtue, all their fame Ignobly, to the trains and to the smiles Of these fair atheists ; and now swim in joy, Ere long to swim at large ; and laugh, for which The world ere long a world of tears must weep." To whom thus Adam, of short joy bereft. " O pity and shame, that they, who to live well Enter'd so fair, should turn aside to tread Paths indirect, or in the mid way faint ! But still I see the tenour of man's woe Holds on the same, from woman to begin." " From man's effeminate slackness it begins," Said the angel, " who should better hold his place By wisdom, and superior gifts receiv'd. But now prepare thee for another scene." He look'd, and saw wide territory spread Before him, towns, and rural works between ; Cities of men with lofty gates and towers, Concourse in arms, fierce faces threatening war, MILTON. BOOK XI. Giants of mighty bone, and bold emprise ; Part wield their arms, part curb the foaming steed, Single or in array of battle rang'd Both horse and foot, nor idly mustering stood One way a band select from forage drives A herd of beeves, fair oxen and fair kine, From a fat meadow ground ; or fleecy flock, Ewes and their bleating lambs over the plain, Their booty ; scarce with life the shepherds fly, But call in aid, which makes a bloody fray ; With cruel tournament the squadrons join ; Where cattle pastur'd late, now scatter'd lies With carcasses and arms the ensanguin'd field, Deserted : others to a city strong Lay siege, encamp'd ; by battery, scale, and mine, Assaulting ; others from the wall defend With dart and javelin, stones, and sulphurous fire ; On each hand slaughter, and gigantic deeds. In other part the scepter'd heralds call To council, in the city-gates ; anon Gray-headed men and grave, with warriours mix'd, Assemble, and harangues are heard ; but soon, In factious opposition ; till at last, Of middle age one rising, eminent In wise deport, spake much of right and wrong, Of justice, of religion, truth, and peace, And judgment from above : him old and young Exploded, and had seiz'd with violent hands ; Had not a cloud descending snatch'd him thence Unseen amid the throng : so violence Proceeded, and oppression, and sword-law, Through all the plain, and refuge none was found. Adam was all in tears, and to his guide Lamenting turn'd full sad: " O ! what are these, Death's ministers, not men ? who thus deal death Inhumanly to men, and multiply Ten thousandfold the sin of him who slew His brother : for of whom such massacre Make they, but of their brethren ; men of men ? But who was that just man, whom had not Heaven Rescued, had in his righteousness been lost?" To whom thus Michael. " These are the product Of those ill-mated marriages thou saw'st ; [selves Where good with bad were match'd, who of them- Abhor to join ; and, by imprudence mix'd, Produce prodigious births of body or mind. Such were these giants, men of high renown ; For in those days might only shall be admir'd, And valour and heroic virtue call'd ; To overcome in battle, and subdue Nations, and bring home spoils with infinite Man-slaughter, shall be held the highest pitch Of human glory ; and for glory done Of triumph, to be styl'd great conquerors, Patrons of mankind, gods and sons of gods ; Destroyers rightlier call'd, and plagues of men. Thus fame shall be achiev'd, renown on Earth ; And what most merits fame, in silence hid. But he, the seventh from thee, whom thou bcheldst The only righteous in a we rid perverse, And therefore hated, therefore so beset With foes, for daring single to be just, And utter odious truth, that God would come To judge them with his saints : him the Most High Rapt in a balmy cloud with winged steeds Did, as thou saw'st, receive, to walk with God High in salvation and the climes of bliss, Exempt from death ; to show thee what reward Awaits the good : the rest what punishment ; Which now direct thine eyes and soon behold." BOOK XL PARADISE LOST. 10S He look'd, and saw the face of things quite chang'd ; The brazen throat of war had ceas'd to roar All now was turn'd to jollity and game, To luxury and riot, feast and dance ; Marrying or prostituting, as befell, Rape or adultery, where passing fair Allur'd them ; thence from cups to civil broils, At length a reverend sire among them came, And of their doings great dislike declar'd And testified against their ways ; he oft Frequented their assemblies, whereso met, Triumphs or festivals ; and to them preach'd Conversion and repentance, as to souls [n prison, under judgments imminent : But all in vain : which -when he saw, he ceas'd Contending, and remov'd his tents far off'; Then, from the mountain hewing tiirber tall, Began to build a vessel of huge bulk ; Measur'd by cubit, length, and breadth, and height; Smear'd round with pitch ; and in the side a door Contriv'd ; and of provisions laid in large, For man and beast : when lo, a wonder strange ! Of every beast, and bird, and insect small, Came sevens and pairs ; and enter'd in as taught Their order : last the sire and his three sons, VY 7 ith their four wives ; and God made fast the door. Meanwhile the south-wind rose, and, with black wings Wide-hovering, all the clouds together drove iea without shore ; and in their palaces, vVhere luxury late reign'd, sea-monsters whelp'd ind stabled ; of mankind, so numerous late, \11 left, in one small bottom swum imbark'd. low didst thou grieve, then, Adam, to behold Hie end of all thy offspring, end so sad, Depopulation ! Thee another flood, )f tears and sorrow a flood, thee also drown'd, ind sunk thee as thy sons ; till, gently rear'd 3y the angel, on thy feet thou stood' st at last ; Though comfortless ; as when a father mourns 3is cliildren, all in view destroy'd at once ; ind scarce to the angel utter'dst thus thy plaint. " O visions ill foreseen ! better had I A\\\ ignorant of future ! so had borne Vly part of evil only, each day's lot Enough to bear ; those now, that were dispens'd The burden of many ages, on me light U once, by my foreknowledge gaining birth Abortive, to torment me ere their being, Vith thought that they must be. Let no man seek ienceforth to be foretold, what shall befall lim or his children ; evil he may be sure, Vhich neither his foreknowing can prevent ; Vnd he the future evil shall no less n apprehension than in substance feel, jrievous to bear : but that care now is past, Man is not whom to warn : those few escap'd ? amine and anguish will at last consume, vVandering that watery desert ; I had hope When violence was ceas'd, and war on Karth, All would have then gone well ; peace would have crown'd With length of happy days the race of Man j But I was far deceived ; for now I see Peace to corrupt no less than war to waste. How comes it thus? unfold, celestial guide, And whether here the race of Man will end. ' To whom thus Michael. " Those, whom last thou saw'st In triumph and luxurious wealth, are they First seen in acts of prowess eminent And great exploits, but of true virtue void ; Who, having spilt much blood, and done much waste Subduing nations, and achiev'd thereby Fame in the world, high titles, and rich prey ; Shall change their course to pleasure, ease, and sloth, Surfeit, and lust ; till wantonness and pride Raise out of friendship hostile deeds in peace. The conquer'd also, and enslav'd by war, Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose And fear of God ; from/whom their piety feign'd In sharp contest of battle found no aid Against invaders ; therefore, cool'd in zeal, Thenceforth shall practise how to live secure, Worldly or dissolute, on what their lords Shall leave them to enjoy ; for the Earth shall bear More than enough, that temperance may be tried : So all shall turn degenerate, all deprav'd ; Justice and temperance, truth and faith, forgot ; One man except, the only son of light In a dark age, against example good, Against allurement, custom, and a world Offended : fearless of reproach and scorn, Or violence, he of their wicked ways Shall them admonish ; and before them set The paths of righteousness, how much more safe And full of peace ; denouncing wrath to come On their impenitence ; and shall return Of them derided, but of God observ'd The one just man alive ; by his command Shall build a wondrous ark, as thou beheldst, To save himself, and household, from amidst A world devote to universal wrack. No sooner he, with them of man and beast Select for life, shall in the ark be lodg'd, And shelter'd round ; but all the cataracts Of Heaven set open on the Earth shall pour Rain, day and night ; all fountains of the deep, Broke up, shall heave the ocean to usurp Beyond all bounds ; till inundation rise Above the highest hills : then shall this mount Of Paradise by might of waves be mov'd Out of his place, push'd by the horned flood, With all his verdure spoil'd, and trees adrift, Down the great river to the opening gulf, And there take root an island salt and bare, The haunt of seals, and ores, and sea-mews' clang ; To teach thee that God attributes to place No sanctity, if none be thither brought By men who there frequent, or therein dwell And now, what further shall ensue, behold." He look'd, and saw the ark hull on the flood, Which now abated ; for the clouds were fled, Driven by a keen north-wind, that, blowing dry, Wrinkled the face of deluge, as decay'd ; And the clear Sun on his wide watery glass Gaz'd hot, and of the fresh wave largely drew, As after thirst ; which made their flowing shrink From standing lake to tripping ebb, tliat stole H 4 MILTON. BOOK XII. With soft foot towards the deep ; who now had stopt His sluices, as the Heaven his windows shut. The ark no more now floats, but seems on ground, Fast on the top of some high mountain fix'd. And now the tops of hills, as rocks, appear ; With clamour thence the rapid currents drive, Towards the retreating sea, their furious tide. Forthwith from out the ark a raven flies, And after him, the surer messenger, A dove sent forth once and again to spy Green tree or ground, whereon his foot may light : The second time returning, in his bill A.n olive-leaf he brings, pacific sign : Anon dry ground appears, and from his ark The ancient sire descends, with all his train : Then with uplifted hands, and eyes devout, Grateful to Heaven, over his head beholds A dewy cloud, and in the cloud a bow Conspicuous with three listed colours gay, Betokening peace from God, and covenant new. Whereat the heart of Adam, erst so sad, Greatly rejoic'd ; and thus his joy broke forth. " O thou, who future things canst represent As present, heavenly instructor ! I revive At this last sight ; assur'd that Man shall live, With all the creatures, and their seed preserve. Far less I now lament for one whole world Of wicked sons destroy'd, than I rejoice For one man found so perfect, and so just, That God vouchsafes to raise another world From him, and all his anger to forget. [Heaven But say, what mean those colour' d streaks in Distended, as the brow of God appeas'd ? Or serve they, as a flowery verge, to bind The fluid skirts of that same watery cloud, Lest it again dissolve, and shower the Earth ?" To whom the arch-angel. " Dextrously thou aim'st ; So willingly doth God remit his ire, Though late repenting him of Man deprav'd ; Griev'd at his heart, when looking down he saw The whole Earth fill'd with violence, and all flesh Corrupting each their way ; yet, those remov'd, Such grace shall one just man find in his sight, That he relents, not to blot out mankind ; And makes a covenant never to destroy The Earth again by flood ; nor let the sea Surpass his bounds ; nor rain to drown the world, With man therein or beast ; but, when he brings Over the Earth a cloud, will therein set His triple-colour'd bow, whereon to look, And call to mind his covenant : day and night, Seed-time and harvest, heat and hoary frost, Shall hold their course ; till fire purge all things new, Both Heaven and Earth, wherein the just shall dwell." BOOK XII. The Argument. The angel Michael continues, from the flood, to relate what shall succeed ; then, in the mention of Abraham, comes by degrees to explain, who that seed of the woman shall be, which was pro- mised Adam and Eve in the Fall ; his incarnation, death, resurrection, and ascension ; the state of the church till his second coming. Adam, greatly satisfied and recomforted by these re- lations and promises, descends the hill with Michael ; wakens Eve, who all this while had slept, but with gentle dreams composed to quiet- ness of mind and submission. Michael in eithei hand leads them out of Paradise, the fiery sword waving behind them, and the Cherubim taking their stations to guard the place. As one who in his journey bates at noon, Though bent on speed; so here the arch-angel paus'd Betwixt the world destroy'd and world restor'd, If Adam aught perhaps might interpose ; Then, with transition sweet, new speech resumes, " Thus thou hast seen one world begin, and endj And Man, as from a second stock, proceed. Much thou hast yet to see ; but I perceive Thy mortal sight to fail : objects divine Must needs impair and weary human sense : Henceforth what is to come I will relate ; Thou therefore give due audience, and attend. " This second source of men, while yet but few, And while the dread of judgment past remains Fresh in their minds, fearing the Deity, With some regard to what is just and right Shall lead their lives, and multiply apace ; Labouring the soil, and reaping plenteous crop, Corn, wine, and oil ; and, from the herd or flock, Oft sacrificing bullock, lamb, or kid, With large wine-offerings pour'd, and saered feast, Shall spend their days in joy unblam'd ; and dwell Long time in peace, by families and tribes, Under paternal rule : till one shall rise Of proud ambitious heart ; who, not content With fair equality, fraternal state, Will arrogate dominion undeserv'd Over his brethren, and quite dispossess Concord and law of nature from the Earth ; Hunting (and men not beasts shall be his game) With war, and hostile snare, such as refuse Subjection to his empire tyrannous: A mighty hunter thence he shall be styl'd Before the Lord ; as in despite of Heaven, Or from Heaven, claiming second sovranty ; And from rebellion shall derive his name, Though of rebellion others he accuse. He with a crew, whom like ambition joins With him or under him to tyrannize, Marching from Eden towards the west, shall find The plain, wherein a black bituminous gurge Boils out from under ground, the mouth of Hell : Of brick, and of that stuff, they cast to build A city and tower, whose top may reach to Heaven ; And get themselves a name ; lest, far dispers'd In foreign lands, their memory be lost ; Regardless whether good or evil fame. But God, who oft descends to visit men Unseen, and through their habitations walks To mark their doings, them beholding soon, Comes down to see their city, ere the tower Obstruct Heaven-towers ; and in derision sets Upon their tongues a various spirit, to rase Quite out their native language ; and, instead, To sow a jangling noise of words unknown : Forthwith a hideous gabble rises loud, Among the builders ; each to other calls Not understood ; till hoarse, and all in rage, As mock'd they storm: great laughter was in Heaven, And looking down, to see the hubbub strange, BOOK XII. PARADISE LOST. 105 And hear the din : thus was the building left Ridiculous, and the work Confusion nam'd." Whereto thus Adam, fatherly displeas'd. " O execrable son ! so to aspire Above his brethren ; to himself assuming Authority usurp'd, from God not given : He gave us only over beast, fish, fowl, Dominion absolute ; that right we hold By his donation ; but man over men He made not lord ; such title to himself Reserving, human left from human free. But this usurper his encroachment proud Stays not on man ; to God his tower intends Siege and defiance : wretched man ! what food Will he convey up thither, to sustain Himself and his rash army ; where thin air Above the clouds will pine his entrails gross, And famish him of breath, if not of bread?" To whom thus Michael. " Justly thou abhorr'st Hiat son, who on the quiet state of men Such trouble brought, affecting to subdue Rational liberty ; yet know withal, Since thy original lapse, true liberty [s lost, which always with right reason dwells Twinn'd, and from her hath no dividual being : Reason in man obscur'd, or not obey'd, Immediately inordinate desires, And upstart passions, catch the government From reason ; and to servitude reduce Man, till then free. Therefore, since he permits Within himself unworthy powers to reign 3ver free reason, God, in judgment just, Subjects him from without to violent lords ; Who oft as undeservedly enthrall His outward freedom : tyranny must be ; ITiough to the tyrant thereby no excuse. Yet sometimes nations will decline so low From virtue, which is reason, that no wrong, But justice, and some fatal curse annex'd, Deprives them of their outward liberty ; Their inward lost : witness the irreverent son .If him who built the ark ; who, for the shame Done to his father, heard this heavy curse, Servant of servants, on his vicious race. Fhus will this latter, as the former world, Still tend from bad to worse ; till God at last, vVearied with their iniquities, withdraw I is presence from among them, and avert :iis holy eyes ; resolving from thenceforth To leave them to their own polluted ways ; \.nd one peculiar nation to select 7 rom all the rest, of whom to be invok'd, \. nation from one faithful man to spring: iim on this side Euphrates yet residing, 3red up in idol-worship : O, that men Canst thou believe ?) should be so stupid grown, >Vhile yet the patriarch liv'd, who 'scap'd the flood, Vs to forsake the living God, and fall To worship their own work in wood and stone ? or gods ! Yet him God the Most High vouchsafes To call by vision, from his father's house, flis kindred, and false gods, into a land Vhich he will show him ; and from him will raise V mighty nation ; and upon him shower lis benediction so, that in his seed ill nations shall be blest : he straight obeys ; tfot knowing to what land, yet firm believes : " see him, but thou canst not, with what faith 3 leaves his gods, his friends, and native soil, Jr of Chalda'a, passing now the ford To Haran ; after him a cumbrous train Of herds and flocks, and numerous servitude ; Not wandering poor, but trusting all his wealth With God, who call'd him, in a land unknown. Canaan he now attains ; I see his tents Pitch'd about Sechem, and the neighbouring plain Of Moreh ; there by promise he receives Gift to his progeny of all that land, From Hamath northward to the desert south ; ( Things by their names I call, though yet unnamM ;) From Hermon east to the great western sea ; Mount Hermon, yonder sea ; each place behold In prospect, as I point them ; on the shore Mount Carmel ; here, the double-founted stream, Jordan, true limit eastward ; but his sons Shall dwell to Senir, that long ridge of hills. This ponder, that all nations of the Earth Shall in his seed be blessed : by that seed Is meant thy great Deliverer, who shall bruise The serpent's head ; whereof to thee anon Plainlier shall be reveal'd. This patriarch blest, Whom faithful Abraham due time shall call, A son, and of his son a grand-child, leaves ; Like him in faith, in wisdom, and renown : The grand-child, with twelve sons increas'd, departs From Canaan, to a land hereafter call'd Egypt, divided by the river Nile ; See where it flows, disgorging at seven mouths Into the sea : to sojourn in that land He comes, invited by a younger son In time of dearth ; a son, whose worthy deeds Raise him to be the second in that realm Of Pharaoh : there he dies, and leaves his race Growing into a nation ; and, now grown, Suspected to a sequent king, who seeks To stop their overgrowth, as inmate guests [slaves Too numerous ; whence of guests he makes them Inhospitably, and kills their infant males : Till by two brethren, (these two brethren call Moses and Aaron,) sent from God to claim His people from enthralment, they return With glory, and spoil, back to their promis'd land. But first, the lawless tyrant, who denies To know their God, or message to regard, Must be compell'd by signs and judgments dire ; To blood unshed the rivers must be turn'd ; Frogs, lice, and flies, must all his palace fill With loath'd intrusion, and fill all the land; His cattle must of rot and murren die ; Botches and blains must all his flesh emboss, And all his people ; thunder mix'd with hail, Hail mix'd with fire, must rend the Egyptian sky. And wheel on the Earth, devouring where it rolls; What it devours not, herb, or fruit, or grain, A darksome cloud of locusts swarming down Must eat, and on the ground leave nothing green ; Darkness must overshadow all his bounds, Palpable darkness, and blot out three days ; Last, with one midnight-stroke, all the first-born Of Egypt must lie dead. Thus with ten wounds The river-dragon tam'd at length submits To let his sojourners depart, and oft Humbles his stubborn heart ; but still, as ice More harden'd after thaw ; till, in his rage Pursuing whom he late dismiss'd, the sea Swallows him with his host ; but them lets pass, As on dry land, between two crystal walls; Aw'd by the rod of Moses so to stand Divided, till his rescued gain their shore : Such wondrous power God to his saint will lend, 106 MILTON. BOOK XII, Though present in his angel ; who shall go Before them in a cloud, and pillar of fire ; By day a cloud, by night a pillar of fire ; To guide them in their journey, and remove Behind them, while the obdurate king pursues : All night he will pursue ; but his approach Darkness defends between till morning watch ; Then through the fiery pillar, and the cloud, God looking forth will trouble all his host, And craze their chariot-wheels : when by command Moses once more his potent rod extends Over the sea ; the sea his rod obeys ; On their embattled ranks the waves return, And overwhelm their war : the race elect Safe towards Canaan from the shore advance Through the wild desert, not the readiest way ; Lest, entering on the Canaanite alarm'd, War terrify them inexpert, and fear Return them back to Egypt, choosing rather Inglorious life with servitude ; for life To noble and ignoble is more sweet Untrain'd in arms, where rashness leads not on. This also shall they gain by their delay In the wide wilderness ; there they shall found Their government, and their great senate choose Through the twelve tribes, to rule by laws ordain'd: God from the mount of Sinai, whose gray top Shall tremble, he descending, will himself In thunder, lightning, and loud trumpets' sound, Ordain them laws ; part, such as appertain To civil justice ; part, religious rites Of sacrifice ; informing them, by types And shadows, of that destin'd Seed to bruise The serpent, by what means he shall achieve Mankind's deliverance. But the voice of God To mortal ear is dreadful : they beseech That Moses might report to them his will, And terrour cease ; he grants what they besought, Instructed that to God is no access, Without mediator, whose high office now Moses in figure bears ; to introduce One greater, of whose day lie shall foretell, And all the prophets in their age the times Of great Messiah shall sing. Thus, laws and rights Establish'd, such delight hath God in men Obedient to his will, that .he vouchsafes Among them to set up his tabernacle ; The Holy One with mortal men to dwell : By his prescript a sanctuary is fram'd Of cedar, overlaid with gold ; therein An ark, and in the ark his testimony, The records of his covenant ; over these A mercy-seat of gold, between the wings Of two bright cherubim ; before him burn Seven lamps as in a zodiac representing The heavenly fires ; over the tent a cloud Shall rest by day, a fiery gleam by night ; Save when they journey, and at length they come, Conducted by liis angel, to the land Promis'd to Abraham and his seed : the rest Were long to tell ; how many battles fought ; How many kings destroy'd ; and kingdoms won ; Or how the Sun shall in mid Heaven stand still A day entire, and night's due course adjourn, Man's voice commanding, ' Sun, in Gibeon stand And thou, Moon, in the vale of Aialon, Till Israel overcome!' so call the third From Abraham, son of Isaac; and from him | His whole descent, who thus shall Canaan win." Here Adam interpos'd. " O sent from Heaven, | Enlightcner of my darkness, gracious things Thou hast reveal'd ; those chiefly, which concern Just Abraham and his seed : now first I find Mine eyes true-opening, and my heart much eas'd Erewhile perplex'd with thoughts, what would be- come Of me and all mankind : but now I see His day, in whom all nations shall be blest ; Favour unmerited by me, who sought Forbidden knowledge by forbidden means. This yet I apprehend not, why to those Among whom God will deign to dwell on Earth So many and so various laws are given So many laws argue so many sins Among them ; how can God with such reside ?" To whom thus Michael. " Doubt not but that sin Will reign among them, as of thee begot ; And therefore was law given them, to evince Their natural pravity, by stirring up Sin against law to fight : that when they see Law can discover sin, but not remove, Save by those shadowy expiations weak, The blood of bulls and goats, they may conclude Some blood more precious must be paid for man ; Just for unjust ; that in such righteousness To them by faith imputed, they may find Justification towards God, and peace Of conscience ; which the law by ceremonies Cannot appease : nor man the moral part Perform ; and, not performing, cannot live. So law appears imperfect ; and but given With purpose to resign them, in full time, Up to a better covenant ; disciplin'd From shadowy types to truth ; from flesh to spirit ; From imposition of strict laws to free Acceptance of large grace ; from servile fear To filial : works of law to works of faith. And therefore shall not Moses, though of God Highly belov'd, being but the minister Of law, his people into Canaan lead ; But Joshua, whom the Gentiles Jesus call, His name and office bearing, who shall quell The adversary-serpent, and bring back Through the world's wilderness long-wander'd man Safe to eternal Paradise of rest. Meanwhile they, in their earthly Canaan plac'd, Long time shall dwell and prosper, but when sins National interrupt their public peace, Provoking God to raise them enemies ; From whom as oft he saves them penitent By judges first, then under kings ; of whom The second, both for piety renown'd And puissant deeds, a promise shall receive Irrevocable, that his regal throne ' For ever shall endure ; the like shall sing All prophecy, that of the royal stock Of David (so I name this king) shall rise A son, the woman's seed to tuec foretold, Foretold to Abraham, as in whom shall trust All nations ; and to kings foretold, of kings The last ; for of his reign shall be no end. But first, a long succession must ensue ; And his next son, for wealth and wisdom fam'd, The clouded ark of God, till then in tents Wandering, shall in a glorious temple enshrine. Such follow him, as shall be register'd Part good, part bad ; of bad the longer scroll ; Whose foul idolatries, and other faults Heap'd to the popular sum, will so incense God, as to leave them, and expose their land, XII. PARADISE LOST. J07 Rieir city, his temple, and his holy ark, vVith all liis sacred things, a scorn and prey To that proud city, whose high walls thoti saw'st jcft in contusion ; Babylon thence call'd. rhere in captivity he lets them dwell fhe space of seventy years ; then brings them back, lemembering mercy, and his covenant sworn Co David, stablish'd as the days of Heaven. leturn'd from Babylon by leave of kings Hieir lords, whom God dispos'd, the house of God They first re-edify ; and for a while n mean estate live moderate ; till grown n wealth and multitude, factious they gi'ow : Jut first among the priests dissention springs, ton who attend the altar, and should most Endeavour peace : their strife pollution brings Jpon the temple itself: at last they seize "he sceptre, and regard not David's sons ; Tien lose it to a stranger, that the true Lnointed king Messiah might be born >arr'd of his right ; yet at his birth a star, Jnseen before in Heaven, proclaims him come ; ind guides the eastern sages, who inquire lis place, to offer incense, myrrh, and gold : lis place of birth a solemn angel tells 'o simple shepherds, keeping watch by night ; "hey gladly thither haste, and by a quire >f squadron'd angels hear his carol sung. .. virgin is his mother, but his sire lie power of the Most High : he shall ascend Tie throne hereditary, and bound his reign ?ith Earth's wide bounds, his glory with the Heavens." He ceas'd, discerning Adam with such joy archarg'd, as had like grief been devv'd in tears, Without the vent of words ; which these he breath'd. " O prophet of glad tidings, finisher f utmost hope ! now clear I understand [vain ; Hiat oft my steadiest thoughts have searched in Hiy our great Expectation should be cafl'd he seed of woman : virgin mother, hail, igh in the love of Heaven ; yet from my loins hou shalt proceed, and from thy womb the Son f God Most High ; so God with man unites, eeds must the serpent now his capital bruise xpect with mortal pain : say where and when 'icir fight, what stroke shall bruise the victor's heel." [fight, To whom thus Michael. " Dream not of their s of a duel, or the local wounds f head or heel : not therefore joins the Son anhood to godhead, with more strength to foil ly enemy ; nor so is overcome tan, whose fall from Heaven, a deadlier bruise, isabled, not to give thee thy death's wound : hich he, who comes thy Saviour, shall recure, ;>t by destroying Satan, but his works thee, and in thy seed : nor can this be it by fulfilling that which thou didst want, >cdience to the law of God, impos'd i penalty of death, and suffering death ; e penalty to thy transgression due, id due to theirs which out of thine will grow : only can high Justice rest appaid. ie law of God exact he shall fulfil )tli by obedience and by love, though love one fulfil the law ; thy punishment s shall endure, by coming in the flesh a reproachful life, and cursed death ; oclaiming life to all who shall believe In his redemption ; and that lu's obedience, Imputed, becomes theirs by faith ; his merits To save them, not their own, though legal, works. For this he shall live hated, be blasphem'd, Seiz'd on by force, judg'd, and to death condemn'd A shameful and accurs'd, nail'd to the cross By his own nation ; slain for bringing life : But to the cross he nails thy enemies, The law that is against thee, and the sins Of all mankind with him there crucified, Never to hurt them more who rightly trust In this his satisfaction : so he dies, But soon revives ; Death over him no power Shall long usurp : ere the third dawning light Return, the stars of morn shall see him rise Out of his grave, fresh as the dawning light, Thy ransom paid, which man from death redeems, His death for man, as many as offer'd life Neglect not, and the benefit embrace By faith not void of works : this God-like act Annuls thy doom, the death thou should'st have died, In sin for ever lost from life ; this act Shall bruise the head of Satan, crush his strength, Defeating Sin and Death, lu's two main arms ; And fix far deeper in his head their stings Than temporal death shall bruise the victor's heel, Or theirs whom he redeems ; a death, like sleep, A gentle wafting to immortal life. Nor after resurrection shall he stay Longer on Earth, than certain times to appear To his disciples, men who in his life Still follow'd him ; to them shall leave in charge To teach all nations what of him they learn'd And his salvation ; them who shall believe Baptizing in the profluent stream, the sign Of washing them from guilt of sin to life Pure, and in mind prepar'd, if so befall, For death, like that which the Redeemer died. All nations they shall teach ; for, from that day, Not only to the sons of Abraham's loins Salvation shall be preach'd, but to the sons Of Abraham's faith wherever through the world ; So in his seed all nations shall be blest. Then to the Heaven of Heavens he shall ascend With victory triumphing through the air Over his foes and thine ; there shall surprise The serpent, prince of air, and drag in chains Through all his realm, and there confounded leave ; Then enter into glory, and resume His seat at God's right hand, exalted high Above all names in Heaven ; and thence shall come, When this world's dissolution shall be ripe, With glory and power to judge both quick and dead ; To judge the unfaithful dead, but to reward His faithful, and receive them into bliss, Whether in Heaven or Earth ; for then the Earth Shall all be Paradise, far happier place Than this of Eden, and far happier days." So spake the arch-angel Michael ; then paus'd, As at the world's great period ; and our sire, Replete with joy and wonder, thus replied. " O Goodness infinite ! Goodness immense ! That all this good of evil shall produce, And evil turn to good ; more wonderful Than that which by creation first brought forth Light out of darkness ! Full of doubt I stand, Whether I should repent me now of sin By me done, and occasion'd ; or rejoice [spring ; Much more, that much more good thereof shall 108 MILTON. BOOK XII To God more glory, more good-will to men From God, and over wrath grace shall abound. But say, if our Deliverer up to Heaven Must re-ascend, what will betide the few His faithful, left among the unfaithful herd, The enemies of truth ? Who then shall guide His people, who defend ? Will they not deal Worse with his followers than with him they dealt?" " Be sure they will," said the angel ; " but from Heaven He to his own a Comforter will send, The promise of the Father, who shall dwell His Spirit within them ; and the law of faith, Working through love, upon their hearts shall write, To guide them in all truth : and also arm With spiritual armour, able to resist Satan's assaults, and quench his fiery darts; What man can do against them, not afraid, Though to the death ; against such cruelties With inward consolations recompens'd, And oft supported so as shall amaze Their proudest persecutors ; for the Spirit, Pour'd first on his Apostles, whom he sends To evangelize the nations, then on all Baptiz'd, shall them with wondrous gifts endue To speak all tongues, and do all miracles, As did their Lord before them. Thus they win Great numbers of each nation to receive [length With joy the tidings brought from Heaven: at Their ministry perform'd, and race well run, Their doctrine and their story written left, They die ; but in their room, as they forewarn, Wolves shall succeed for teachers, grievous wolves, Who all the sacred mysteries of Heaven To their own vile advantages shall turn Of lucre and ambition ; and the truth With superstitions and traditions taint, Left only in those written records pure, Though not but by the Spirit understood. Then shall they seek to avail themselves of names, Places, and titles, and with these to join Secular power ; though feigning still to act By spiritual, to themselves appropriating The Spirit of God, promis'd alike, and given To all believers ; and, from that pretence, Spiritual laws by carnal power shall force On every conscience ; laws which none shall find Left them inroll'd, or what the spirit within Shall on the heart engrave. What will they then But force the Spirit of grace itself, "and bind His consort Liberty ? what, but unbuild His living temples, built by faith to stand, Their own faith, not another's ? for, on Earth, Who against faith and conscience can be heard Infallible ? yet many will presume : Whence heavy persecution shall arise On all, who in the worship persevere Of spirit and truth ; the rest, far greater part, Will deem in outward rites and specious forms Religion satisfied; Truth shall retire Bestuck with slanderous darts, and works of faith Rarely be found : so shall the world go on, To good malignant, to bad men benign ; Under her own weight groaning ; till the day Appear of respiration to the just, And vengeance to the wicked, at return Of him so lately promis'd to thy aid, The woman's Seed ; obscurely then foretold, Now amplier known thy Saviour and thy Lord ; Last, in the clouds, from Heaven to be rcveal'd In glory of the Father, to dissolve Satan with his perverted world ; then raise From the conflagrant mass, purg'd and refin'd, New Heavens, new Earth, ages of endless date, Founded in righteousness, and peace, and love ; To bring forth fruits, joy, and eternal bliss." He ended ; and thus Adam last replied. " How soon hath thy prediction, seer blest, Measur'd this transient world, the race of time, Till time stand tix'd ! Beyond is all abyss, Eternity, whose end no eye can reach. Greatly instructed I shall hence depart ; Greatly iu peace of thought ; and have my fill Of knowledge what this vessel can contain ; Beyond which was my folly to aspire. Henceforth I learn, that to obey is best, And love with fear the only God ; to walk As in his presence ; ever to observe His providence ; and on him sole depend, Merciful over all his works, with good Still overcoming evil, and by small Accomplishing great things, by things deem'd wee Subverting worldly strong, and worldly wise By simply meek: that suffering for truth's sake Is fortitude to highest victory, And, to the faithful, death, the gate of life ; Taught this by his example, whom I now Acknowledge my Redeemer ever blest." To whom thus also the angel last replied. " This having learn'd, thou hast attain'd the sum Of wisdom ; hope no higher, though all the stars Thou knew'st by name, and all the ethereal powei All secrets of the deep, all Nature's works, Or works of God in Heaven, air, earth, or sea, And all the riches of this world enjoy'dst, And all the rule, one empire ; only add Deeds to thy knowledge answerable ; add faith, Add virtue, patience, temperance ; add love, By name to come call'd charity, the soul Of all the rest : then wilt thou not be loth To leave this Paradise, but shall possess A paradise within thee, happier far. - Let us descend now therefore from this top Of speculation ; for the hour precise Exacts our parting hence ; and see ! the guards, By me encamp'd on yonder hill, expect Their motion ; at whose front a flaming sword, In signal of remove, waves fiercely round : We may no longer stay : go, waken Eve ; Her also I with gentle dreams have calm'd Portending good, and all her spirits compos'd To meek submission : thou, at season fit, Let her with thee partake what thou hast heard ; Chiefly, what may concern her faith to know, The great deliverance by her seed to come (For by the woman's seed) on all mankind : That ye may live, which will be many days, Both in one faith unanimous, though sad, With cause for evils past ; yet much more cheer'c With meditation on the happy end." He ended, and they both descend the hill ; Descended, Adam to the bower, where Eve ^ Lay sleeping, ran before : but found her wak'd ; And thus with words not sad she him receiv'd.^ " Whence thou return'st, and whither went'st, know ; For God is also in sleep ; and dreams advise, Which he hath sent propitious, some great good Presaging, since with sorrow and heart's distress Wearied I fell asleep : but now lead on ; I K)K I. PARADISE REGAINED. 109 me is no delay ; with thee to go, to stay here ; without thee here to stay, to go hence unwilling ; thou to me t all things under Heaven, all places thou, ho for my wilful crime art banish'd hence. lis further consolation yet secure ;arry hence ; though all by me is lost, ,ch favour I unworthy am vouchsaf' d, / me the promis'd Seed shall all restore." So spake our mother Eve ; and Adam heard ell pleas' d, but answer'd not : for now, too nigh ic arch-angel stood ; and from the other hill ) their fix'd station, all in bright array ic cherubim descended ; on the -ground liding meteorous, as evening-mif.t is'n from a river o'er the marish glides, ad gathers ground fast at the labourer's heel omeward returning. High in front advanc'd le brandish'd sword of God before them blaz'd, erce as a comet ; which with torrid heat, nd Vapour as the Libyan air adust, jgan to parch that temperate clime ; whereat i either hand the hastening angel caught ur lingering parents, and to the eastern gate id them direct, and down the cliff as fast ) the subjected plain ; then disappear'd. ley, looking back, all the eastern side beheld f Paradise, so late their happy seat, r av'd over by that flaming brand ; the gate 1th dreadful faces throng'd, and fiery arms : wne natural tears they dropt, but wip'd them soon ; tie world was all before them, where to choose heir place of rest, and Providence their guide : hey, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, hrough Eden took their solitary way. PARADISE REGAINED. BOOK I. The Argument. he subject proposed. Invocation of the Holy Spirit. The poem opens with John baptizing at the river Jordan. Jesus coming there is baptized ; and is attested, by the descent of the Holy Ghost, and by a voice from Heaven, to be the Son of God. Satan, who is present, upon this imme- diately flies up into the regions of the air : where, summoning his infernal council, he acquaints them with his apprehensions that Jesus is that seed of the Woman, destined to destroy all their power, and points out to them the immediate necessity of bringing the matter to proof, and of attempting, by snares and fraud, to counteract and defeat the person, from whom they have so much to dread. This office he offers himself to undertake ; and, his offer being accepted, sets out on his enterprise. In the meantime God, in the assembly of holy angels, declares that he has given up his Son to be tempted by Satan ; but foretels that the tempter shall be completely defeated by him : upon which the angels sing a hymn of triumph. Jesus is led up by the Spirit into the wilderness, while he is meditating on the com- mencement of his great office of Saviour of man- kind. Pursuing his meditations he narrates, in a soliloquy, what divine and philanthropic im- pulses he had felt from his early youth, and how his mother Mary, on perceiving these dispositions in him, had acquainted him with the circumstances of his birth, and informed him that he was no less a person than the Son of God ; to which he adds what his own inquiries and reflections had supplied in confirmation of this great truth, and particularly dwells on the recent attestation of it at the river Jordan. Our Lord passes forty days, fasting, in the wilderness, where the wild beasts become mild and harmless in his presence. Satan now appears under the form of an old peasant ; and enters into discourse with our Lord, wonder- ing what could have brought him alone into so dangerous a place, and at the same time professing to recognize him for the person lately acknow- ledged by John, at the river Jordan, to be the Son of God. Jesus briefly replies. Satan rejoins with -a description of the difficulty of supporting life in the wilderness ; and entreats Jesus, if he be really the Son of God, to manifest his divine power, by changing some of the stones into bread. Jesus reproves him, and at the same time tells him that he knows who he is. Satan instantly avows himself, and offers an artful apology for himself and his conduct. Our blessed Lord severely reprimands him, and refutes every part of his justification. Satan, with much semblance of humility, still endeavours to justify himself; and. professing his admiration of Jesus and his regard for virtue, requests to be permitted at a future time to hear more of his conversation ; but is answered, that this must be as he shall find per- mission from above. Satan then disappears, and the book closes with a _short description of night coming on in the desert. I, WHO ere while the happy garden sung By one man's disobedience lost, now sing Recover'd Paradise to all mankind, By one man's firm obedience fully tried Through all temptation, and the tempter foil'd In all his wiles, defeated and repuls'd, And Eden rais'd in the waste wilderness. Thou Spirit, who ledst this glorious eremite Into the desert, his victorious field, Against the spiritual foe, and brought'st him thence By proof the undoubted Son of God, inspire, As thou art wont, my prompted song, else mute, And bear through height or depth of Nature's bounds, With prosperous wing full summ'd, to tell of deeds Above heroic, though in secret done, And unrecorded left through many an age ; Worthy to have not remain'd so long unsung. Now had the great proclaimer, with a voice More awful than the sound of trumpet, cried Repentance, and Heaven's kingdom nigh at hand To all baptiz'd : to his great baptism flock'd With awe the regions round, and with them came From Nazareth the son of Joseph deem'd To the flood Jordan ; came, as then obscure, Unmark'd, unknown ; but him the Baptist soon Descried, divinely warn'd, and witness bore As to his worthier, and would have resign'd To him his heavenly office ; nor was long His witness unconfirm'd : on him baptiz'd Heaven open'd, and in likeness of a dove 110 MILTON. BOOK The Spirit descended, while the Father's voice From Heaven pronounc'd him his beloved Son. That heard the adversary, who, roving still About the world, at that assembly fam'd Would not be last, and, with the voice divine Nigh thunder-struck, the exalted man, to whom Such high attest was given, a while survey'd With wonder ; then, with envy fraught and rage, Flies to his place, nor rests, but in mid air To council summons all his mighty peers, Within thick clouds and dark ten-fold involv'd, A gloomy consistory ; and then amidst, With looks aghast and sad, he thus bespake. " O ancient powers of air, and this wide world, (For much more willingly I mention air, This our old conquest, than remember Hell, Our hated habitation,) well ye know How many ages, as the years of men, This universe we have possess'd, and rul'd, In manner at our will, the affairs of Earth, Since Adam and his facile consort Eve Lost Paradise, deceiv'd by me ; though since With dread attending when that fatal wound Shall be inflicted by the seed of Eve Upon my head. Long the decrees of Heaven Delay, for longest time to him is short ; And now, too soon for us, the circling hours This dreaded time have compass'd, wherein we Must bide the stroke of that long-threaten'd wound, (At least if so we can, and by the head Broken be not intended all our power To be infring'd, our freedom and our being In this fair empire won of Earth and air,) For this ill news I bring, the woman's seed Destin'd to this, is late of woman born. His birth to our just fear gave no small cause : But his growth now to youth's full flower displaying All virtue, grace, and wisdom to achieve Things highest, greatest multiplies my fear Before him a great prophet, to proclaim His coming, is sent harbinger, who all Invites, and in the consecrated stream Pretends to wash off sin, and fit them, so Purified, to receive him pure, or rather To do him honour as their king : all come, And he himself among them was baptiz'd ; Not thence to be more pure, but to receive The testimony of Heaven, that who he is Thenceforth the nations may not doubt ; I saw The prophet do him reverence ; on him, rising Out of the water, Heaven above the clouds Unfold her crystal doors : thence on his head A perfect dove descend, (whate'er it meant,) And out of Heaven the sovran voice I heard, ' This is my Son belov'd, in him am pleas'd.' His mother then is mortal, but his Sire He who obtains the monarchy of Heaven : And what will he not do to advance his Son ? His first-begot we know, and sore have felt, When his fierce thunder drove us to the deep : Who this is we must learn, for Man he seems In all his lineaments, though in his face The glimpses of his father's glory shine. Ye see our danger on the utmost edge Of hazard, which admits no long debate, But must with something sudden be oppos'd, (Not force, but well-couch'd fraud, well- woven snares,) Ere in the head of nations he appear, Their king, their leader, and supreme on Earth. I, when no other durst, sole undertook The dismal expedition to find out And ruin Adam ; and the exploit perform'd Successfully : a calmer voyage now Will waft me \ and the way, found prosperous one Induces best to hope of like success." He ended, and his words impression left Of much amazement to the infernal crew, Distracted, and surpris'd with deep dismay At these sad tidings ; but no time was then For long indulgence to their fears or grief ; Unanimous they all commit the care And management of this main enterprise To him, their great dictator, whose attempt At first against mankind so well had thriv'd In Adam's overtlirow, and led their march From Hell's deep-vaulted den to dwell in light, Regents, and potentates, and kings, yea gods, Of many a pleasant realm and province wide. So to the coast of Jordan he directs His easy steps, girded with snaky wiles, . Where he might likeliest find this new-declar'd, This Man of men, attested Son of God, Temptation and all guile on him to try ; So to subvert whom he suspected rais'd To end his reign on Earth, so long enjoy'd : But, contrary, unweeting he fulfill'd The purpos'd council, pre-ordain'd and fix'd, Of the Most High ; who, in full frequence bright Of angels, thus to Gabriel smiling spake. " Gabriel, this day by proof thou shalt behold, Thou and all angels conversant on Earth With man or men's affairs, how I begin To verify that solemn message, late On which I sent thee to the virgin pure In Galilee, that she should bear a son, Great in renown, and call'd the Son of God ; Then told'st her, doubting how these things could bi To her a virgin, that on her should come The Holy Ghost, and the power of the Highest O'ershadow her. This man, born and now up- grown, To show him worthy of his birth divine And high prediction, henceforth I expose To Satan ; let him tempt, and now assay His utmost subtlety, because he boasts And vaunts of his great cunning to the throng Of his apostacy : he might have learnt Less overweening, since he fail'd in Job, Whose constant perseverance overcame Whate'er his cruel malice could invent. He now shall know I can produce a man, Of female seed, far abler to resist All his solicitations, and at length All his vast force, and drive him back to Hell ; Winning, by conquest, what the first man lost, By fallacy surpris'd. But first I mean To exercise him in the wilderness ; There he shall first lay down the rudiments Of his great warfare, ere I send him forth To conquer Sin and Death, the two grand foes, By humiliation and strong sufferance : His weakness shall o'ercome Satanic strength And all the world, and mass of sinful flesh, That all the angels and ethereal powers, They now, and men hereafter, may discern, From what consummate virtue I have chose This perfect man, by merit call'd my Son, To earn salvation for the s/.ms of men." So spake the Eternal Falher, and all Heaven BOOK 1. PARADISE REGAINED. Ill Admiring stood a space, then into hymns Burst forth, and in celestial measures mov'd, Circling the throne and singing, while the hand Sung with the voice, and this the argument. " Victory and triumph to the Son of God, Now entering his great duel, not of anus, But to vanquish by wisdom hellish wiles ! The Father knows the Son ; therefore secure Ventures his filial virtue, though untried, Against whate'er may tempt, whate'er seduce, Allure, or terrify, or undermine. Be frustrate, all ye stratagems of Hell, And, devilish machinations, come to naught !" So they in Heaven their odes and vigils tun'd : Meanwhile the Son of God, who yet some days Lodg'd in Bethabara, where John baptiz'd, Musing, and much revolving in his breast, How best the mighty work he might begin Of Saviour to mankind, and which way first Publish his God-like office now mature, One day forth walk'd alone, the Spirit leading And his deep thoughts, the letter to converse With solitude, till, far from track of men, rhought following thought, and step by step led on, He enter'd now the bordering desert wild, A.nd, with dark shades and rocks environ'd round, His holy meditations thus pursued. " O, what a multitude of thoughts at once Awakened in me swarm, while I consider What from within I feel myself, and hear What from without comes often to my ears, [H sorting with my present state compar'd ! When I was yet a child, no childish play To me was pleasing ; all my mind was set Serious to learn and know, and thence to do iVhat might be public good ; myself I thought 3orn to that end, born to promote all truth, Ul righteous things : therefore, above my years, [Tie law of God I read, and found it sweet, 4ade it my whole delight, and in it grew To such perfection, that, ere yet my age lad measur'd twice six years, at our great feast went into the temple, there to hear Hie teachers of our law, and to propose Vhat might improve my knowledge or their own ; Ind was admir'd by all : yet this not all \> which my spirit aspir'd ; victorious deeds lam'd in my heart, heroic acts ; one while 'o rescue Israel from the Roman yoke, Tien to subdue and quell, o'er all the Earth, rute violence and proud tyrannic power, 'ill truth were freed, and equity restor'd : 'et held it more humane, more heavenly, first !y winning words to conquer willing hearts, .nd make persuasion do the work of fear ; .t least to try, and teach the erring soul, 'ot wilfully misdoing, but unaware [isled ; the stubborn only to subdue, hese growing thoughts my mother soon perceiving, y words at times cast forth, inly rejoic'd, nd said to me apart, High are thy thoughts, son, but nourish them, and let them soar o what height sacred virtue and true worth an raise them, though above example high ; y matchless deeds express thy matchless sire, or know, thou art no son of mortal man ; hough men esteem thee low of parentage, hy father is the Eternal King who rules 11 Heaven and Earth, angels and sons of men ; messenger from God foretold thy birth Conceiv'd in me a virgin; he foretold, Thou should' st be great, and sit on David's throne, And of thy kingdom there should be no end. At thy nativity, a glorious quire Of angels, in the fields of Bethlehem, sung To shepherds, watching at their folds by night, And told them the Messiah now was born, Where they might see him, and to thee they came, Directed to the manger where thou lay'st, For in the inn was left no better room : A star, not seen before, in Heaven appearing, Guided the wise men thither from the east, To honour thee with incense, myrrh, and gold ; By whose bright course led on they found the place, Affirming it thy star, new-graven in Heaven, By which they knew the king of Israel born. Just Simeon and prophetic Anna, warn'd By vision, found thee in the temple, and spake, Before the altar and the vested priest, Like things of thee to all that present stood. ' This having heard, straight I again revolv'd The law and prophets, searching what was writ Concerning the Messiah, to our scribes Known partly, and soon found, of whom they spake I am ; this chiefly, that my way must lie Through many a hard assay, even to the death, Ere I the promis'd kingdom can attain, Or work redemption for mankind, whose sins Full weight must be transferr'd upon my head. Yet, neither thus dishearten'd or dismay'd, The time prefix'd I waited ; when behold The Baptist, (of whose birth I oft had heard, Not knew by sight,) now come, who was to come Before Messiah, and his way prepare ! I, as all others, to his baptism came, Which I believ'd was from above ; but he Straight knew me, and with loudest voice proclaim'd Me him, (for it was shown him so from Heaven,) Me him, whose harbinger he was; and first Refus'd on me his baptism to confer, As much his greater, and was hardly won : But, as I rose out of the laving stream, Heaven opened her eternal doors, from whence The Spirit descended on me like a dove ; And last, the sum of all, my Father's voice, Audibly heard from Heaven, pronounc'd me his, ' Me his beloved Son, in whom alone He was well pleas'd ;' by which I knew the time Now full, that I no more should live obscure, But openly begin, as best becomes, The authority which I deriv'd from Heaven. And now by some strong motion I am led Into this wilderness, to what intent I learn not yet ; perhaps I need not know, For what concerns my knowledge God reveals." So spake our Morning-star, then in his rise, And, looking round, on every side beheld A pathless desert, dusk with horrid shades ; The way he came not having mark'd, return Was difficult, by human steps untrod ; And he still on was led, but with such thoughts Accompanied of things past and to come Lodg'd in his breast, as well might recommend Such solitude before choicest, society. Full forty days he pass'd, whether on hill Sometimes, anon on shady vale, each night Under the covert of some ancient oak, Or cedar, to defend him from the dew, Or harbour'd in one cave, is not reveal'd ; Nor tasted human food, nor hunger felt 112 MILTON. BOOK I Till those days ended ; hunger'd then at last Among wild beasts : they at his sight grew mild, Nor sleeping him nor waking harm'd ; his walk The fiery serpent fled and noxious worm, The lion and fierce tiger glar'd aloof. But now an aged man in rural weeds, Following, as seem'd, the quest of some stray ewe, Or wither'd sticks to gather, which might serve Against a winter's day, when winds blow keen, To warm him wet return'd from field at eve, He saw approach, who first with curious eye Perus'd him, then with words thus utter'd spake. " Sir, what ill chance hath brought thee to this place So far from path or road of men, who pass In troop or caravan? for single none Durst ever, who return'd, and dropt not here His carcase, pin'd with hunger and with drought. I ask the rather, and the more admire, For that to me thou seem'st the Man, whom late Our new baptizing prophet at the ford Of Jordan honour'd so, and call'd thee Son Of God : I saw and heard, for we sometimes Who dwell this wild, constrain'd by want, come forth To town or village nigh, (nighest is far,) Where aught we hear, and curious are to hear, What happens new ; fame also finds us out." To whom the Son of God. " Who brought me hither, Will bring me hence ; no other guide I seek." " By miracle he may," replied the swain ; " What other way I see not ; for we here Live on tough roots and stubs, to thirst inur'd More than the camel, and to drink go far, Men to much misery and hardship born : But, if thou be the Son of God, command That out of these hard stones be made thee bread, So shalt thou save thyself, and us relieve With food, whereof we wretched seldom taste." He ended, and the Son of God replied. " Think'st thou such force in bread? Is it not written, (For I discern thee other than thou seem'st) ' Man lives not by bread only, but each word Proceeding from the mouth of God, who fed Our fathers here with manna ?' in the mount Moses was forty days, nor eat, nor drank ; And forty days Elijah, without food, Wander'd this barren waste : the same I now : Why dost thou then suggest to me distrust, Knowing who I am, as I know who thou art ?" Whom thus answer'd the arch-fiend, now undis- guis'd. " 'Tis true I am that Spirit unfortunate, Who, leagu'd with millions more in rash revolt, Kept not my happy station, but was driven With them from bliss to the bottomless deep, Yet to that hideous place not so confin'd By rigour unconniving, but that oft, Leaving my dolorous prison, I enjoy Large liberty to round this globe of earth, Or range in the air; nor from the Heaven of Heavens Hath he excluded my resort sometimes. I came among the sons of God, when he Gave up into my hands Uzzean Job To prove him, and illustrate his high worth ; And, when to all his angels he propos'd To draw the proud king Ahab into fraud That he might fall in Ramoth, they demurring, I undertook that office, and the tongues Of all his flattering prophets glibb'd with lies To his destruction, as I had in charge ; For what he bids I do. Though I have lost Much lustre of my native brightness, lost To be belov'd of God, I have not lost To love, at least contemplate and admire, What I see excellent in good, or fair, Or virtuous ; I should so have lost all sense : What can then be less in me than desire To see thee and approach thee, whom I know Declar'd the Son of God, to hear attent Thy wisdom, and behold thy God-like deeds ? Men generally think me much a foe To all mankind : why should I ? they to me Never did wrong or violence ; by them I lost not what I lost, rather by them I gain'd what I have gain'd, and with them dwell, Copartner in these regions of the world, If not disposer ; lend them oft my aid, Oft my advice by presages and signs, And answers, oracles, portents, and dreams, Whereby they may direct their future life. Envy they say excites me, thus to gain Companions of my misery and woe. At first it may be ; but, long since with woe Nearer acquainted, now I feel, by proof, That fellowship in pain divides not smart, Nor lightens aught each man's peculiar load. Small consolation then, were man adjoin'd : [Man This wounds me most, (what can it less ?) that Man fall'n shall be restor'd, I never more." To whom our Saviour sternly thus replied. " Deservedly thou griev'st, compos'd of lies From the beginning, and in lies wilt end ; Who boast'st release from Hell, and leave to come Into the Heaven of Heavens : thou com'st indeed As a poor miserable captive thrall Comes to the place where he before had sat Among the prime in splendour, now depos'd, Ejected, emptied, gaz'd, unpitied, shunn'd, A spectacle of ruin, or of scorn, To all the host of Heaven : the happy place Imparts to thee no happiness, no joy, Rather inflames thy torment : representing Lost bliss, to thee no more communicable, So never more in Hell than when in Heaven. But thou art serviceable to Heaven's King. Wilt thou impute to obedience what thy fear Extorts, or pleasure to do ill excites ? What but thy malice mov'd thee to misdeem Of righteous Job, then cruelly to afflict him With all inflictions ? but his patience won. The other service was thy chosen task, To be a liar in four hundred mouths For lying is thy sustenance, thy food. Yet thou pretend'st to truth ; all oracles By thee are given, and what confess'd more true Among the nations ? that hath been thy craft, By mixing somewhat true to vent more lies. But what have been thy answers, what but dark, Ambiguous, and with double sense deluding, Which they who ask'd have seldom understood. And not well understood as good not known ? Who ever by consulting at thy shrine Return'd the wiser, or the more instruct, To fly or follow what concern'd him most, And run not sooner to his fatal snare ? For God hath justly given the nations up BOOK II. PARADISE REGAINED. To thy delusions ; justly, since they fell Idolatrous : but, when his purpose is Among them to declare his providence To thee not known, whence hast thou then thy truth, But from him, or his angels president In every province, who, themselves disdaining To approach thy temples, give thee in command What, to the smallest tittle, thou shalt say To thy adorers ? Thou, with trembling fear, Or like a fawning parasite, obey'st : Then to thyself ascrib'st the truth foretold. But this thy glory shall be soon retrench'd; No more shalt thou by oracling abuse The Gentiles ; henceforth oracles are ceas'd, And thou no more with pomp and sacrifice Shalt be inquir'd at Delphos, or elsewhere ; At least in vain, for they shall find thee mute. God hath now sent his living oracle Into the world to teach his final will, And sends his Spirit of Truth henceforth to dwell In pious hearts, an inward oracle To all truth requisite for men to know." So spake our Saviour, but the subtle fiend, Though inly stung with anger and disdain, Dissembled, and this answer smooth return'd. " Sharply thou hast insisted on rebuke, And urg'd me with hard doings, which not will But misery hath wrested from me. Where Easily canst thou find one miserable, And not enforc'd oft-times to part from truth, If it may stand him more in stead to lie, Say and unsay, feign, flatter, or abjure ? But thou art plac'd above me, thou art Lord ; From thee I can, and must submiss, endure, Check, or reproof, and glad to 'scape so quit Hard are the ways of Truth, and rough to walk, Smooth on the tongue discours'd, pleasing to the ear, A.nd tuneable as sylvan pipe or song ; What wonder then if I delight to hear Her dictates from thy mouth ? Most men admire /irtue, who follow not her lore : permit me To hear thee when I come, (since no man comes,) Vnd talk at least, though I despair to attain, fhy Father, who is holy, wise, and pure, iuffers the hypocrite or atheous priest To tread his sacred courts, and minister Ibout his altar, handling holy things, 'raying or vowing : and vouchsaf d his voice "o Balaam reprobate, a prophet yet nspir'd: disdain not such access to me." To whom our Saviour, with unalter'd brow : Thy coming hither, though I know thy scope, bid not, or forbid ; do as thou find'st 'ermission from above ; thou canst not more. ' He added not ; and Satan, bowing low [is gray dissimulation, disappear'd ito thin air diffus'd : for now began ight with her sullen wings to double-shade he desert ; fowls in their clay-nests were couch'd ; nd now wild beasts came forth the woods to roam. BOOK II. The Argument. he disciples of Jesus, uneasy at his long absence, reason amongst themselves concerning it. Mary also gives vent to her maternal anxiety : in the expression of which she recapitulates many cir- cumstances respecting the birth and early life 01 her son. Satan again meets his infernal council, reports the bad success of his first temptation of our blessed Lord, and calls upon them for counsel and assistance. Belial proposes the tempting of Jesus with women. Satan rebukes Belial for his dissoluteness, charging on him all the profligacy of that kind ascribed by the poets to the heathen gods, and rejects his proposal as in no respect likely to succeed. Satan then suggests other modes of temptation, particu- larly proposing to avail himself of the circum- stance of our Lord's hungering ; and, taking a band of chosen spirits with him, returns to resume his enterprise. Jesus hungers in the desert. Night comes on ; the manner in which our Saviour passes the night is described. Morning advances. Satan again appears to Jesus, and, after expressing wonder that he should be so entirely neglected in the wilderness, where others had been miraculously fed, tempts him with a sumptuous banquet of the most luxu- rious kind. This he rejects, and the banquet vanishes. Satan, finding our Lord not to be assailed on the ground of appetite, tempts him again by offering him riches, as the means of acquiring power: tliis Jesus also rejects, pro- ducing many instances of great actions per- formed by persons under virtuous poverty, and specifying the danger of riches, and the cares and pains inseparable from power and greatness. MEANWHILE the new-baptiz'd, who yet remain'd At Jordan with the Baptist, and had seen Him whom they heard so late expressly call'd Jesus Messiah, Son of God declar'd, And on that high authority had believ'd, And with him talk'd, and with him lodg'd ; I mean Andrew and Simon, famous after known, With others, though in Holy Writ not nam'd ; Now missing him, their joy so lately found, (So lately found, and so abruptly gone,) Began to doubt, and doubted many days, And, as the days increas'd, increas'd their doubt. Sometimes they thought he might be only shown, And for a time caught up to God, as once Moses was in the mount and missing long, And the great Thisbite, who on fiery wheels Rode up to Heaven, yet once again to come : Therefore, as those young prophets then with care Sought lost Elijah, so in each place these Nigh to Bethabara ; in Jericho The city of palms, JEnon, and Salem old, Machaerus, and each town or city wall'd On this side the broad lake Genezaret, Or in Peraea ; but return'd in vain. Then on the bank of Jordan, by a creek Where winds with reeds and osiers whispering play, Plain fishermen, (no greater men them call,) Close in a cottage low together got, Their unexpected loss and plaints outbreath'd. ' Alas, from what high hope to what relapse Unlook'd for are we fall'n ! our eyes beheld Messiah certainly now come, so long Expected of our fathers : we have heard His words, his wisdom full of grace and truth ; Now, now, for sure, deliverance is at hand. The kingdom shall to Israel be restor'd ; Thus we rejoic'd, but soon our joy is turn'd Into perplexity and new amaze : MILTON. BOOK II For whither is he gone, what accident Hath rapt him from us ? will he now retire After appearance, and again prolong Our expectation ? God of Israel, Send thy Messiah forth, the time is come ; Behold the kings of the Earth, how they oppress Thy chosen ; to what height their power unjust They have exalted, and behind them cast All fear of thee ; arise, and vindicate Thy glory ; free thy people from, their yoke. But let us wait ; thus far he hath perform'd, Sent his anointed, and to us reveal'd him, By his great prophet, pointed at and shown In public, and with him we have convers'd ; Let us be glad of this, and all our fears Lay on his providence ; he will not fail, Nor will withdraw him now, nor will recall, Mock us with his blest sight, then snatch him hence ; Soon we shall see our hope, our joy, return." Thus they, out of their plaints, new hope resume To find whom at the first they found unsought : But, to his mother Mary, when she saw Others return'd from baptism, not her son, Nor left at Jordan, tidings of him none, [pure, Within her breast though calm, her breast though Motherly cares and fears got head, and rais'd Some troubled thoughts, which she in sighs thus clad. " O, what avails me now that honour high To have conceiv'd of God, or that salute, * Hail highly favour'd among women blest!' While I to sorrows am no less advanc'd, And fears as eminent, above the lot Of other women, by the birth I bore ; In such a season born, when scarce a shed Could be obtain'd to shelter him or me From the bleak air ; a stable was our warmth, A manger his ; yet soon enforc'd to fly, Thence into Egypt, till the murderous king Were dead, who sought his life, and missing fill'd With infant blood the streets of Bethlehem ; From Egypt home return'd, in Nazareth Hath been our dwelling many years ; his life Private, unactive, calm, contemplative, Little suspicious to any king ; but now Full grown to man, acknowledg'd, as I hear, By John the Baptist, and in public shown, Son own'd from Heaven by his Father's voice, I look'd for some great change ; to honour ? no, But trouble, as old Simeon plain foretold, That to the fall and rising he should be Of many in Israel, and to a sign Spoken against, that through my very soul A sword shall pierce : this is my favour'd lot, My exaltation to afflictions high ; Afflicted I may be, it seems, and blest , I will not argue that, nor will repine. But where delays he now ? some great intent Conceals him: when twelve years he scarce had seen, I lost him, but so found, as well I saw He could not lose himself, but went about His Father's business ; what he meant I mus'd, Since understand ; much more his absence now Thus long to some great purpose he obscures. But I to wait with patience am inur'd ; , My heart hath been a store-house long of things And sayings laid up, portending strange events." Thus Mary, pondering oft, and oft to mind Recalling what remarkably had pass'd Since first her salutation heard, with thoughts Meekly compos'd awaited the fulfilling : The while her son, tracing the desert wild, Sole, but with holiest meditations fed, Into himself descended, and at once All his great work to come before him set ; How to begin, how to accomplish best His end of being on Earth, and mission high For Satan, with sly preface to return, Had left him vacant, and with speed was gone Up to the middle region of thick air, Where all his potentates in council sat ; There, without sign of boast, or sign of joy, Solicitous and blank, he thus began. [thrones; <( Princes, Heaven's ancient sons, ethereal Demonian spirits now, from the element Each of his reign allotted, rightlier call'd Powers of fire, air, water, and earth beneath, (So may we hold our place and these mild seats Without new trouble,) such an enemy Is risen to invade us, who no less Threatens than our expulsion down to Hell ; I, as I undertook, and with the vote Consenting in full frequence was impower'd, Have found him, view'd him, tasted him ; but find Far other labour to be undergone Than when I dealt with Adam, first of men, Though Adam by his wife's allurement fell. However to this man inferiour far ; If he be mam by mother's side, ar least With more than human gifts from Heaven adorn 'd, Perfections absolute, graces divine, And amplitude of mind to greatest deed*. Therefore I am return'd, lest confidence Of my success with Eve in Paradise Deceive ye to persuasion over-sure Of like succeeding here : I summon all Rather to be in readiness, with hand Or counsel to assist ; lest I, who erst Thought none my equal, now be over-match'd." So spake the old serpent, doubting ; and from all With clamour was assured their utmost aid At his command : when from amidst them rose Belial, the dissolutest spirit that fell, The sensuallest, and, after Asmodai, The fleshliest incubus ; and thus advis'd. " Set women in his eye, and in his walk, Among daughters of men the fairest found : Many are in each region passing fair As the noon sky : more like to goddesses Than mortal creatures, graceful and discreet, Expert in amorous arts, enchanting tongues Persuasive, virgin majesty with mild And sweet allay'd, yet terrible to approach, Skill'd to retire, and, in retiring, draw Hearts after them, tangled in amorous nets. Such object hath the power to soften and tame Severest temper, smooth the rugged'st brow Enerve, and with voluptuous hope dissolve, Draw out with credulous desire, and lead At will the manliest, resolutest breast, As the magnetic hardest iron draws. Women, when nothing else, beguil'd the heart Of wisest Solomon, and made him build, And made him bow, to the gods of his wives." To whom quick answer Satan thus return'd. " Belial, in much uneven scale thou weigh'st All others by thyself; because of old Thou thyself doat'dst on womankind, admiring Their shape, their colour, and attractive grace, None are, thou think'st, but taken with such tovs. BOOK II. PARADISE REGAINED. 115 Before the flood thou with thy lusty crew, False titled sons of God, roaming the Earth, I!ast wanton eyes on the daughters of men, Vnd coupled with them, and begot a race, lave we not seen, or by relation heard, n courts and regal chambers how thou lurk'st, n wood or grove, by mossy fountain side, n valley or green meadow, to way-lay tome beauty rare, Calisto, Clymene, )aphne, or Semele, Antiopa, )r Amymone, Syrinx, many more bo long, then lay'st thy scapes on names ador'd, ipollo, Neptune, Jupiter, or Pan, atyr, or Faun, or Sylvan ? But these haunts )elight not all ; among the sons of men, [ow many have with a smile made small account 'f Beauty and her lures, easily scorn 'd 11 her assaults, on worthier things intent ! emember that Pelican conqueror, youth, how all the beauties of the East .e slightly view'd, and slightly overpass'd ; 'ow he, surnam'd of Africa, dismiss'd, i his prime youth, the fair Iberian maid. >r Solomon, he liv'd at ease, and full f honour, wealth, high fare, aim'd not beyond igher design than to enjoy his state ; icnce to the bait of women lay expos'd : it he, whom we attempt, is wiser far lan Solomon, of more exalted mind, ade and set wholly on the accomplishment * greatest things. What woman will you find, lough of this age the wonder and the fame, i whom his leisure will vouchsafe an eye ' fond desire ? Or should she, confident, sitting queen ador'd on Beauty's throne, Ascend with all her winning charms begirt enamour, as the zone of Venus once rought that effect on Jove, so fables tell ; >w would one look from his majestic brow, ited as on the top of Virtue's hill, scountenance her despis'd, and put to rout I her array ; her female pride deject, turn to reverent awe ! for Beauty stands the admiration only of weak minds 1 captive ; cease to admire, and all her plumes 1 flat, and shrink into a trivial toy, every sudden slighting quite abash'd. arefore with manlier objects we must try i constancy ; with such as have more show worth, of honour, glory, and popular praise, 2k s, whereon greatest men have oftest wreck'd ; that whrch only seems to satisfy vful desires of nature, not beyond ; i now I know he hungers, where no food o be found, in the wide wilderness : j rest commit to me ; I shall let pass advantage, and his strength as oft assay." le ceas'd, and heard their grant in loud acclaim ; n forthwith to him takes a chosen band spirits, likest to himself in guile, be at hand, and at his beck appear, ause were to unfold some active scene various persons, each to know his part-, n to the desert takes with these his flight ; are, still from shade to shade, the Son of God ir forty days fasting had remain'd, F Bering first, and to himself thus said, e will this end ? four times ten days I've pass'd this woodv ma/e. and human fond Nor tasted, nor had appetite ; that fast To virtue I impute not, or count part Of what I suffer here ; if nature need not, Or God support nature without repast Though needing, what praise is it to endure ? But now I feel I hunger, which declares Nature hath need of what she asks ; yet God Can satisfy that need some other way, Though hunger still remain : so it remain Without this body's wasting, I content me, And from the sting of famine fear no harm ; Nor mind it, fed with better thoughts, that feed Me hungering more to do my Father's will." It was the hour of night, when thus the Son Commun'd in silent walk, then laid him down Under the hospitable covert nigh Of trees thick interwoven ; there he slept, And dream'd, as appetite is wont to dream, Of meats and drinks, nature's refreshment sweet : Him thought, he by the brook of Cherith stood, And saw the ravens with their horny beaks Food to Elijah bringing, even and morn, [brought : Though ravenous, taught to abstain from what they He saw the prophet also, how he fled Into the desert, and how there he slept Under a juniper ; then how awak'd He found his supper on the coals prepar'd, And by the angel was bid rise and eat, And eat the second time after repose, The strength whereof suffic'd him forty days: Sometimes that with Elijah he partook, Or as a guest with Daniel at his pulse. Thus wore out night ; and now the herald lark Left his ground-nest, high towering to descry The Morn's approach, and greet her with his song : As lightly from his grassy couch up rose Our Saviour, and found all was but a dream ; Fasting he went to sleep, and fasting wak'd. Up to a hill anon Ms steps he rear'd, From whose high top to ken the prospect round, If cottage were in view, sheep-cote, or herd ; But cottage, herd, or sheep-cote, none he saw ; Only in a bottom saw a pleasant grove, With chant of tuneful birds resounding loud : Thither he bent his way, determin'd there To rest at noon, and enter'd soon the shade High-roof 'd, and walks beneath, and alleys brown, That opened in the midst a woody scene ; Nature's own work it seem'd (Nature taught Art) And, to a superstitious eye, the haunt [round, Of wood-gods and wood-nymphs: he view'd it When suddenly a man before him stood ; Not rustic as before, but seemlier clad, As one in city, or court, or palace bred, And with fair speech these words to him address' d. " With granted leave officious I return, But much more wonder that the Son of God In this wild solitude so long should bide, Of all things destitute ; and, well I know Not without hunger. Others of some note, As story tells, have trod this wilderness; The fugitive bond-woman, with her son Out-cast Nebaioth, yet found here relief By a providing angel ; all the race Of Israel here had famish'd, had not God Rain'd from Heaven manna ; and that prophet bold, Native of Thebez, wandering here was fed Twice by a voice inviting him to eat : Of thee these forty days none hath regard, FYirtv and more deserted here indeed." 116 MILTON. Boos I] To whom thus Jesus. " What conclud'st thou hence ? They all had need ; I, as thou seest, have none." "'llow hast thou hunger then ?" Satan replied. " Tell me, if food were now before thee set, Would' st thou not eat?" " Thereafter as I like The giver," answer'd Jesus. " Why should that Cause thy refusal ?" said the subtle fiend. " Hast thou not right to all created things ? Owe not all creatures by just right to thee Duty and service, nor to stay till bid, But tender all their power ? Nor mention I Meats by the law unclean, or offer'd first To idols, those young Daniel could refuse ; Nor protFer'd by an enemy, though who Would scruple that, with want oppress'd ? Behold, Nature asham'd, or, better to express, Troubled, that thou should'st hunger, hath purvey'd From all the elements her choicest store, To treat thee, as beseems, and as her Lord, With honour : only deign to sit and eat. ' ' He spake no dream ; for, as his words had end, Our Saviour lifting up his eyes beheld, In ample space under the broadest shade, A table richly spread, in regal mode, With dishes pil'd, and meats of noblest sort And savour ; beasts of chase, or fowl of game, In pastry built, or from the spit, or boil'd, Gris-amber-steam'd ; all fish, from sea or shore, Freshet or purling brook, of shell or fin, And exquisitest name, for which was drain'd Pontus, and Lucrine bay, and Afric coast. (Alas, how simply, to these cates compar'd, Was that crude apple that diverted Eve ! ) And at a stately side-board, by the wine That fragrant smell diffus'd, in order stood Tall stripling youths rich clad, of fairer hue Than Ganymed or Hylas ; distant more Under the trees now tripp'd, now solemn stood, Nymphs of Diana's train, and Naiades With fruits and flowers from Amalthea's horn, And ladies of the Hesperides, that seem'd Fairer than feign'd of old, or fabled since Of faery damsels, met in forest wide By knights of Logres, or of Lyones, Lancelot, or Pelleas, or Pellenore. And all the while harmonious airs were heard Of chiming strings, or charming pipes ; and winds Of gentlest gale Arabian odours fann'd From their soft wings, and Flora's earliest smells. Such was the splendour ; and the tempter now His invitation earnestly renew'd. " What doubts the Son of God to sit and eat ? These are not fruits forbidd'n ; no interdict Defends the touching of these viands pure ; Their taste no knowledge works, at least of evil, But life preserves, destroys life's enemy, Hunger, with sweet restorative delight. All these are spirits of air, and woods, and springs, Thy gentle ministers, who come to pay Thee homage, and acknowledge thee their Lord : What doubt'st thou, Son of God? Sitdown and eat." To whom thus Jesus temperately replied. " Said'st thou not that to all tilings I had right ? And who withholds my power that right to use ? Shall I receive by gift what of my own, When and where likes me best, I can command ? I can at will, doubt not, as soon as thou, Command a table in this wilderness, Anrl rail swift fliK miii intrant: I Array'd in glory on my cup to attend : ' Why should'st thou then obtrude this diligence, In vain, where no acceptance it can find ? And with my hunger what hast thou to do ? Thy pompous delicacies I contemn, And count thy specious gifts no gifts, but guiles." To whom thus answer'd Satan malecontent. " That I have also power to give, thou seest ; If of that power I bring thee voluntary What I might have bestow'd on whom I pleas'd, And rather opportunely in this place Chose to impart to thy apparent need, Why should'st thou not accept it ? but I see What I can do or offer is suspect : Of these things others quickly will dispose, [flui Whose pains have earn'd the far-fet spoil." Wit Both table and provision vanish'd quite With sound of harpies' wings and talons heard : Only the importune tempter still remain'd, And with these words his temptation pursued. " By hunger, that each other creature tames, Thou art not to be harm'd, therefore not mov'd ; Thy temperance invincible besides, For no allurement yields to appetite ; And all thy heart is set on high designs, High actions : but wherewith to be achiev'd ? Great acts require great means of enterprise ; Thou art unknown, unfriended, low of birth, A carpenter thy father known, thyself Bred up in poverty and straits at home, Lost in a desert here and hunger-bit : Which way, or from what hope, dost thou aspire To greatness? whence authority deriv'st ? What followers, what retinue canst thou gain, Or at thy heels the dizzy multitude, Longer than thou canst feed them on thy cost ? Money brings honour, friends, conquest, and realm 1 What rais'd Antipater the Edomite, And his son Herod plac'd on Judah's throne, Thy throne, but gold that got him puissant friends Therefore, if at great things thou would'st arrive, Get riches first, get wealth, and treasure heap, Not difficult, if thou hearken to me : Riches are mine, fortune is in my hand ; They whom I favour thrive in wealth amain, While virtue, valour, wisdom, sit in want." To whom thus Jesus patiently replied. " Yet wealth, without these three, is impotent To gain dominion, or to keep it gain'd. Witness those ancient empires of the Earth, In height of all their flowing wealth dissolv'd : But men endued with these have oft attain'd In lowest poverty to highest deeds ; Gideon, and Jephtha, and the shepherd lad, Whose offspring on the throne of Judali sat So many ages, and shall yet regain That seat, and reign in Israel without end. Among the Heathen, (for throughout the world To me is not unknown what hath been done Worthy of memorial,) canst thou not remember Quintius, Fabricius, Curius, Regulus? For I esteem those names of men so poor, Who could do mighty things, and could contemr Riches, though otter d from the hand of kings. And what in me seems wanting, but that I May also in this poverty as soon Accomplish what they did, perhaps and more ? Extol not riches then, the toil of fools, . The wise man's cumbrance, if not snare ; more ; To sliirkcMi Virfiio. and abate lit>r od<>'t> BOOK III. PARADISE REGAINED. 117 Than prompt her to do aught may merit praise. What if with like aversion I reject Riches and realms 3 yet not for that a crown, Golden in show, is but a wreath of thorns, Brings dangers, troubles, cares, and sleepless nights, To him who wears the regal diadem, When on his shoulders each man's burden lies ; For therein stands the office of a king, His honour, virtue, merit, and chief praise, That for the public all this weight he bears. Yet he, who reigns within himself, and rules Passions, desires, and fears, is more a king ; Which every wise and virtuous man attains ; And who attains not, ill aspires to rule Cities of men, or headstrong multitudes, Subject himself to anarchy within, Or lawless passions in him, which he serves. But to guide nations in the way of truth By saving doctrine, and from errcur lead To know, and knowing worship God aright, Is yet more kingly ; this attracts the soul, Governs the inner man, the nobler part ; That other o'er the body only reigns, And oft by force, which, to a generous mind, So reigning, can be no sincere delight. Besides, to give a kingdom hath been thought Greater and nobler done, and to lay down Far more magnanimous, than to assume. Riches are needless then, both for themselves, And for thy reason why they should be sought, To gain a sceptre, oftest better miss'd." BOOK III. The Argument. Satan, in a speech of much flattering commenda- tion, endeavours to awaken in Jesus a passion for glory, by particularising various instances of con- quests achieved, and great actions performed, by persons at an early period of life. Our Lord replies, by showing the vanity of worldly fame, and the improper means by which it is generally attained ; and contrasts with it the true glory of religious patience and virtuous wisdom, as exem- plified in the character of Job.. Satan justifies the love of glory from the example of God him- self, who requires it from all his creatures. Jesus detects the fallacy of this argument, by showing that, as goodness is the true ground on which glcry is due to the great Creator of all things, sinful man can have no right whatever to it. Satan then urges our Lord respecting his claim to the throne of David ; he tells him that the kingdom of Judea, being at that time a province of Rome, cannot be got possession of without much personal exertion on his part, and presses him to lose no time in beginning to reign. Jesus refers him to the time allotted for this, as for all other things ; and, after intimating somewhat re- specting his own previous sufferings, asks Satan, why he should be so solicitous for the exaltation of one, whose rising was destined to be his fall. Satan replies, that his own desperate state, by ex- cluding all hope, leaves little room for fear ; and that, as his own punishment was equally doomed, he is not interested in preventing the reign of one, from whose apparent benevolence he might rather hope for some interference in his favour. Satan still pursues his former incitements; and, supposing that the seeming reluctance of Jesus to be thus advanced might arise from his being un- acquainted with the world and its glories, conveys him to the summit of a high mountain, and from thence shows him most of the kingdoms of Asia, particularly pointing out to his notice some extra- ordinary military preparations of the Parthians to resist the incursions of the Scythians. He then informs our Lord, that he showed him this pur- posely that he might see how necessary military exertions are to retain the possession of kingdoms, as well as to subdue them at first, and advises him to consider how impossible it was to maintain Judea against two such powerful neighbours as the Romans and Parthians, and how necessary it would be to form an alliance with one or other of them. At the same time he recommends, and engages to secure to him, that of the Parthians ; and tells him that by this means his power will be defended from any thing that Rome or Ca?sar might attempt against it, and that he will be able to extend his glory wide, and especially to accom- plish, what was particularly necessary to make the throne of Judea really the throne of David, the deliverance and restoration of the ten tribes, still in a state of captivity. Jesus, having briefly noticed the vanity of military efforts and the weakness of the arm of flesh, says, that when the time comes for his ascending his allotted throne he shall not be slack : he remarks on Satan's extra- ordinary zeal for the deliverance of the Israelites, to whom he had always showed himself an enemy, and declares their servitude to be the consequence of their idolatry ; but adds, that at a future time it may perhaps please God to recall them, and restore them to their liberty and native land. So spake the Son of God ; and Satan stood A while, as mute, confounded what to say W~hat to reply, confuted, and convinc'd Of his weak arguing and fallacious drift ; At length, collecting all his serpent wiles, With soothing words renew'd, him thus accosts. " I see thou know'st what is of use to know, What best to say canst say, to do canst do ; Thy actions to thy words accord, thy words To thy large heart give utterance due, thy heart Contains of good, wise, just, the perfect shape. Should kings and nations from thy mouth consult, Thy counsel would be as the oracle Urim and Thummim, those oraculous gems On Aaron's breast ; or tongue of seers old, Infallible : or wert thou sought to deeds That might require the array of war, thy skill Of conduct would be such, that all the world Could not sustain thy prowess, or subsist In battle, though against thy few in arms. These God-like virtues, wherefore dost thou hide, Affecting private life, or more obscure In savage wilderness ? wherefore deprive All Earth her wonder at thy acts, thyself The fame and glory, glory the reward That sole excites to high attempts, the flame Of most erected spirits, most temper'd pure Ethereal, who all pleasures else despise, All treasures and all gain esteem as dross, And dignities and powers all but the highest ? Thy years are ripe, and over-ripe ; the son Of Macedonian Philip had ere these T S 118 MILTON. BOOK III Won Asia, and the throne of Cyrus held At his dispose ; young Scipio had brought down The Carthaginian pride ; young Pompey quell'd The Pontic king, and in triumph had rode. Yet years, and to ripe years judgment mature, Q,ue"nch not the thirst of glory, but augment. Great Julius, whom now all the world admires, The more he grew in years, the more inflam'd With glory, wept that he had liv'd so long Inglorious : but thou yet art not too late." To whom our Saviour calmly thus replied. " Thou neither dost persuade me to seek wealth For empire's sake, nor empire to affect For glory's sake, by all thy argument. For what is glory but the blaze of fame, The people's praise, if always praise unmix'd ? And what the people but a herd confus'd, A miscellaneous rabble, who extol Things vulgar, and well weigh'd, scarce worth the praise ? They praise, and they admire, they know not what, And know not whom, but as one leads the other ; And what delight to be by such extoll'd, To live upon their tongues, and be their talk, Of whom to be disprais'd were no small praise ? His lot who dares be singularly good. The intelligent among them and the wise Are few, and glory scarce of few is rais'd. This is true glory and renown, when God, Looking on the Earth, with approbation marks The just man, and divulges him through Heaven To all his angels, who with true applause Recount his praises : thus he did to Job, When to extend his fame through Heaven and Earth, As thou to thy reproach may'st well remember, He ask'd thee, Hast thou seen my servant Job ?' Famous he was in Heaven, on Earth less known ; Where glory is false glory, attributed To things not glorious, men not worthy of fame. They err, who count it glorious to subdue By conquest far and wide, to over-run Large countries, and in field great battles win, Great cities by assault : what do these worthies, But rob and spoil, burn, slaughter, and enslave Peaceable nations, neighbouring, or remote, Made captive, yet deserving freedom more Than those their conquerors, who leave behind Nothing but ruin wheresoe'er they rove, And all the flourishing works of peace destroy ; Then swell with pride, and must be titled Gods, Great Benefactors of mankind, Deliverers, Worshipt with temple, priest, and sacrifice ? One is the son of Jove, of Mars the other ; Till conqueror Death discover them scarce men, Rolling in brutish vices, and deform'd, Violent or shameful death their due reward. But if there be in glory aught of good, It may by means far different be attain'd, Without ambition, war, or violence ; By deeds of peace, by wisdom eminent, By patience, temperance : I mention still Him, whom thy wrongs, with saintly patience borne, Made famous in a land and times obscure ; Who names not now with honour patient Job ? Poor Socrates, (who next more memorable?) By what he taught, and suffer'd for so doing, For truth's sake suffering death, unjust, lives now Equal in fame to proudest conquerors. Yet if for fame and glory aught be done, Aught suffer'd ; if young African for fame The deed becomes unprais'd, the man afc least, And loses, though but verbal, his reward. Shall I seek glory then, as vain men seek, Oft not cEeserv'd ? I seek not mine, but his Who sent me ; and thereby witness whence I am.' To whom the tempter murmuring thus replied. " Think not so slight of glory ; therein least Resembling thy great Father : he seeks glory, And for his glory all things made, all things Orders and governs ; nor content in Heaven By all his angels glorified, requires Glory from men, from all men, good or bad, Wise or unwise, no difference, no exemption ; Above all sacrifice, or hallow'd gift, Glory he requires, and glory he receives, Promiscuous from all nations, Jew or Greek, Or barbarous, nor exception hath declar'd ; From us, his foes pronounc'd, glory he exacts." To whom our Saviour fervently replied. " And reason ; since his word all things produ'c'd Though chiefly not for glory as prime end, But to show forth his goodness, and impart His good communicable to every soul Freely ; or whom what could he less expect Than glory and benediction, that is, thanks, The slightest, easiest, readiest recompense From them who could return him notliing else, And, not returning that, would likeliest render Contempt instead, dishonour, obloquy ? Hard recompense, unsuitable return For so much good, so much beneficence ! But why should man seek glory, who of his own Hath nothing, and to whom nothing belongs, But condemnation, ignominy, and shame ? Who for so many benefits receiv'd, Turn'd recreant to God, ingrate and false, And so of all true good himself despoil'd ; Yet, sacrilegious, to himself would take That which to God alone of right belongs : Yet so much bounty is in God, such grace, That who advance his glory, not their own, Them he himself to glory will advance." So spake the Son of God ; and here again Satan had not to answer, but stoocl struck With guilt of his own sin ; for he himself, Insatiable of glory, had lost all ; Yet of another plea bethought him soon. " Of glory, as thou wilt," said he, " so deem ; Worth or not worth the seeking, let it pass. But to a kingdom thou art born, ordain'd To sit upon thy father David's throne, By mother's side thy father ; though thy right Be now in powerful hands, that will not part Easily from possession won with arms : Judaea now and all the Promis'd Land > Reduc'd a province under Roman yoke, Obeys Tiberius ; nor is always rul'd With temperate sway ; oft have they violated The temple, oft the law, with foul affronts, Abominations rather, as did once Antiochus : and think 'st thou to regain Thy right, by sitting still, or thus retiring ? So did not Maccabeus : he indeed Retir'd unto the desert, but with arms ; And o'er a mighty king so oft prevail'd, That by strong hand his family obtain'd, [usurp'd, Though priests, the crown, and David's throne With Modin and her suburbs once content. If kingdom move thee not, let move thee zeal And duty ; and zeal and duty are not slow, BO OK III. PARADISE REGAINED. us They themselves rather are occasion best ; Zeal of thy father's house, duty to free Thy country from her heathen servitude. So shalt thou best fulfil, best verify The prophets old, who sung thy endless reign ; The happier reign, the sooner it begins : Reign then ; what canst thou better do the while ?' To whom our Saviour answer thus return'd. " All things are best fulfill'd in their due time ; And time there is for all things, Truth hath said. If of my reign prophetic writ hath told, That it shall never end, so, when begin, The Father in his purpose hath decreed ; He in whose hand all times and seasons roll. What if he hath decreed that I shall first Be tried in humble state, and things adverse, By tribulations, injuries, insults, Contempts, and scorns, and snares, and violence, Suffering, abstaining, quietly expecting, Without distrust or doubt, that he may know What I can suffer, how obey ? Who best Can suffer, best can do ; best reign, who first Well hath obey'd ; just trial, ere I merit My exaltation without change or end. But what concerns it thee, when I begin My everlasting kingdom ? Why art thou Solicitous ? What moves thy inquisition ? Know'st thou not that my rising is thy fall, And my promotion will be thy destruction ?" To whom the tempter, inly rack'd, replied. " Let that come when it comes ; all hope is lost Of my reception into grace : what worse ? For where no hope is left, is left no fear : If there be worse, the expectation more Of worse torments me than the feeling can. I would be at the worst : worst is my port, My harbour, and my ultimate repose ; The end I would attain, my final good. My errour was my errour, and my crime My crime ; whatever, for itself condemn'd ; And will alike be punish'd, whether thou Reign, or reign not ; though to that gentle brow Willingly could I fly, and hope thy reign, From that placid aspect and meek regard, Rather than aggravate my evil state, Would stand between me and thy Father's ire, (Whose ire I dread more than the fire of Hell,) A shelter, and a kind of shading cool Interposition, as a summer's cloud. If I then to the worst that can be haste, Why move thy feet so slow to what is best, Happiest, both to thyself and all the world, That thou, who worthiest art, should'st be their king ? Perhaps thou linger'st, in deep thoughts detain'd Of the enterprise so hazardous and high ; No wonder ; for, though in thee be united What of perfection can in man be found, Or human nature can receive, consider, Thy life hath yet been private, most part spent At home, scarce view'd the Galilean towns, And once a year Jerusalem, few days' [serve ? Short sojourn ; and what thence could'st thou ob- The world thou hadst not seen, much less her glory, Empires, and monarchs, and their radiant courts, Best school of best experience, quickest insight In all things that to greatest actions lead The wisest, unexperienc'd, will be ever Timorous and loth ; with novice modesty, (As he who, seeking asses, found a kingdom,) Irresolute, unhardy, unadventurous : But I will bring thee where thou soon shalt quit Those rudiments, and see before thine eyes The monarchies of the Earth, their pomp and state ; Sufficient introduction to inform Thee, of thyself so apt, in regal arts, And regal mysteries ; that thou may'st know How their best opposition to withstand." [tool* With that, (such power was given him then,) ht The Son of God up to a mountain high. It was a mountain at whose verdant feet A spacious plain, outstretch'd in circuit wide, Lay pleasant ; from his side two rivers flow'd, The one winding, the other straight, and left between Fair champaign with less rivers interven'd, Then meeting join'd their tribute to the sea : Fertile of corn the glebe, of oil, and wine ; [hills ; With herds the pastures throng'd, with flocks tht Huge cities and high-tower'd, that well might seem The seats of mightiest monarchs ; and so large The prospect was, that here and there was room For barren desert, fountainless and dry. To this high mountain-top the tempter brought Our Saviour, and new train of words began. " Well have we speeded, and o'er hill and dale, Forest and field and flood, temples and towers, Cut shorter many a league ; here thou behold'st Assyria, and her empire's ancient bounds, A raxes and the Caspian lake ; thence on As far as Indus east, Euphrates west, And oft beyond : to south the Persian bay, And, inaccessible, the Arabian drought : Here Nineveh, of length within her wall Several days' journey, built by Ninus old, Of that first golden monarchy the seat, And seat of Salmanassar, whose success Israel in long captivity still mourns ; There Babylon, the wonder of all tongues, As ancient, but rebuilt by him who twice Judah and all thy father David's house Led captive, and Jerusalem laid waste, Till Cyrus set them free ; Persepolis, His city, there thou seest, and Bactra there ; Ecbatana her structure vast there shows, And Hecatompylos her hundred gates : There Susa by Choaspes, amber stream, The drink of none but kings : of later fame, Built by Emathian or by Parthian hands, The great Seleucia, Nisibis, and there Artaxata, Teredon, Ctesiphon, Turning with easy eye, thou may'st behold. All these the Parthian (now some ages past By great Arsaces led, who founded first That empire) under his dominion holds, From the luxurious kings of Antioch won. And just in time thou com'st to have a view Of his great power ; for now the Parthian king In Ctesiphon hath gather'd all his host Against the Scythian, whose incursions wild Have wasted Sogdiana ; to her aid He marches now in haste ; see, though from far, His thousands, in what martial equipage They issue forth, steel bows and shafts their arms, Of equal dread in flight, or in pursuit ; All horsemen, in which fight they most excel ; See how in warlike muster they appear, In rhombs, and wedges, and half-moons, and wings." He look d, and saw what numbers numberless The city gates out-pour'd, light-armed troops, In coats of mail and military pride ; In mail their horses clad, yet fleet and strong, T 4 MILTON. BOOK III. Prancing their riders bore, the flower and choice Of many provinces from bound to bound ; From Arachosia, from Candaor east, And Margiana to the Hyrcanian cliffs Of Caucasus, and dark Iberian dales ; From Atropatia and the neighbouring plains Of Adiabene, Media, and the south Of Susiana, to Balsara's haven. He saw therti in their forms of battle rang'd, [shot How quick they wheel'd, and flying behind them Sharp sleet of arrowy showers against the face Of their pursuers, and overcame by flight ; The field all iron cast a gleaming brown : Nor wanted clouds of foot, nor on each horn Cuirassiers all in steel for standing fight, Chariots, or elephants indors'd with towers Of archers ; nor of labouring pioneers A multitude, with spades and axes arm'd To lay hills plain, fell woods, or valleys fill, Or where plain was raise hill, or overlay With bridges rivers proud, as with a yoke ; Mules after these, camels and dromedaries, And waggons, fraught with utensils of war. Such forces met not, nor so wide a camp, When Agrican with all his northern powers Besieg'd Albracca, as romances tell, ; The city of Gallaphrone, from whence to win The fairest of her sex Angelica, His daughter, sought by many prowest knights. Both Paynim, and the peers of Charlemain. Such and so numerous was their chivalry : At sight whereof the fiend yet more presum'd, And to our Saviour thus his words renew'd. " That thou may'st know I seek not to engage Thy virtue, and not every way secure On no slight grounds thy safety ; hear and mark, To what end I have brought thee hither, and shown All this fair sight : thy kingdom, though foretold By prophet or by ange.1, unless thou Endeavour, as thy father David did, Thou never shalt obtain ; prediction still In all things, and all men, supposes means ; Without means us'd, what it predicts revokes. But, say thou wert possess'd of David's throne, By free consent of all, none opposite, Samaritan or Jew ; how could* st thou hope Long to enjoy it, quiet and secure, Between two such enclosing enemies, Roman and Parthian ? Therefore one of these Thou must make sure thy own ; the Parthian first By my advice, as nearer, and of late Found able by invasion to annoy Thy country, and captive lead away her kings, Antigonus and old Hyrcanus, bound, Maugre the Roman : it shall be my task To render thee the Parthian at dispose, Choose which thou wilt, by conquest or by league : By him thou shalt regain, without him not, That which alone can truly re-install thee In David's royal seat, his true successor, Deliverance of thy brethren, those ten tribes, Whose offspring in his territory yet serve, In Habor, and among the Medes dispers'd : Ten sons of Jacob, two of Joseph, lost Thus long from Israel, serving, as of aid Their fathers in the land of Egypt serv'd, This offer sets before thee to deliver. These if from servitude thou shalt restore To their inheritance, then, nor till then, Thou on the throne of David in full glory, From Egypt to Euphrates, and beyond, Shalt reign, and Rome or Cajsar not need fear." To whom our Saviour answer'd thus, unmov'd. " Much ostentation vain of fleshy arm And fragile arms, much instrument of war, Long in preparing, soon to nothing brought, Before mine eyes thou hast set ; and in my ear, Vented much policy, and projects deep Of enemies, of aids, battles and leagues, Plausible to the world, to me worth nought. Means I must use, thou say'st, prediction Will unpredict, and fail me of the throne : My time, I told thee, (and that time for thee Were better farthest off,) is not yet come : When that comes, think not thou to find me slack On my part aught endeavouring, or to need Thy politic maxims, or that cumbersome Luggage of war there shown me, argument Of human weakness rather than of strength. My brethren, as thou call'st them, those ten tribes I must deliver, if I mean to reign David's true heir, and his full sceptre sway To just extent over all Israel's sons. But whence to thee this zeal ? Where was it then For Israel, or for David, or his throne, When thou stood'st up his tempter to the pride Of numbering Israel, which cost the lives Of threescore and ten thousand Israelites By three days' pestilence? Such was thy zeal To Israel then ; the same that now to me ! As for those captive tribes, themselves were they Who wrought their own captivity, fell off From God to worship calves, the deities Of Egypt, Baal next and Ashtaroth, And all the idolatries of heathen round, Besides their other worse than heathenish crimes ; Nor in the land of their captivity Humbled themselves, or penitent besought The God of their forefathers ; but so died Impenitent, and left a race behind Like to themselves, distinguishable scarce From Gentiles, but by circumcision vain ; And God with idols in their worship join'd. Should I of these the liberty regard, Who, freed, as to their ancient patrimony, Unhumbled, unrepentant, unreform'd, Headlong would follow ; and to their gods perhaps Of Bethel and of Dan? No ; let them serve Their enemies, who serve idols with God. Yet he at length, (time to himself best known,) Remembering Abraham, by some wonderous call May bring them back, repentant and sincere, And at their passing cleave the Assyrian flood, While to their native land with joy they haste ; As the Red Sea and Jordan once he cleft, When to the Promis'd Land their fathers pass'd ; To his due time and providence I leave them." So spake Israel's true king, and to the fiend Made answer meet, that made void his wiles. So fares it, when with truth falsehood contends. BOOK IV. The Argument. Satan, persisting in the temptation of our Lord, shows him imperial Rome in its greatest pomp and splendour, as a power which, he probably would prefer before th.at of the Parthians ; and >OK IV. PARADISE REGAINED. 121 ells him that he might with the greatest ease jxpel Tiberius, restore the Romans to their iberty, and make himself master not only of he Roman Empire, but by so doing of the whole world, and inclusively of the throne of David. Our Lord, in reply, expresses his con- empt of grandeur and worldly power, notices he luxury, vanity, and profligacy of the Ro- nans, declaring how little they merited to be estored to that liberty, which they had lost >y -their misconduct, and briefly refers to the jreatness of his own future kingdom. Satan, low desperate, to enhance the value of his prof- ered gifts, professes that the only terms, on vhich he will bestow them, are our Saviour's ailing down and worshipping him. Our Lord xpresses a firm but temperate indignation at uch a proposition, and rebukes the tempter y the title of " Satan for ever damned." Sa- in, abashed, attempts to justify himself: he ien assumes a new ground of temptation, nd proposing to Jesus the intellectual gratifi- ations of wisdom and knowledge, points out > him the celebrated seat of ancient learning, .thens, its schools, and other various resorts T learned teachers and their disciples ; ac- j )mpanying the view with a highly-finished j inegyric on the 'Grecian musicians, poets, j ators and philosophers of the different sects. ?sus replies, by showing the vanity and in- ifficiency of the boasted heathen philosophy; id refers to the music, poetry, eloquence id didactic policy of the Greeks, those of e inspired Hebrew writers. Satan, irritated the failure of all his attempts, upbraids the discretion of our Saviour in rejecting his fers ; and, having in ridicule of his expected ngdom, foretold the sufferings that our Lord is to undergo, carries him back into the iiderness, and leaves him there. Night comes i : Satan raises a tremendous storm, and tempts further to alarm Jesus with frightful earns, and terrific threatening spectres ; which, wever, have no effect upon him. A calm, ight, beautiful morning succeeds to the hor- urs of the night. Satan again presents him- [f to our blessed Lord, and, from noticing the >rm of the preceding night as pointed chiefly at n, takes occasion once more to insult him th an account of the sufferings which he was rtainly to undergo. This only draws from our >rd a brief rebuke. Satan, now at the height his desperation, confesses that he had fre- ently watched Jesus from his birth, purposely discover if he was the true Messiah ; and, col- ting from what passed at the river Jordan that most probably was so, he had from that time >re assiduously followed him, in hopes of gain- ; some advantage over him, which would most actually prove that he was not really that vine Person destined to be his " fatal enemy." this he acknowledges that he has hitherto npletely failed ; but still determines to make i more trial of liim. Accordingly he conveys i to the Temple at Jerusalem, and, placing n on a pointed eminence, requires him to prove divinity either by standing there, or casting iself down with safety. Our Lord reproves the ipter, and at the same time manifests his own injty by standing on this dangerous point. Satan, amazed and terrified, instantly falls ; and repairs to his infernal compeers to relate the bad success of his enterprise. Angels in the mean time convey our blessed Lord to a beautiful val- ley, and, while they minister to him a repast of celestial food, celebrate his victory in a triumph- ant hymn. PERPLEX'D and troubled at his bad success The tempter stood, nor had what to reply, Discover'd in his fraud, thrown from his hope So oft, and the persuasive rhetoric That sleek'd his tongue, and won so much on Eve : So little here, nay lost ; but Eve was Eve : This far his over-match, who, self-deceiv'd And rash, before-hand had no better weigh'd The strength he was to cope with, or his own : But as a man, who had been matchless held In cunning, over-reach'd where least he thought, To salve his credit, and for every spite, Still will be tempting him who foils him still, And never cease, though to his shame the more ; Or as a swarm of flies in vintage time, About the wine-press where sweet must is pcur'd, Beat off, returns as oft with humming sound ; Or surging waves against a solid rock, Though all to shivers dash'd, the assault renew (Vain battery !) and in froth or bubbles end; So Satan, whom repulse upon repulse Met ever, and to shameful silence brought, Yet gives not o'er, though desperate of success, And his vain importunity pursues. He brought our Saviour to the western side Of that high mountain, whence he might behold Another plain, long, but in breadth not wide, Wash'd by the southern sea, and, on the north, To equal length back'd with a ridge of hills [men, That screen'd the fruits of the earth, and seats of From cold Septentrion blast ; thence in the midst Divided by a river, of whose banks On each side an imperial city stood, With towers and temples proudly elevate On seven small hills, with palaces adorn'd, Porches, and theatres, baths, aqueducts, Statues, and trophies, and triumphal arcs, Gardens, and groves, presented to his eyes, Above the height of mountains interpos'd : ( By what strange parallax, or optic skill Of vision, multiplied through air, or glass Of telescope, were curious to inquire : ) And now the tempter thus his silence broke. " The city which thou seest, no other deem Than great and glorious Rome, queen of the Earth, So far renown'd, and with the spoils enrich'd Of nations ; there the Capitol thou seest, Above the rest lifting his stately head On the Tarpeian rock, her citadel Impregnable ; and there mount Palatine The imperial palace, compass huge and high The structure, skill of noblest architects. With gilded battlements conspicuous far, Turrets, and terraces, and glittering spires : Many a fair edifice besides, more like Houses of gods, (so well I have dispos'd My aery microscope,) thou may'st behold, Outside and inside both, pillars and roofs, Carv'd work, the hand of fam'd artificers, In cedar, marble, ivory, or gold. Thence to the gales cast round thine eye, and see What conflux issuing forth, or entering in ; 122 MILTON. BOOK Pretors, proconsuls to their provinces Hasting, or on return, in robes of state, Lictors and rods, the ensigns of their power, Legions and cohorts, turms of horse and wings : Or embassies from regions far remote, In various habits, on the Appian road, Or on the Emilian ; some from farthest south, Syene, and where the shadow both way falls, Meroe, Nilotic isle ; and, more to west, The realm of Bocchus to the Black-moor sea ; From the Asian kings, and Parthian among these ; From India and the golden Chersonese, And utmost Indian isle Taprobane, Dusk faces with white silken turbans wreath'd ; From Gal Ha, Gades, and the British west; Germans, and Scythians, and Sarmatians, north Beyond Dantibius to the Tauric pool. All nations now to Rome obedience pay ; To Rome's great emperor, w r hose wide domain, In ample territory, wealth, and power, Civility of manners, arts and anus, And long renown, thou justly mayst prefer Before the Parthian. These two thrones except, The rest are barbarous, and scarce worth the sight, Shar'd among petty kings too far remov'd ; These having shown thee, I have shown thee all The kingdoms of the world, and all their glory. This emperor hath no son, and now is old, Old and lascivious, and from Rome retir'd To Caprese, an island small, but strong, On the Campanian shore, with purpose there His horrid lusts in private to enjoy ; Committing to a wicked favourite All public cares, and yet of him suspicious; Hated of all, and hating. With what ease, Endued with regal virtues, as thou art, Appearing, and beginning noble deeds, Might* st thou expel this monster from his throne, Now made a stye, and, in his place ascending, A victor people free from servile yoke ! And with my help thou may'st ; to me the power Is given, and by that right I give it thee. Aim therefore at no less than all the world ; Aim at the highest : without the highest attain'd, Will be for thee no sitting, or not long, On David's throne, be prophesied what will." To whom the Son of God, unmov'd, replied. " Nor doth this grandeur and majestic show Of luxury, though call'd magnificence, More than of arms before, allure mine eye, Much less my mind ; though thou should'st add to tell Their sumptuous gluttonies, and gorgeous feasts On citron tables or Atlantic stone, (For I have also heard, perhaps have read,) Their wines of Setia, Cales, and Falerne, Chios, and Crete, and how they quaff in gold, Crystal, and myrrhine cups, emboss'd with gems And studs of pearl ; to me should'st tell, who thirst And hunger still. Then embassies thou show'st From nations far and nigh : what honour that, But tedious waste of time, to sit and hear So many hollow compliments and lies, Outlandish flatteries? Then proceed'st to talk Of the emperor, how easily subdued, How gloriously : I shall, thou say'st, expel A brutish monster ; what if I withal Expel a devil who first made him such? Let his tormenter conscience find him out : For him I was not sent ; nor yet to free That people, victor once, now vile and base ; Deservedly made vassal ; who, once just, Frugal, and mild, and temperate, conquer'd we] But govern ill the nations under yoke, Peeling their provinces, exhausted all By lust and rapine ; first ambitious grown Of triumph, that insulting vanity ; Then cruel, by their sports to blood inur'd Of fighting beasts, and men to beasts expos'd ; Luxurious by their wealth, and greedier still, And from the daily scene effeminate, What wise and valiant man would seek to free These, thus degenerate, by themselves enslav'd ? Or could of inward slaves make outward free ? Know therefore, when my season comes to sit On David's throne, it shall be like a tree Spreading and overshadowing all the. Earth ; Or as a stone, that shall to pieces dash All monarchies besides throughout the world ; And of my kingdom there shall be no end : Means there shall be to this ; but what the mear Is not for thee to know, nor me to tell." To whom the tempter, impudent, replied. " I see all offers made by me how slight Thou valuest, because ofter'd, and reject' st: Nothing will please the difficult and nice, Or nothing more than still to contradict : ' On the other side know also thou, that I On what I offer set as high esteem, Nor what I part with mean to give for nought ; All these, which in a moment thou behold'st, The kingdoms of the world, to thee I give, (For, given to me, I give to whom I please,) No trifle ; yet with this reserve, not else, On this condition, if thou wilt fall down, And worship me as thy superior lord, (Easily done,) and hold them all of me ; For what can less so great a gift deserve ?" Whom thus our Saviour answer'd with disdaii " I never lik'd thy talk, thy offers less ; Now both abhor, since thou hast dar'd to utter The abominable terms, impious condition : But I endure the time, till which expir'd Thou hast permission on me. It is written, [. The first of all commandments, ' Thou shall v The Lord thy God, and only him shalt serve ;' And dar'st thou to the Son of God propound To worship thee accurs'd ? now more accurs'd For this attempt, bolder than that on Eve, And more blasphemous ; which expect to rue. The kingdoms of the world to thee were given ? Permitted rather, and by thee usurp'd ; Other donation none thou canst produce. If given, by whom but by the King of kings, God over all supreme ? If given to thee, By thee how fairly is the giver now Repaid ! But gratitude in thee is lost Long since. Wert thou so void of fear or shan As offer them to me, the Son of God ? To me my own, on such abhorred pact, That I fall down and worship thee as God ? Get thee behind me ; plain thou now appear'st That Evil-one, Satan for everdamn'd." To whom the fiend, with fear abash'd, replied " Be not so sore offended, Son of God, Though sons of God both angels are and men, If I, to try whether in higher sort Than these thou bear'st that title, have propos'd What both from men and angels I receive, OOK IV. PARADISE REGAINED. 123 2trarchs of fire, air, flood, and on the Earth, ations beside from all the quarter'd winds, od of this world invok'd, and world beneath : Tio then thou art, whose coming is foretold T me most fatal, me it most concerns ; le trial hath indamag'd thee no way, ather more honour left and more esteem ; e nought advantag'd, missing what I aim'd. lerefore let pass, as they are transitory, le kingdoms of this world ; I shall no more dvise thee ; gain them as thou canst, or not. nd thou thyself seem'st otherwise inclin'd lan to a worldly crown ; addicted more > contemplation and profound dispute, > by that early action may be judg'd, hen, slipping from thy mother's eye, thou went'st lone into the temple, there wast found nong the gravest rabbies, disputant i points and questions fitting Moses' chair, [man, aching, not taught. The childhood shows the > morning shows the day : be famous then T wisdom ; as thy empire must extend, let extend thy mind o'er all the world knowledge, all things in it comprehend. 1 knowledge is not couch' d in Moses' law, ;e Pentateuch, or what the prophets wrote ; ie Gentiles also know, and write, and teacb > admiration, led by Nature's light, id with the Gentiles much thou must converse, '.ling them by persuasion, as thou mean'st ; ithout their learning, how wilt thou with them, they with thee, hold conversation meet ? >w wilt thou reason with them, how refute eir idolisms, traditions, paradoxes ? rour by his own arms is best evinc'd. ok once more, ere we leave this specular mount, istward, much nearer by south-west, behold icre on the JEgean shore a city stands, ilt nobly, pure the air, and light the soil ; lens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts d eloquence, native to famous wits hospitable, in her sweet recess, y or suburban, studious walks and shades. : there the olive grove of Academe, ito's retirement, where the Attic bird 11s her thick-warbled notes the summer long ; ^re flowery hill Hymettus, with the sound bees' industrious murmur, oft invites studious musing ; there Ilissus rolls i whispering stream : within the walls, then view 3 schools of ancient sages ; his who bred ;at Alexander to subdue the world, :eum there, and painted Stoa next : ;re shalt thou hear and learn the secret power harmony, in tones and numbers hit voice or hand ; and various-measur'd verse, lian charms and Dorian lyric odes d his, who gave them breath, but higher sung, id Melesigenes, thence Homer call'd, ose poem Phoebus challeng'd for his own : -nee what the lofty grave tragedians taught Chorus or Iambic, teachers best moral prudence, with delight receiv'd irief sententious precepts, while they treat fate, and chance, and change in human life, ;h actions and high passions best describing : ;nce to the famous orators repair, we ancient, whose resistless eloquence :lded at will that fierce democratie, ok the arsenal, and fulmin'd over Greece To Macedon and Artaxerxes' throne : To sage Philosophy next lend thine ear, From Heaven descended to the low-roof 'd house Of Socrates ; see there his tenement, Whom well inspir'd the oracle pronounc'd Wisest of men ; from whose mouth issued forth Mellifluous streams, that water'd all the schools Of academics old and new, with those Surnamed Peripatetics, and the sect Epicurean, and the Stoic severe ; These here revolve, or, as thou lik'st, at home, Till time mature thee to a kingdom's weight ; These rules will render thee a king complete Within thyself, much more with empire join'd." To whom our Saviour sagely thus replied. " Think not but that I know these things, or think I know them not ; not therefore am I short Of knowing what I ought : he, who receives Light from above, from the fountain of light, No other doctrine needs, though granted true ; But these are false, or little else but dreams, Conjectures, fancies, built on nothing firm. The first and wisest of them all profess'd To know this only, that he nothing knew ; The next to fabling fell, and smooth conceits ; A third sort doubted all things, though plain sense ; Others in virtue plac'd felicity, But virtue joined with riches and long life ; In corporal pleasure he, and careless ease ; The Stoic last in philosophic pride, By him call'd virtue ; and his virtuous man, Wise, perfect in himself, and all possessing Equal to God, oft shames not to prefer, As fearing God nor man, contemning all Wealth, pleasure, pain or torment, death and life, Which, when he lists, he leaves, or boasts he can, For all his tedious talk is but vain boast, Or subtle shifts conviction to evade. Alas ! what can they teach and not mislead, Ignorant of themselves, of God much more, And how the world began, and how man fell Degraded by himself, on grace depending ? Much of the soul they talk, but all awry, And in themselves seek virtue ; and to themselves '. All glory arrogate, to God give none ; Rather accuse him under usual names, Fortune and Fate, as one regardless quite Of mortal things* Who therefore seeks in these True wisdom, finds her not ; or, by delusion, Far worse, her false resemblance only meets, An empty cloud. However, many books, Wise men have said, are wearisome ; who reads Incessantly, and to his reading brings not A spirit and judgment equal or superior, (And what he brings what needs he elsewhere seek?) Uncertain and unsettled still remains, Deep vers'd in books, and shallow in himself, Crude or intoxicate, collecting toys And trifles for choice matters, worth a sponge ; As children gathering pebbles on the shore. Or, if I would delight my private hours With music or with poem, where so soon As in our native language, can I find That solace ? All our law and story strew'd With hymns, our Psalms with artful terms inscrib'd, Our Hebrew songs and harps, in Babylon That pleas'd so well our victor's ear, declare That rather Greece from us these arts deriv'd ; 111 imitated, while they loudest sing The vices of their deities, and their own, 124- MILTON. BOOK l\ In fable, hymn, or song, so personating Their gods ridiculous, and themselves past shame. Remove their swelling epithets, thick laid As varnish on a harlot's cheek, the rest, Thin sown with aught of profit or delight, Will far be found unworthy to compare With Sion's songs, to all true tastes excelling, Where God is prais'd aright, and God-like men, The Holiest of Holies, and his saints, (Such are from God inspir'd, not such from thec,) Unless where moral virtue is express'd By light of Nature, not in all quite lost. Their orators thou then extoll'st, as those The top of eloquence ; statists indeed, And lovers of their country, as may seem ; But herein to our prophets far beneath, As men divinely taught, and better teaching The solid rules of civil government, In their majestic unaffected style, Than all the oratory of Greece and Rome. In them is plainest taught, and easiest learnt, What makes a nation happy, and keeps it so, What ruins kingdoms, and lays cities flat ; These only with our law best form a king. " So spake the Son of God ; but Satan, now Quite at a loss, (for all his darts were spent,) Thus to our Saviour with stern brow replied. " Since neither wealth nor honour, arms nor arts, Kingdom nor empire pleases thee, nor aught By me propos'd in life contemplative Or active, tended on by glory or fame, What dost thou in this world ? The wilderness For thee is fittest place ; I found thee there, And thither will return thee ; yet remember What I foretel thee, soon thou shalt have cause To wish thou never hadst rejected, thus Nicely or cautiously, my off'cr'd aid, Which would have set thee in short time with ease On David's throne, or throne of all the world, Now at full age, fulness of time, thy season When prophecies of thee are best fulfill'd. Now contrary, if I read aught in Heaven, Or Heaven write aught of fate, by what the stars Voluminous, or single characters, In their conjunction met, give me to spell, Sorrows, and labours, opposition, hate Attend thee, scorns, reproaches, injuries, Violence and stripes, and lastly cruel death ; A kingdom they portend thec, but what kingdom, Real or allegoric, I discern not ; Nor when ; eternal sure, as without end, Without beginning ; for no date prefix'd Directs me in the starry rubric set." So saying he took, (for still he knew his power Not yet expir'd,) and to the wilderness Brought back the Son of God, and left him there, Feigning to disappear. Darkness now rose, As day-light sunk, and brought in lowering night, Her shadowy offspring ; unsubstantial both, Privation mere of light and absent day. Our Saviour meek, and with untroubled mind After his aery jaunt, though hurried sore, Hungry and cold, betook him to his rest, Wherever, under some concourse of shades, [shield Whose branching arms thick intertwin'd might From dews and damps of night his shelter'd head ; But, shelter'd, slept in vain ; for at his head The tempter watch'd, and soon with ugly dreams Disturb'd his sleep. And either tropic now ' Gan thunder, and both ends of Heaven : the clouds, From many a horrid rift, abortive pour'd Fierce rain with lightning mix'd, water with fire In ruin reconcil'd : nor slept the winds Within their stony caves, but rush'd abroad From the four hinges of the world, and fell On the vex'd wilderness, whose tallest pines, Though rooted deep as high, and sturdiest oaks, Bow'd their stiff necks, loaden with stormy blasts Or torn up sheer. Ill wast thou shrouded then, O patient son of God, yet on\y( stood'st Unshaken ! Nor yet staid the terrour there ; Infernal ghosts and hellish furies round [shriek'< Envirori'd thee, some howl'd, some yell'd, son Some bent at thee their fiery darts, while thou Sat'st unappall'd in calm and sinless peace ! Thus pass'd the night so foul, till Morning fair Came forth, with pilgrim steps, in amice gray ; Who with her radiant finger still'd the roar Of thunder, elms' d the clouds, and laid the winds, And grisly spectres, which the fiend had rais'd To tempt the Son of God with terrours dire. And now the Sun with more effectual beams Had cheer'd the face of Earth, and dried the wet From drooping plant, or dropping tree ; the birds Who all things now behold more fresh and green, After a night of storm so ruinous, Clear'd up their choicest notes in bush and spray, To gratulate the sweet return of morn. Nor yet, amidst this joy and brightest morn, Was absent, after all his mischief done, The prince of darkness ;glad would also seem Of this fair change, and to our Saviour came ; Yet with no new device, (they all were spent,) Rather by this his last affront resolv'd, Desperate of better course, to vent his rage And mad despite to be so oft repell'd. Him walking on a sunny hill he found, Back'd on the north and west by a tliick wood ; Out of the wood he starts in wonted shape, And in a careless mood thus to him said. " Fair morning yet betides thee, Son of God, After a dismal night : I heard the wrack, As earth and sky would mingle ; but myself [thei Was distant ; and these flaws, though mortals fe; As dangerous to the pillar'd frame of Heaven, Or to the Earth's dark basis underneath, Are to the main as inconsiderable And harmless, if not wholesome, as a sneeze To man's less universe, and soon are gone ; Yet, as being oft-times noxious where they light On man, beast, plant, wasteful and turbulent, Like turbulencies in the affairs of men, Over whose heads they roar, and seem to point, They oft fore-signify and threaten ill : This tempest at this desert most was bent ; Of men at thee, for only thou here dwell'st. Did I not tell thee, if thou didst reject The perfect season offered with my aid To win thy destin'd seat, but wilt prolong All to the push of fate, pursue thy way Of gaining David's throne, no man knows when, For both the when and how is no where told ? Thou shalt be what thou art ordain'd, no doubt ; For angels have proclaim'd it, but concealing The time and means. Each act is rightliest done Not when it must, but when it may be best : If thou observe not this, be sure to find, What I foretold thee, many a hard assay Of dangers, and adversities, and pains, Ere thou of Israel's sceptre get fast hold; )OK IV. PARADISE REGAINED. 125 " There stand, if thou wilt stand ; to stand upright Will ask thee skill ; I to thy Father's house [best : Have brought thee, and highest plac'd : highest is Now show thy progeny ; if not to stand, Cast thyself down ; safely, if Son of God : For it is written, ' He will give command Concerning thee to his angels, in their hands They shall up-lift thee, lest at any time Thou chance to dash thy foot against a stone. " To whom thus Jesus : " Also it is written, ' Tempt not the Lord thy God.' " He said, and stood: But Satan, smitten with amazement, fell. As when Earth's son Antaeus, (to compare Small things with greatest,) in Irassa strove With Jove's Alcides, and, oft foil'd, still rose, Receiving from his mother Earth new strength, Fresh from his fall, and fiercer grapple join 'd, Throttled at length in the air, expir'd and fell ; So, after many a foil, the tempter proud, Renewing fresh assaults, amidst his pride, Fell whence he stood to see liis victor fall : And as that Theban monster, that propos'd Her riddle, and him who solv'd it not devour'd, That once found out and solv'd, for grief and spite Cast herself headlong from the Ismenian steep ; So, struck with dread and anguish, fell the fiend, And to his crew, that sat consulting, brought (Joyless triumphals of his hop'd success,) Ruin, and desperation, and dismay, Who durst so proudly tempt the Son of God. So Satan fell ; and straight a fiery globe Of angels on full sail of wing flew nigh, Who on their plumy vans receiv'd him soft From his uneasy station, and upbore, As on a floating couch, through the blithe air ; Then, in a flowery valley, set him down On a green bank, and set before him spread A table of celestial food, divine Ambrosial fruits, fetch'd from the tree of life, And, from the fount of life, ambrosial drink, That soon refresh'd him wearied, and repair'd What hunger, if aught hunger, had impair'd, Or thirst ; and, as he fed, angelic quires Sung heavenly anthems of his victory Over temptation and the tempter proud, " True image of the Father ; whether thron'd In the bosom of bliss, and light of light Conceiving, or, remote from Heaven, enshrin'd In fleshly tabernacle, and human form, Wandering the wilderness ; whatever place, Habit, or state, or motion, still expressing The Son of God, with God-like force endued Against the attempter of thy Father's throne, And thief of Paradise ! him long of old Thou didst debel, and down from Heaven cast With all his army ; now thou hast aveng'd Supplanted Adam, and, by vanquishing Temptation, hast regain'd lost Paradise, And frustrated the conquest fraudulent. ^ He never more henceforth will dare set foot In Paradise to tempt ; his snares are broke : For, though that seat of earthly bliss be fail'd, A fairer Paradise is founded now For Adam and his chosen sons, whom thou, A Saviour, art come down to re-install, Where they shall dwell secure, when time shall be, Of tempter and temptation without fear. But thou, infernal serpent ! shalt not long Rule in the clouds like an autumnal star, 126 MILTON. Or lightning, thou shalt fall from Heaven, trod down Under his feet : for proof, ere this thou feel'st Thy wound, (yet not thy last and deadliest wound,) By this repulse receiv'd, and hold'st in Hell No triumph : in all her gates Abaddon rues Thy bold attempt. Hereafter learn with awe To dread the Son of God : he, all unarm'd, Shall chase thee, with the terrour of his voice, From thy demoniac holds, possession foul, Thee and thy legions : yelling they shall fly, And beg to hide them in a herd of swine, Lest he command them down into the deep, Bound, and to torment sent before their time. Hail, Son of the Most High, heir of both worlds, Queller of Satan ! on thy glorious work Now enter ; and begin to save mankind." Thus they the Son of God, our Saviour meek, Sung victor, and, from heavenly feast refresh'd, Brought on his way with joy ; he, unobserv'd, Home to his mother's house private return'd. SAMSON AGONISTES, A DRAMATIC POEM. ARISTOT. Poet. cap. 6. :, K. these dark steps, a little further on ; >r yonder bank hath choice of sun or shade : lere I am wont to sit, when any chance elieves me from my task of servile toil, aily in the common prison else enjoin'd me, Tiere I, a prisoner chain'd, scarce freely draw le air imprison'd also, close and damp, n wholesome draught : but here I feel amends, le breath of Heaven fresh blowing, pure and sweet ith day-spring born ; here leave me to respire lis day a solemn feast the people hold ) Dagon their sea-idol, and forbid iborious works ; unwillingly this rest leir superstition yields me ; hence with leave 3tiring from the popular noise, I seek lis unfrequented place to find some ease, ise to the body some, none to the mind om restless thoughts, that, like a deadly swarm :' hornets arm'd, no sooner found alone, it rush upon me thronging, and present mes past, what once I was, and what am now. wherefore was my birth from Heaven foretold vice by an angel, who at last in sight :' both my parents all in flames ascended om off the altar, where an offering burn'd, ; in a fiery column charioting is God-like presence, and from some great act benefit reveal'd to Abraham's race ? hy was my breeding order'd and prescrib'd 5 of a person separate to God, esign'd for great exploits ; if I must die itray'd, captiv'd, and both my eyes put out, ade of my enemies the scorn and gaze ; To grind in brazen fetters under task [strength, With this Heaven-gifted strength ? O glorious Put to the labour of a beast, debas'd Lower than bond-slave ! Promise was that I Should Israel from Philistian yoke deliver ; Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves, Himself in bonds under Philistian yoke : Yet stay, let me not rashly call in doubt Divine prediction ; what if all foretold Had been fulfill'd but through mine own default, Whom have I to complain of but myself? Who this high gift of strength committed to me, In what part lodg'd, how easily bereft me, Under the seal of silence could not keep, But weakly to a woman must reveal it, O'ercome with importunity and tears. O impotence of mind, in body strong ! But what is strength without a double share Of wisdom ? vast, unwieldy, burdensome, Proudly secure, yet liable to fall By weakest subtleties, not made to rule, But to subserve where wisdom bears command ! God, when he gave me strength, to show withal How slight the gift was, hung it in my hair. But peace, I must not quarrel with the will Of highest dispensation, which herein Haply had ends above my reach to know : Suffices that to me strength is my bane, And proves the source of all my miseries ; So many, and so huge, that each apart Would ask a life to wail ; but chief of all, 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 Annull'd, which might in part my grief have eas'd. Inferior to the vilest now become Of man or worm ; the vilest here excel me ; They creep, yet see ; I, dark in light, expos'd To daily fraud, contempt, abuse, and wrong, Within doors, or withou't, still as a fool, In power of others, never in my own ; Scarce half I seem to live, dead more than half. O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse Without all hope of day ! O first created Beam, and thou great Word, " Let there be light, and light was over all;" Why am I thus bereav'd thy prime decree ! The Sun to me is dark And silent as the Moon, W r hen she deserts the night, Hid in her vacant interlunar cave. Since light so necessary is to life, And almost life itself, if it be true That light is in the soul, She all in every part ; why was the sight To such a tender ball as the eye confin'd, So obvious and so easy to be quench'd ? And not, as feeling, through all parts diffus'd, That she might look at will through every pore ? Then had I not been thus exil'd from light, As in the land of darkness, yet in light, To live a life half dead, a living death, And buried ; but, O yet more miserable ! Myself my sepulchre, a moving grave ; Buried, yet not exempt, By privilege of death and burial 128 MILTON. From worst of other evils, pains and wrongs ; But made hereby obnoxious more To all the miseries of life, Life in captivity Among inhuman foes. But who are these ? for with joint pace I hear The tread of many feet steering this way ; Perhaps my enemies, who come to stare At my affliction, and perhaps to insult, Their daily practice to afflict me more. \Enter CHORUS.] Chor. This, this is he ; softly a while, Let us not break in upon him : O change beyond report, thought, or belief! See how he lies at random, carelessly diffus'd, With languish'd head unpropt, As one past hope, abandon'd, And by himself given over ; In slavish habit, ill-fitted weeds O'er-worn and soil'd ; Or do my eyes misrepresent ? Can this be he, That heroic, that renown'd, Irresistible Samson ? whom unarm'd [withstand ; No strength of man, or fiercest wild beast, could Who tore the lion, as the lion tears the kid : Ran on embattled armies clad in iron ; And, weaponless himself, Made arms ridiculous, useless the forgery Of brazen shield and spear, the hammer'd cuirass, Chalybean temper'd steel, and frock of mail Adamantean proof? But safest he who stood aloof, When insupportably his foot advanc'd, In scorn of their proud arms and warlike tools, Spurn'd them to death by troops. The bold As- calonite Fled from his lion ramp ; old warriours turn'd Their plated backs under his heel ; Or, groveling, soil'd their crested helmets in the dust. Then with what trivial weapon came to hand, The jaw of a dead ass, his sword of bone, A thousand fore-skins fell, the flower of Palestine, In Ramath-lechi, famous to this day. [bore Then by main force pull'd up, and on his shoulders The gates of Azza, post, and massy bar, Up to the hill by Hebron, seat of giants old, No journey of a sabbath-day, and loaded so ; Like whom the Gentiles feign to bear up Heaven. Which shall I first bewail, Thy bondage or lost sight, Prison within prison. Inseparably dark ? Thou art become (O worst imprisonment !) The dungeon of thyself ; thy soul, [plain) (Which men enjoying sight oft without cause com- Impfison'd now indeed, In real darkness of the body dwells, Shut up from outward light To incorporate with gloomy night ; For inward light, alas ! Puts forth no visual beam. O mirror of our fickle state, Since man on Earth unparallel'd ! The rarer thy example stands, By how much from the top of wonderous glory, Strongest of mortal men, To lowest pitch of abject fortune thou art fallen. For him I reckon not in high estate Whom long descent of birth, Or the sphere of fortune, raises ; But thee whose strength, while virtue was her mr Might have subdued the Earth, Universally crown'd with highest praises. [ Sams. I hear the sound of words ; their sense Dissolves unjointed ere it reach my ear. Chor. He speaks, let us draw nigh. Mat less in might, The glory late of Israel, now the grief ; We come, thy friends and neighbours not unkno> From Eshtaol and Zora's fruitful vale, To visit or bewail thee ; or, if better, Counsel or consolation we may bring, Salve to thy sores ; apt words have power to swaj The tumours of a troubled mind, And are as balm to fester'd wounds. [le? Sams. Your coming, friends, revives me ; fo; Now of my own experience, not by talk, How counterfeit a coin they are who friends Bear in their superscription, (of the most I would be understood ;) in prosperous days They swarm, but in adverse withdraw their he; Not to be found, though sought. Ye see, O frieni How many evils have enclos'd me round : Yet that which was the worst now least afflicts me Blindness ; for had I sight, confus'd with shame, How could I once look up or heave the head, Who, like a foolish pilot, have shipwreck'd My vessel trusted to me from above, Gloriously rigg'd ; and for a word, a tear, Fool ! have divulg'd the secret gift of God To a deceitful woman ? tell me, friends, Am I not sung and proverb'd for a fool In every street ? do they not say, how well Are come upon him his deserts ? yet why ? Immeasurable strength they might behold In me, of wisdom nothing more than mean ; This with the other should, at least, have pair'd, These two, proportion'd ill, drove me transverse. Chor. Tax not divine disposal ; wisest men Have crr'd, and by bad women been deceiv'd ; And shall again, pretend they ne'er so wise. Deject not then so overmuch thyself, Who hast of sorrow thy full load besides : Yet truth to say, I oft have heard men wonder Why thou shouldst wed Philistian women rather Than of thine own tribe fairer, or as fair, At least of thy own nation, and as noble. Sams. The first I saw at Timna, and she picas' Me, not my parents, that I sought to wed The daughter of an infidel : they knew not That what I motion'd was of God; I knew From intimate impulse, and therefore urg'd The marriage on ; that by occasion hence I might begin Israel's deliverance, The work to which I was divinely call'd. She proving false, the next I took to wife (O that I never had ! fond wish too late,) Was in the vale of Sorec, Dalila, That specious monster, my accomplish'd snare. I thought it lawful from rny former act, And the same end ; still watching to oppress Israel's oppressors : of what now I suffer She was not the prime cause, but I myself, [ness Who, vanquish'd with a peal of words, (O weal Gave up my fort of silence to a woman. Ckor. In seeking just occasion to provoke The Philistine, thy country's enemy, Thou never wast amks, I bear thee witness . Yet Israel still serves with nil his sons. SAMSON AGONISTES. J29 Sams. That fault I take not on me, but transfer On Israel's governors and. heads of tribes, Who, seeing those great acts which God had done Singly by me against their conquerors \cknowledg'd not, or not at all consider'd, Deliverance offer'd : I on the other side Js'd no ambition to commend my deeds ; [doer : Fhe deeds themselves, though mute, spoke loud the 3ut they persisted deaf, and would not seem To count them things worth notice, till at length fheir lords, the Philistines, with gather' d powers Snter'd Judea seeking me, who then Jafe to the rock of Etham was retir'd ; lot flying, but fore-casting in what place ?o set upon them, what advantag'd best : Meanwhile the men of Judah, to prevent Tie harass of their land, beset me round ; willingly on some conditions came nto their hands, and they as gladly yield me 'o the uncircumcis'd a welcome prey, [threads knmd with two cords ; but cords to me were 'ouch'd with the flame : on their whole host I flew 'narm d, and with a trivial weapon fell'd heir choicest youth ; they only liv'd who fled. [ad Judah that day join'd, or one whole tribe, hey had by this possess'd the towers of Gath, nd lorded over them whom they now serve : ut what more oft, in nations grown corrupt, nd by their vices brought to servitude, .ian to love bondage more than liberty, ondage with ease than strenuous liberty ; nd to despise, or envy, or suspect horn God hath of his special favour rais'd > their deliverer? if he aught begin, ow frequent to desert him, and at last > heap ingratitude on worthiest deeds ! Ckor. Thy words to my remembrance bring ow Succoth and the fort of Penuel icir great deliverer contemn'd, ic matchless Gideon, in pursuit ' Madian and her vanquish'd kings : id how ingrateful Ephraim id dealt with Jephtha, who by argument, >t worse than by his shield and spear fended Israel from the Ammonite, id not his prowess quelFd their pride that sore battle, when so many died thout reprieve, adjudg'd to death, r want of well pronouncing Shibboleth. V37HS. Of such examples add me to the roll ; easily indeed mine may neglect, t God's propos'd deliverance not so. Ikor. Just are the ways of God, d justifiable to men ; less there be, who think not God at all : my be, they walk obscure ; of such doctrine never was there school, : the heart of the fool, i no man therein doctor but himself. r et more there be, who doubt his ways not just, to his own edicts found contradicting, n give the reins to wandering thought, "dless of his glory's diminution ; >y their own perplexities involv'd, ravel more, still less resolv'd, r er find self-satisfying solution, if they would confine the Interminable, I tie him to his own prescript J made our laws to bind us, not himself, 1 hath full riffht to exempt Whom so it pleases him by choice From national obstriction, without taint Of sin, or legal debt ; For with his own laws he can best dispense. He would not else, who never wanted means, Nor, in respect of the enemy, just cause, To set his people free, Have prompted this heroic Nazarite, Against his vow of strictest purity, To seek in marriage that fallacious bride, Unclean, unchaste. [down; Down, reason, then; at least vain reasonings, Though reason here aver, That moral verdict quits her of unclean : Unchaste was subsequent, her stain not his. But see, here comes thy reverend sire With careful step, locks wlute as down, Old Manoah : advise Forthwith how thou ought' st to receive him. Sams. Ay me ! another inward grief, awak'd With mention of that name, renews the assault. [Enter MANOAH.] Man. Brethren and men of Dan, for such ye seem, Though in this uncouth place ; if old respect, As I suppose, towards your once gloried friend, My son, now captive, hither hath inform'd Your younger feet, while mine cast back with age Came lagging after ; say if he be here. Ckor. As signal now in low dejected state, As erst in liighest, behold him where he lies. Man. O miserable change ! is this the man, That invincible Samson, far renown'd, The dread of Israel's foes, who with a strength Equivalent to angels walk d their streets, None offering fight ; who single combatant Duell'd their armies rank'd in proud array, Himself an army, now unequal match To save himself against a coward ann'd At one spear's length. O ever-failing trust In mortal strength ! and oh ! what not in man Deceivable and vain ? Nay, what thing good Pray'd for, but often proves our bane? I pray'd for children, and thought barrenness In wedlock a reproach ; I gain'd a son, And such a son as all men hail'd me happy ; Who would be now a father in my stead ? O wherefore did God grant me my request, And as a blessing with such pomp adorn'd ? Why are his gifts desirable, to tempt Our earnest prayers, then, given with solemn hand As graces, draw a scorpion's tail behind ? For this did the angel twice descend ? for this Ordain'd thy nurture holy, as of a plant Select, and sacred, glorious for a while, The miracle of men ; then in an hour Ensnar'd, assaulted, overcome, led bound, Thy foe's derision, captive, poor, and blind, Into a dungeon thrust, to work with slaves ? Alas ! methinks whom God hath chosen once To worthiest deeds, if he through frailty err, He should not so o'erwhelm, and as a thrall Subject him to so foul indignities, Be it but for honour's sake of former deeds, Sams. Appoint not heavenly disposition, father ; Nothing of all these evils hath befall'n me But justly ; I myself have brought them on, Sole author I, sole cause : if aught seem vile, As vili- hath been mv follv. who have nrophan'd 130 MILTON. The mystery of God given me under pledge Of vow, and have betray'd it to a woman, A Canaanite, my faithless enemy. This well I knew, nor was at all surpris'd, But warn'd by oft experience : did not she Of Timna first betray me, and reveal The secret wrested from me in her height Of nuptial love profess'd, carrying it straight To them who had corrupted her, my spies, And rivals ? In this other was there found More faith, who also in her prime of love, Spousal embraces, vitiated with gold, Though offer'd only, by the scent conceiv'd Her spurious first-born, treason against me ? Thrice she assay'd with flattering prayers and sighs, And amorous reproaches, to win from me My capital secret, in what part my strength Lay stor'd, in what part summ'd, that she might know ; Thrice I deluded her, and turn'd to sport Her importunity, each time perceiving How openly, and with what impudence She purpos'd to betray me, and (which was worse Than undissembled hate) with what contempt She sought to make me traitor to myself; Yet the fourth time, when, mustering all her wiles, With blandish'd parlies, feminine assaults, Tongue-batteries, she surceas'd not, day nor night, To storm me over-watch'd, and wearied out. At times when men seek most repose and rest, I yielded, and unlock'd her all my heart, Who, with a grain of manhood well resolv'd, Might easily have shook off all her snares : But foul effeminacy held me yok'd Her bond-slave ; O indignity, O blot To honour and religion ! servile mind Rewarded well with servile punishment \ The base degree to which I now am fall'n, These rags, this grinding is not yet so base As was my former servitude, ignoble, Unmanly, ignominious, infamous, True slavery, and that blindness worse than this That saw not how degenerately I serv'd. Man. I cannot praise thy marriage-choices, son. Rather approv'd them not ; but thou didst plead Divine impulsion prompting how thou might'st Find some occasion to infest our foes. I state not that ; this I am sure, our foes Found soon occasion thereby to make thee Their captive, and their triumph ; thou the sooner Temptation found'st, or over-potent charms, To violate the sacred trust of silence Deposited within thee ; which to have kept Tacit was in thy power : true ; and thou bear'st Enough, and more the burthen of that fault ; Bitterly hast thou paid, and still art paying, That rigid score. A worse thing yet remains ; This day the Philistines a popular feast Here celebrate in Gaza ; and proclaim Great pomp, and sacrifices and praises loud, To Dagon, as their god who hath deliver'd Thee, Samson, bound and blind into their hands, Them out of thine, who slew'st them many a slain. So Dagon shall be magnified, and God, Besides whom is no God, compar'd with idols, Disglorified, blasphem'd, and had in scorn By the idolatrous rout amidst their wine ; Which to have come to pass by means of thee, Samson, of all thy sufferings think the heaviest, Of all reproach the most with shame that ever Sams. Father, I do acknowledge and confess That I this honour, I this pomp, have brought To Dagon, and advanc'd his praises high Among the heathen round : to God have brough Dishonour, obloquy, and op'd the mouths Of idolists, and atheists ; have brought scandal To Israel, diffidence of God, and doubt In feeble hearts, propense enough before To waver, or fall off and join with idols ; Which is my chief affliction, shame and sorrow, The anguish of my soul, that suffers not Mine eye to harbour sleep, or thoughts to rest. This only hope relieves me, that the strife With me hath end : all the contest is now 'Twixt God and Dagori ; Dagon hath presum'd, Me overthrown, to enter lists with God, His deity comparing and preferring Before the God of Abraham. He, be sure, Will not connive, or linger, thus provok'd, But will arise, and his great name assert: Dagon must stoop, and shall ere long receive Such a discomfit, as shall quite despoil him Of all these boasted trophies won on me, And with confusion blank his worshippers. Man. With cause this hope relieves thee, an these words I as a prophecy receive ; for God, Nothing more certain, will not long defer To vindicate the glory of his name Against all competition, nor will long Endure it doubtful whether God be Lord, Or Dagon. But for thee what shall be done ? Thou must not, in the meanwhile here forgot. Lie in this miserable loathsome plight, Neglected. I already have made way To some Philistian lords, with whom to treat About thy ransom : well they may by this Have satisfied their utmost of revenge By pains and slaveries, worse than death, inflictec On thee, who now no more canst do them harm. Sams. Spare that proposal, father ; spare th trouble Of that solicitation ; let me here, As I deserve, pay on my punishment ; And expiate, if possible, my crime, Shameful garrulity. To have reveal'd Secrets of men, the secrets of a friend, How heinous had the fact been, how deserving Contempt and scorn of all, to be excluded All friendship, and avoided as a blab, The mark of fool set on his front ? But I God's counsel have not kept, his holy secret Presumptuously have published, impiously, Weakly at least, and shamefully ; a sin That Gentiles in their parables condemn To their abyss and horrid pains confin'd. Man. Be penitent, and for thy fault contrite ; But act not in thy own affliction, son : Repent the sin ; but, if the punishment Thou canst avoid, self-preservation bids; Or the execution leave to high disposal, And let another hand, not thine, exact Thy penal forfeit from thyself : perhaps God will relent, and quit thee all his debt ; Who ever more approves, and more accepts, (Best pleas'd with humble and filial submission,) Him, who, imploring mercy, sues for life, Than who, self-rigorous, chooses death as due ; Which argues over-just, and self-displeased SAMSON AGONISTES. 131 Reject not then what ofFer'd means ; who knows But God hath set before us, to return thee Home to thy country and his sacred house. Where thou may'st bring thy offerings, to avert His further ire, with prayers and vows renew'd ? Sams. His pardon I implore ; but as for life, To what end should I seek it ? when in strength All mortals I excell'd, and great in hopes With youthful courage, and magnanimous thoughts, Of birth from Heaven foretold, and high exploits, Full of divine instinct, after some proof Of acts indeed heroic, far beyond The sons of Anak, famous now and blaz'd, Fearless of danger, like a petty god I walk'd about admir'd of all, and dreaded On hostile ground, none daring my affront. Then swoll n with pride into the snare I fell Of fair fallacious looks, venereal trains, Soften'd with pleasure and voluptuous life. \t length to lay my head and hallow'd pledge 3f all my strength in the lascivious lap 3f a deceitful concubine, who shore me jike a tame wether, all my precious fleece, ["hen turn'd me out ridiculous, despoil'd, haven, and disarm'd among mine enemies. Chor. Desire of wine and all delicious drinks, Vhich many a famous warrior overturns, ^hou couldst repress ; nor did the dancing ruby parkling, out-pour'd, the flavour, or the smell, >r taste that cheers the heart of gods or men, Jlure thee from the cool crystalline stream. Sams. Wherever fountain or fresh current flow'd gainst the eastern ray, translucent, pure fith touch ethereal of Heaven's fiery rod, drank, from the clear milky juice allaying hirst, and refresh'd : nor envied them the grape Tiose heads that turbulent liquor fills with fumes. Chor. O madness, to think use of strongest wines nd strongest drinks our chief support of health, Tien God with these forbidd'n made choice to rear is mighty champion, strong above compare, "hose drink was only from the liquid brook. Sams. But what avail'd this temperance, not complete gainst another object more enticing ? hat boots it at one gate to make defence, id at another to let in the foe, feminately vanquish'd ? by which means, >w blind, dishearten'd, sham'd, dishonour'd, quell'd, ' what can I be useful, wherein serve y nation, and the work from Heaven impos'd, it to sit idle on the household hearth, burdenous drone ; to visitants a gaze, pitied object, these redundant locks bustious to no purpose clustering down, in monument of strength ; till length of years d sedentary numbness craze my limbs a contemptible old age obscure ? re rather let me drudge, and earn my bread ; 1 vermin, or the draff of servile food, nsume me, and oft-invocated death sten the welcome end of all my pains. \an. Wilt thou then serve the Philistines with that gift was expressly given thee to annoy them ? at home lie bed-rid, not only idle, rious, unemploy'd, with age outworn. ". God, who caus'd a fountain at thy prayer >m the drv around to snrincr. thv thirst to allav dch, & After the brunt of battle, can as easy Cause light again within thy eyes to spring, Wherewith to serve him better than thou hast ; And I persuade me so ; why else this strength Miraculous yet remaining in those locks ? His might continues in thee not for nought, Nor shall his wonderous gifts be frustrate thus. Sams. All otherwise to me my thoughts portend, That these dark orbs no more shall treat with light, Nor the other light of life continue long, But yield to double darkness nigh at hand : So much I feel my genial spirits droop, My hopes all flat, Nature within me seems In all her functions weary of herself ; My race of glory run, and race of shame, And I shall shortly be with them that rest. [ceed Man. Believe not these suggestions, which pro- From anguish of the mind and humours black, That mingle with thy fancy. I however Must not omit a father's timely care To prosecute the means of thy deliverance By ransom, or how else : meanwhile be calm, And healing words from these thy friends admit. Sams. O that torment should not be confin'd To the body's wounds and sores, With maladies innumerable In heart, head, breast, and reins ; But must secret passage find To the inmost mind, There exercise all his fierce accidents, And on her purest spirits prey, As on entrails, joints, and limbs, With answerable pains, but more intense, Though void of corporal sense. My griefs not only pain me As a lingering disease, But, finding no redress, ferment and rage ; Nor less than wounds immedicable Rankle, and fester, and gangrene, To black mortification. Thoughts, my tormentors, arm'd with deadly stings, Mangle my apprehensive tenderest parts, Exasperate, exulcerate, and raise Dire inflammation, which no cooling herb Or med'einal liquor can assuage, Nor breath of vernal air from snowy Alp. Sleep hath forsook and given me o'er To death's benumbing opium as my only cure : Thence faintings, swoonings of despair, And sense of Heaven's desertion. I was his nurseling once, and choice delight, His destin'd from the womb, Promis'd by heavenly message twice descending. Under his special eye Abstemious I grew up, and thriv'd amain ; He led me on to mightiest deeds, Above the nerve of mortal arm, Against the uncircumcis'd, our enemies : But now hath cast me off as never known, And to those cruel enemies, Whom I by his appointment had provok'd., Left me all helpless, with the irreparable loss Of sight, reserv'd alive to be repeated The subject of their cruelty or scorn. Nor am I in the list of them that hope ; Hopeless are all my evils, all remediless : This one prayer yet remains, might I be heard, No long petition, speedy death, The close of all mv miseries, and the balm. 132 MILTON. Chor. Many are the sayings of the wise, In ancient and in modern books inroll'd, Extolling patience as the truest fortitude ; And to the bearing well of all calamities, All chances incidents to man's frail life, Consolatories writ With studied argument, and much persuasion sought Lenient of grief and anxious thought : But with the afflicted in liis pangs their sound Little prevails, or rather seems a tune Harsh, and of dissonant mood from his complaint ; Unless he feel within Some source of consolation from above, Secret refreshings, that repair his strength, And fainting spirits uphold. God of our fathers, what is man ! That thou towards him with hand so various, Or might I say contrarious, Temper'st thy providence through his short course, Not evenly, as thou rul'st The angelic orders, and inferior creatures mute, Irrational and brute. Nor do I name of men the common rout, That, wandering loose about, Grow up and perish, as the summer-fly, Heads without name no more remember'd ; But such as thou hast solemnly elected, With gifts and graces eminently adorn'd, To some great work, thy glory, And people's safety, which in part they effect : Yet toward these thus dignified, thou oft, Amidst their height of noon, Changest thy countenance, and thy hand, with no regard Of highest favours past From thee on them, or them to tliee of service. Nor only dost degrade them, or remit To life obscur'd, which were a fair dismission, But throw'st them lower than thou didst exalt them high, Unseemly falls in human eye, Too grievous for the trespass or omission ; Oft leav'st them to the hostile sword Of heathen and profane, their carcasses To dogs and fowls a prey, or else captiv'd ; Or to the unjust tribunals, under change of times, And condemnation of the ingrateful multitude. If these they 'scape, perhaps in poverty With sickness and disease thou bow'st them down, Painful diseases and deform'd In crude old age ; Though not disordinate, yet causeless suffering The punishment of dissolute days : in fine, Just, or unjust, alike seem miserable, For oft alike both come to evil end. So deal not with this once thy glorious champion, The image of thy strength, and mighty minister. What do I beg ? how hast thou dealt already? Behold him in this state calamitous, and turn His labours, for thou canst, to peaceful end. But who is this, what thing of sea or land ? Female of sex it seems, That so bedeck'd, ornate, and gay, Comes this way sailing Like a stately ship Of Tarsus, bound for the isles Of Javan or Gadire With all her bravery on, and tackle trim, Sails fill'd, and streamers waving, Courted bv all tho winds t!i:if Imlrl thotn nlnv An amber scent of odorous perfume Her harbinger, a damsel train behind ; Some rich Philistian matron she may seem ; And now at nearer view, no other certain Tlian Dalila thy wife. [near r Sams. My wife ! my traitress : let her not co Chor. Yet on she moves, now stands and e thee fix'd, About to have spoke ; but now, with head declin Like a fair flower surcharg'd with dew, she weep And words address'd seem into tears dissolv'd, Wetting the borders of her silken veil : But now again she makes address to speak. [Enter DALILA.] Dal. With doubtful feet and wavering resoluti I came, still dreading thy displeasure, Samson, Which to have merited, without excuse, I cannot but acknowledge ; yet, if tears May expiate, (though the fact more evil drew In the perverse event than I foresaw,) My penance hath not slacken'd, though my panl No way assur'd. But conjugal affection, Prevailing over fear and timorous doubt, Hath led me on, desirous to behold Once more thy face, and know of thy estate, If aught in my ability may serve To lighten what thou suffer' st, and appease Thy mind with what amends is in my power, Though late, yet in some part to recompense My rash, but more unfortunate, misdeed. Sams. Out, out, hyaena ! these are thy wonted ai And arts of every woman false like thee, T'o break all faith, all vows, deceive, betray, Then as repentant to submit, beseech, And reconcilement move with feign'd remorse, Confess, and promise wonders in her change ; Not truly penitent, but chief to try Her husband, how far urg'd his patience bears, His virtue or weakness which way to assail : Then with more cautious and instructed skill Again transgresses, and again submits ; That wisest and best men, full oft beguil'd, With goodness principled not to reject The penitent, but ever to forgive, Are drawn to wear out miserable days, Entangled with a poisonous bosom snake, If not by quick destruction soon cut off, A,s I by thee, to ages an example. Dal. Yet hear me, Samson ; not that I endeavo To lessen or extenuate my offence, But that on the .other side, if it be weigh 'd By itself, with aggravations not surcharg'd, Or else with just allowance counterpois'd, I may, if possible, thy pardon find The easier towards me, or thy hatred less. First, granting, as I do, it was a weakness In me, but incident to all our sex, Curiosity, inquisitive, importune, Of secrets, then with like infirmity To publish them, both common female faults : Was it not weakness also to make known For importunity, that is, for nought, Wherein consisted all thy strength and safety? To what I did thou show'd'st me first the way. But I to enemies reveal'd, and should not : Nor should'st thou have trusted that to womai frailty : Ere I to thee, thou to thyself wast cruel. T,Pt VVPaJtnPCG ttwin with uroalrnncc ,-.mr * ,w,rh, SAMSON AGONISTES. 133 ) near related, or the same of kind, hine forgive mine ; that men may censure thine he gentler, if severely thou exact not ore strength from me, than in thyself was found. nd what if love, which thou interpret'st hate, :ie jealousy of love, powerful of sway i human hearts, nor less in mind towards thee, lus'd what I did ? I saw thee mutable f fancy, fear'd lest one day thou would'st leave me * her at Timna, sought by all means therefore ow to endear, and hold thee to me firmest : j better way I saw than by importuning > learn thy secrets, get into my power ly key of strength and safety : thou wilt say, hy then reveal'd ? I was assur'd by those ho tempted me, that nothing was design'd jainst thee but safe custody, and hold : lat made for me ; I knew that liberty ould draw thee forth to perilous enterprises, liile I at home sat full of cares and fears, liling thy absence in my widow'd bed ; ?re I should still enjoy thee, day and night, ne and love's prisoner, not the Philistines', lole to myself, unhazarded abroad, irless at home of partners in my love, ese reasons in love's law have past, for good, ough fond and reasonless to some perhaps : d love hath oft, well meaning, wrought much woe, t always pity or pardon hath obtain'd. not unlike all others, not austere thou art strong, inflexible as steel. ;hou in strength all mortals dost exceed, uncompassionate anger do not so. lams. How cunningly the sorceress displays r own transgressions, to upbraid me mine ! it mdice, not repentance, brought thee hither, this appears : I gave, thou say'st, the example, d the way : bitter reproach, but true ; > myself was false ere thou to me ; h pardon therefore as I give my folly, ;e to thy wicked deed ; which when thou seest )artial, self-severe, inexorable, >u wilt renounce thy seeking, and much rather ifess it feign'd : weakness is thy excuse, 1 I believe it ; weakness to resist listian gold : if weakness may excuse, at murderer, what traitor, parricide, astuous, sacrilegious, but may plead it ? wickedness is weakness : that plea therefore h God or man will gain thee no remission, love constrain'd thee ; call it furious rage satisfy thy lust : love seeks to have love ; love how could'stthou hope, who took'st the way -aise in me inexpiable hate, wing, as needs I must, by thee betray'd ? ain thou striv'st to cover shame with shame, ty evasions thy crime uncover'st more. 'al. Since thou determin'st weakness for no plea nan or woman, though to thy own condemning, r what assaults I had, what snares besides, it sieges girt me round, ere I consented ; ch might have aw'd the best resolv'd of men, constantest, to have yielded without blame as not gold, as to my charge thou lay'st, wrought with me : thou know'st the magistrates . princes of my country came in person, :ited, commanded, threaten'd, urg'd, nr'd by all the bonds of civil duty of ri-ligion, press'd how just it was, v honourable, how glorious, to entrap A common enemy, who had destroy'd Such numbers of our nation : and the priest Was not behind, but ever at my ear, Preaching how meritorious with the gods It would be to ensnare an irreligious Dishonourer of Dagon : what had I To oppose against such powerful arguments ? Only my love of thee held long debate, And combated in silence all these reasons With hard contest: at length that grounded maxim, So rife and celebrated in the mouths Of wisest men, that to the public good Private respects must yield, with grave authority Took full possession of me, and prevail'd ; Virtue, as I thought, truth, duty, so enjoining. Sams. I thought where all thy circling wiles would end ; In feign'd religion, smooth hypocrisy ! But had thy love, still odiously pretended, [thee Been, as it ought, sincere, it would have taught Far other reasonings, brought forth other deeds. I, before all the daughters of my tribe And of my nation, chose thee from among My enemies, lov'd thee, as too well thou knew'st; Too well ; unbosom'd all my secrets to thee, Not out of levity, but overpower'd By thy request, who could deny thee nothing ; Yet now am judg'd an enemy. Why then Did'st thou at first receive me for thy husband, Then, as since then, thy country's foe profess'd ? Being once a wife, for me thou wast to leave Parents and country ; nor was I their subject, Nor under their protection but my own, Thou mine, not theirs ; if aught against my life Thy country sought of thee, it sought unjustly, Against the law of nature, law of nations ; No more thy country, but an impious crew Of men conspiring to uphold their state By worse than hostile deeds, violating the ends For which our country is a name so dear ; Not therefore to be obey'd. But zeal moved thee ; To please thy gods thou didst it ; gods, unable To acquit themselves and prosecute their foes But by ungodly deeds, the contradiction Of their own deity, gods cannot be ; Less therefore to be pleas'd, obey'd or fear'd. These false pretexts, and varnish'd colours failing, Bare in thy guilt, how foul must thou appear ? Dal. In argument with men a woman ever Goes by the worse whatever be her cause, [breath ; Sams. For want of words no doubt, or lack of Witness when I was worried with thy peals. Dal. I was a fool, too rash, and quite mistaken In what I thought would have succeeded best. Let me obtain forgiveness of thee, Samson ; Afford me place to show what recompense Towards thee I intend for what I have misdone, Misguided ; only what remains past cure Bear not too sensibly, nor still insist To afflict thyself in vain : though sight be lost, Life yet hath many solaces, enjoy 'd Where other senses want not their delights At home in leisure and domestic ease, Exempt from many a care and chance, to which Eye-sight exposes daily men abroad. I to the lords will intercede, not doubting Their favourable ear, that I may fetch thee From forth this loathsome prison-house to abide With me, where my redoubled love and care With nursing diligence, to me glad office, MILTON. May ever tend about thee to old age, With all things grateful cheer'd, and so supplied, That, what by me thou hast lost, thou least shalt miss. Sams. No, no ; of my condition take no care ; It fits not ; thou and I long since are twain ; Nor think me so unwary or accurs'd, To bring my feet again into the snare [trains, Where once I have been caught : I know thy Though dearly to my cost, thy gins, and toils ; Thy fair enchanted cup, and warbling charms, No more on me have power ; their force is null'd ; So much of adder's wisdom I have learn'd, To fence my ear against thy sorceries. If in my flower of youth and strength, when all men Lov'd, honour'd, fear'd me, thou alone could'st hate me Thy husband, slight me, sell me, and forego me ; How wouldst thou use me now, blind, and thereby Deceivable, in most things as a child Helpless, thence easily contemn'd and scorn'd, And last neglected ? How would'st thou insult, When I must live uxurious to thy will In perfect thraldom, how again betray me, Bearing my words and doings to the lords To gloss upon, and, censuring, frown or smile ? This jail I count the house of liberty To thine, whose doors my feet shall never enter. Dal. Let me approach at least, and touch thy hand. [wake Sams. Not for thy life, lest fierce remembrance My sudden rage to tear thee joint by joint. At distance I forgive thee ; go with that ; Bewail thy falsehood, and the pious works It hath brought forth to make thee memorable Among illustrious women, faithful wives ! Cherish thy hasten'd widowhood with the gold Of matrimonial treason ! so farewell. Dal. I see thou art implacable, more deaf To prayers, than winds and seas ; yet winds to seas Are reconcil'd at length, and sea to shore : / Thy anger, unappeasable, still rages, Eternal tempest, never to be calm'd. / Why do I humble thus myself, and, suing / For peace, reap nothing but repulse and hate ? Bid go with evil omen, and the brand Of infamy upon my name denounc'd ? To mix with thy concernments I desist Henceforth, nor too much disapprove my own. Fame, if not double-fac'd, is double-mouth'd, And with contrary blast proclaims most deeds ; On both his wings, one black, the other white, Bears greatest names in his wild aery flight. My name perhaps among the circumcis'd In Dan, in Judah, and the bordering tribes, To all posterity may stand defam'd, With malediction mention'd, and the blot Of falsehood most unconjugal traduc'd. But in my country, where I most desire, In Ecron, Gaza, Asdod, and in Gath, I shall be nam'd among the famousest Of women, sung at solemn festivals, Living and dead recorded, who, to save Her country from a fierce destroyer, chose Above the faith of wedlock-bands ; my tomb With odours visited and annual flowers ; Not less renown'd than in mount Ephraim Jael, who with hospitable guile Smote Sisera sleeping, through the temples nail' Nor shall I count it heinous to enjoy The public marks of honour and reward, Conferr'd upon me, for the piety Which to my country I was judg'd to have shown At this whoever envies or repines, I leave him to his lot, and like my own. [Exit Chor. She's gone, a manifest serpent by her stir Discover'd in the end, till now conceal'd. Sams. So let her go ; God sent her to debase m And aggravate my folly, who committed To such a viper his most sacred trust Of secresy, my safety, and my life. [powe Chor. Yet beauty, though injurious, hatli stranj After offence returning, to regain Love once possess'd, nor can be easily Repuls'd, without much inward passion felt And secret sting of amorous remorse. Sams. Love-quarrels oft in pleasing concord en Not wedlock-treachery endangering life. Chor. It is not virtue, wisdom, valour, wit, Strength, comeliness of shape, or amplest merit, That woman's love can win, or long inherit ; But what it is, hard is to say, Harder to hit, (Which way soever men refer it,) Much like thy riddle, Samson, in one day Or seven, though one should musing sit. If any of these, or all, the Timnian bride Had not so soon preferr'd Thy paranymph, worthless to thee compared, Successor in thy bed, Nor both so loosely disallied Their nuptials, nor this last so treacherous Had shorn the fatal harvest of thy head. Is it for that such outward ornament Was lavish'd on their sex, that inward gifts Were left for haste unfinish'd, judgment scant, Capacity not rais'd to apprehend Or value what is best In choice, but oftest to affect the wrong ? Or was too much of self-love mix'd, Of constancy no root infix'd, That either they love nothing, or not long ? Whate'er it be, to wisest men and best Seeming at first all heavenly under virgin veil, Soft, modest, meek, demure, Once join'd, the contrary she proves, a thorn Intestine, far within defensive arms A cleaving mischief, in his way to virtue Adverse and turbulent, or by her charms Draws him awry enslav'd With dotage, and his sense deprav'd To folly and shameful deeds which ruin ends. What pilot so expert but needs must wreck Imbark'd with such a steers-mate at the helm ? Favour'd of Heaven, who finds One virtuous, rarely found, That in domestic good combines : Happy that house ! his way to peace is smooth : But virtue, which breaks through all opposition, And all temptation can remove, Most shines, and most is accceptable above. Therefore God's universal law Gave to the man despotic power Over his female in due awe, Nor from that right to part an hour, Smile she or lour : So shall he least confusion draw On his whole life, not sway'd By female usurpation, or dismay'd. But had we best retire ? I see a storm. SAMSON AGONISTES. 135 Sams. Fair days have oft contracted wind and rain. Chor. But this another kind of tempest brings. Sams. Be less abstruse, my riddling days are past. Chor. Look now for no enchanting voice, nor fear The bait of honied words ; a rougher tongue Draws hitherward ; I know him by his stride, Flic giant Harapha of Gath, his look Haughty, as is his pile high-built and proud. Monies he in peace ? what wind hath blown him hither less conjecture than when first I saw The sumptuous Dalila floating this way : 3is habit carries peace, his brow defiance. Sams. Or peace, or not, alike to me he comes. Chor. His fraught we soon shall know, he now arrives. [Enter HARAPHA, ] Hur. I come not, Samson, to condole thy chance, ILS these perhaps, yet wish it had not been, "hough for no friendly intent. I am of Gath ; len call me Harapha, of stock renown'd Vs Og, or Anak, and the Emims old liat Kiriathaim held ; thou know'st me now f thou at all art known. Much I have heard )f thy prodigious might and feats perform'd, ncredible to me, in this displeas'd, 'hat I was never present on the place )f those encounters, where we might have tried Jach other's force in camp or listed field ; ind now am come to see of whom such noise lath walk'd about, and each limb to survey, f thy appearance answer loud report. Sams, The way to know were not to see but taste. Har. Dost thou already single me ? I thought tyves and the mill had tamed thee. O that fortune lad brought me to the field, where thou art fam'd b have wrought such wonders w r ith an ass's jaw ! should have forc'd thee soon with other arms, 'r left thy carcass where the ass lay thrown : o had the glory of prowess been recover'd b Palestine, won by a Philistine, rom the unforeskinn'd race, of whom thou bear'st 'he highest name for valiant acts ; that honour, ertain to have won by mortal duel from thee, lose, prevented by thy eyes put out. Sams. Boast not of what thou would'st have done, but do < r hat then thou would'st ; thou seest it in thy hand. Har. To combat with a blind man I disdain, nd ihou hast need much washing to be touch'd. Sams. Such usage as your honourable lords .flbrd me, assassinated and betray'd, /ho durst not with their whole united powers n fight withstand me single and unarm'd, Tor in the house with chamber-ambushes lose-banded durst attack me, no, not sleeping, 'ill they had hir'd a woman with their gold 'reaking her marriage- faith to circumvent me. 'herefore, without feign'd shifts, let be assign'd ome narrow place enclos'd, where sight may give thee, >r rather flight, no great advantage on me ; Tien put on all thy gorgeous arms, thy helmet Vnd brigandine of brass, thy broad habergeon, ^ant-brace and greves, and gauntlet, add thy spear, V weaver's beam, and seven-times-folded shield j only with an oaken staff will meet thee, And raise such outcries on thy clatter'd iron, Which long shall not withhold me from thy head, That in a little time, while breath remains thee, Thou oft shalt wish thyself at Gath to boast Again in safety what thou would'st have done To Samson, but shalt never see Gath more. Har. Thou durst not thus disparage glorious arms, Which greatest heroes have in battle worn, Their ornament and safety, had not spells And black enchantments, some magician's art, Arm'd thee or charm'd thee strong, which thou from Heaven Feign 'dst at thy birth, was given thee in thy hair, Where strength can least abide, though all thy hairs Were bristles rang'd like those that ridge the back Of chaf 'd wild boars, or ruffled porcupines. Sams. I know no spells, use no forbidden arts My trust is in the living God, who gave me At my nativity this strength, diffus'd No less through all my sinews, joints, and bones, Than thine, while I preserv'd these locks unshorn, The pledge of my unviolated vow. For proof hereof, if Dagon be thy god, Go to his temple, invocate his aid With solemnest devotion, spread before him How highly it concerns his glory now To frustrate and dissolve these magic spells, Which I to be the power of Israel's God Avow, and challenge Dagon to the test, Offering to combat thee his champion bold, With the utmost of his Godhead seconded : Then thou shalt see, or rather, to thy sorrow, Soon feel, whose God is strongest, thine or mine. Har. Presume not on thy God, whate'er he be ; Thee he regards- not, owns not, hath cut off Quite from his people, and deliver'd up Into thy enemies' hand, permitted them To put out both thine eyes, and fetter'd send thee Into the common prison, there to grind Among the slaves and asses thy comrades, As good for nothing else ; no better service With those thy boisterous locks, no worthy match For valour to assail, nor by the sword Of noble warrior, so to stain his honour, But by the barber's razor best subdued. Sams. All these indignities, for such they are From thine, these evils I deserve, and more, Acknowledge them from God inflicted on me Justly, yet despair not of his final pardon, Whose ear is ever open, and his eye racious to re-admit the suppliant : [n confidence whereof I once again Defy thee to the trial of mortal fight, By combat to decide whose God is God, Thine, or whom I with Israel's sons adore. Har. Fair honour that thou dost thy God, in trusting He will accept thee to defend this cause, A murderer, a revolter, and a robber ! Sams. Tongue-doughty giant, how dost thou prove me these ? Har. Is not thy nation subject to our lords? Their magistrates confess'd it when they took thee As a league-breaker, and deliver'd bound [nto our hands : for hadst thou not committed Notorious murder on those thirty men At Ascalon, who never did thee harm, Then like a robber stripp'dst them of their robes ? The Philistines, when thou hadst broke the league, K 4 136 MILTON. Went up with armed powers thee only seeking, To others did no violence nor spoil. Sams. Among the daughters of the Philistines I chose a wife, which argued me no foe ; And in your city held my nuptial feast : But your ill-meaning politician lords, Under pretence of bridal friends and guests, Appointed to await me thirty spies, Who, threatening cruel death, constraint the bride To wring from me, and tell to them, my secret, That solv'd the riddle which I had propos'd. When I perceiv'd all set on enmity, As on my enemies, wherever chanc'd, I us'd hostility, and took their spoil, To pay my underminers in their coin. My nation was subjected to your lords ; It was the force of conquest : force with force Is well ejected when the conquer'd can. But I a private person, whom my country As a league-breaker gave up bound, presum'd Single rebellion, and did hostile acts. I was no private, but a person rais'd [Heaven, With strength sufficient, and command from To free my country ; if their servile minds Me, their deliverer sent, would not receive, But to their masters gave me up for nought, The unworthier they ; whence to this day they serve. I was to do my part from Heaven assign'd, And had perform'd it, if my known offence Had not disabled me, not all your force : These shifts refuted, answer thy appellant, [tempts, Though by his blindness maim'd for high at- Who now defies thee thrice to single fight, As a petty enterprise of small enforce. [roll'd, HOT. With thee ! a man condem'd, a slave en- Due by the law to capital punishment ! To fight with thee no man of arms will deign. Sams. Cam'st thou for this, vain boaster, to survey me, To descant on my strength, and give thy verdict ? Come nearer ; part not hence so slight inform'd ; But take good heed my hand survey not thee. Har. O Baal-zebub ! can my ears unus'd Hear these dishonours, and not render death? Sams. No man withholds thee, nothing from thy hand Fear I incurable ; bring up thy van, My heels are fetter'd, but my fist is free. Har. This insolence other kind of answer fits. Sams. Go, baffled coward ! lest I run upon thee, Though in these chains, bulk without spirit vast, And with one buffet lay thy structure low, Or swing thee in the air, then dash thee down To the hazard of thy brains and shatter'd sides. Har. By Astaroth, ere long thou shalt lament These braveries, in irons loaden on thee. [Exit.] Chor. His giantship is gone somewhat crestfallen, Stalking with less unconscionable strides, And lower looks, but in a sultry chafe. Sams. I dread him not, nor all his giant-brood, Though fame divulge him father of five sons, All of gigantic size, Goliah chief, Chor. He will directly to the lords, I fear, And with malicious counsel stir them up Some way or other yet further to afflict thee. [fight Sams. He must allege some cause, and offer'd Will not dare mention, lest a question rise Whether he durst accept the offer or not ; And, that he durst not, plain enough appcar'd. Much more affliction than already felt They cannot well impose, nor I sustain ; If they intend advantage of my labours, The work of many hands, which earns my keeping With no small profit daily to my owners. But come what will, my deadliest foe will prove My speediest friend, by death to rid me hence ; The worst that he can give to me the best. Yet so it may fall out, because their end Is hate, not help to me, it may with mine Draw their own ruin who attempt the deed. Chor. Oh how comely it is, and how reviving To the spirits of just men long oppress'd ! When God into the hands of their deliverer Puts invincible might To quell the mighty of the Earth, the oppressor, The brute and boisterous force of violent men, Hardy and industrious to support Tyrannic power, but raging to pursue The righteous and all such as honour truth ; He all their ammunition And feats of war defeats, With plain heroic magnitude of mind And celestial vigour arm'd ; Their armouries and magazines contemns Renders them useless ; while With winged expedition, Swift as the lightning glance, he executes His errand on the wicked, who, surpris'd, Lose their defence, distracted and amaz'd. But patience is more oft the exercise Of saints, the trial of their fortitude, Making them each his own deliverer And victory over all That tyranny or fortune can inflict. Either of these is in thy lot, Samson, with might endued Above the sons of men ; but sight bereav'd May chance to number thee with those Whom patience finally must crown. This idol's day hath been to thee no day of rest Labouring thy mind More than the working day thy hands. And yet perhaps more trouble is behind, For I descry this way Some other tending ; in his hand A sceptre or quaint staff he bears, Comes on amain, speed in his look. By his habit I discern him now A public officer, and now at hand ; His message will be short and voluble. [Enter OFFICER.] Off. Hebrews, the prisoner Samson here I seek. Chor. His manacles remark him, there he sits. Off. Samson, to thee our lords thus bid me say ; This day to Dagon is a solemn feast, With sacrifices, triumph, pomp, and games : Thy strength they know surpassing human rate, And now some public proof thereof require - To honour this great feast, and great assembly : Rise therefore with all speed, and come along, Where I will see thee hearten' d, and fresh clad, To appear as fits before the illustrious lords. Sams. Thou know'st I am an Hebrew, therefore tell them, Our law forbids at their religious rites My presence ; for that cause I cannot come. Of. This answer, be assur'd, will oot content them. Sams. Have they not sword-players, and every sort SAMSON AGONISTES. 137 ' gymnic artists, wrestlers, riders, runners, gglers, and dancers, antics, mummers, mimics, it they must pick me out, with shackles tir'd, id over-labour'd at their public mill, > make them sport with blind activity ? ) they not seek occasion of new quarrels i my refusal to distress me more, make a game of my calamities ? turn the way thou cam'st, I will not come. Off. Regard thyself; this will offend them highly. Sams. Myself? my conscience, and internal peace. n they think me so broken, so debas'd th corporal servitude, that my mind ever 11 condescend to such absurd commands ? though their drudge, to be their fool or jester, d in my midst of sorrow and heart-grief show them feats, and play before their god, e worst of all indignities, yet on mo n'd with extreme contempt ? I will not come. Iff. My message was impos'd on me with speed, K)ks no delay : is this thy resolution ? >ams. So take it with wh?t speed thy message needs. Iff. I am sorry what this stoutness will produce. 'ams. Perhaps thou shalt have cause to sorrow indeed. Ihor. Consider, Samson ; matters now are strain'd to the height, whether to hold or break : 's gone, and who knows how he may report / words by adding fuel to the flame ? ject another message more imperious, re lordly thundering than thou well wilt bear. ams. Shall I abuse this consecrated gift strength, again returning with my hair er my great transgression, so requite our renew'd, and add a greater sin prostituting holy things to idols? Vazarite in place abominable inting my strength in honour to their Dagon ! ides, how vile, contemptible, ridiculous, at act more execrably unclean, prophane ? 'fior. Yet with this strength thou serv'st the Philistines, latrous, uncircumcis'd, unclean. ims. Not in their idol-worship, but by labour lest and lawful to deserve my food Jiose who have me in their civil power. lior. Where the heart joins not, outward acts defile not. [tence holds. ims. Where outward force constrains, the sen- who constrains me to the temple of Dagon, dragging ? the Philistian lords command. imands are no constraints. If I obey them, it freely, venturing to displease t for the fear of man, and man prefer, God behind ; which in his jealousy 1 never, unrepented, find forgiveness. that he may dispense with me, or thee, >ent in temples at idolatrous rites some important cause, thou need'st not doubt. hor. How thou wilt here come oft* surmounts my reach. ims. Be of good courage ; I begin to feel e rousing motions in me, which dispose something extraordinary my thoughts. ith this messenger will go along, hing to do, be sure, that may dishonour law, or stain my vow of Nazarite. acre be aught of presage in the mind, This day will be remarkable in my life By some great act, or of my days the last. Chor. In time thou hast resolv'd, the man returns. Off. Samson, this second message from our lords To thee I am bid say. Art thou our slave, Our captive at the public mill, our drudge, And dar'st thou at our sending and command Dispute thy coming ? come without delay ; Or we shall find such engines to assail And hamper thee, as thou shalt come of force, Though thou wert finnlier fasten'd than a rock. Sams. I could be well content to try their art, Which to no few of them would prove pernicious. Yet, knowing their advantages too many, Because they shall not trail me through their streets Like a wild beast, I am content to go. Masters' commands come with a power resistless To such as owe them absolute subjection ; And for a life who will not change his purpose ? (So mutable are all the ways of men ;) Yet this be sure, in nothing to comply Scandalous or forbidden in our law. Off. I praise thy resolution : doff these links : By this compliance thou wilt win the lords To favour, and perhaps to set thee free. Sams. Brethren, farewell ; your company along I will not wish, lest it perhaps offend them To see me girt with friends ; and how the sight Of me, as of a common enemy, So dreaded once, may now exasperate them, I know not : lords are lordliest in their wine; And the well-feasted priest then soonest fir'd With zeal, if aught religion seem concern'd ; No less the people, on their holy-days, Impetuous, insolent, unquenchable : Happen what may, of me expect to hear Nothing dishonourable, impure, unworthy Our God, our law, my nation, or myself, The last of me or no I cannot warrant. Chor. Go, and the Holy One Of Israel be thy guide [name To what may serve Ids glory best, and spread liis Great among the Heathen round ; Send thee the angel of thy birth, to stand Fast by thy side, who from thy father's field Rode up in flames after his message told Of thy conception, and be now a shield Of fire ; that spirit, that first rush'd on thee In the camp of Dan, Be efficacious in thee now at need. For never was from Heaven imparted Measure of strength so great to mortal seed, As in thy wondrous actions hath been seen. But wherefore comes old Manoah in such haste With youthful steps ? much livelier than ere while He seems ; supposing here to find his son, Or of liim bringing to us some glad news ? [Enter MANOAH.] Man. Peace with you, brethren ; my inducement hither Was not at present here to find my son, By order of the lords now parted hence To come and play before them at their feast. I heard all as I came, the city rings, And numbers thither flock : I had no will, Lest I should see him forc'd to things unseemly. But that, which mov'd my coming now, was chiefly To give ye part with me what hope I have With good success to work his liberty. 138 MILTON. Chor. That hope would much rejoice us to'partake With thee ; say, reverend sire, we thirst to hear. Man. I have attempted one by one the lords Either at home, or through the high street passing, With supplication prone and father's tears, To accept of ransom for my son their prisoner. Some much averse I found and wondrous harsh, Contemptuous, proud, set on revenge and spite ; That part most reverenc'd Dagon and his priests : Others more moderate seeming, but their aim Private reward, for which both God and state They easily would set to sale : a third More generous far and civil, who confess'd They had enough reveng'd ; having reduc'd Their foe to misery beneath their fears, The rest was magnanimity to remit, If some convenient ransom were propos'd. What noise or shout was that ? it tore the sky. Chor. Doubtless the people shouting to behold Their once great dread, captive, and blind before them, Or at some proof of strength before them shown. Man. His ransom, if my whole inheritance May compass it, shall willingly be paid And number'd down : much rather I shall choose To live the poorest in my tribe, than richest, And he in that calamitous prison left. No, I am fix'd not to part hence without him. For his redemption all my patrimony, If need be, I am ready to forego Arid quit : not wanting him, I shall want nothing. Chor. Fathers are wont to lay up for their sons, Thou for thy son art bent to lay out all ; Sons wont to nurse their parents in old age, Thou in old age car'st how to nurse thy son, Made older than thy age through eye-sight lost. Man. It shall be my delight to tend his eyes, And view him sitting in the house, ennobled With all those high exploits by him achiev'd, And on his shoulders waving down those locks That of a nation arm'd the strength contain'd : And I persuade me, God had not permitted His strength again to grow up with his hair, Garrison'd round about him like a camp Of faithful soldiery, were not his purpose To use him further yet in some great service , Not to sit idle with so great a gift Useless, and thence ridiculous about him. And since his strength with eye-sight was not lost, God will restore him eye-sight to his strength, [vain Chor. Thy hopes are not ill-founded, nor seem Of his delivery, and the joy thereon Conceiv'd, agreeable to a father's love, In both which we, as next, participate, [noise ! Man. I know your friendly minds and O what Mercy of Heaven, what hideous noise was that Horribly loud, unlike the former shout. Chor. Noise call you it, or universal groan, As if the whole inhabitation perish'd ! Blood, death, and deathful deeds, are in that noise, Ruin, destruction at the utmost point. Man. Of ruin indeed methought I heard the noise : Oh ! it continues, they have slain my son. Chor. Thy son is rather slaying them : that outcry From slaughter of one foe could not ascend. Man. Some dismal accident it needs must be ; What shall we do, stay here or run and see ? Chor. Best keep together here, lest, running thither, We unawares run into danger's mouth. This evil on the Philistines is fall'n : From whom could else a general cry be heard ? The sufferers then will scarce molest us here j From other hands we need not much to fear. What if, his eye-sight (for to Israel's God Nothing is hard) by miracle restor'd, He now be dealing dole among his foes, And over heaps of slaughter'd walk his way? Man. That were a joy presumptuous to be thougl CJior, Yet God hath wrought things as incrcdil For his people of old ; what hinders now ? Man. He can, I know, but doubt to tliink he wi Yet hope would fain subscribe, and tempts belief. A little stay will bring some notice hither. Chor. Of good or bad so great, of bad the soont For evil news rides post, while good news bates. And to our wish I see one hither speeding, An Hebrew, as I guess, and of our tribe. [Enter MESSKXGER.] Mess. O whither shall I run, or which way fly The sight of this so horrid spectacle, Which erst my eyes beheld, and yet behold For dire imagination still pursues me. But providence or instinct of nature seems, Or reason though disturb'd, and scarce consulted To have guided me aright, I know not how, To thee first, reverend Manoah, and to these My countrymen, whom here I knew remaining, As at some distance from the place of horrour, So in the sad event too much concern'd. [tf Man. The accident was loud, and here bef< With rueful cry, yet what it was we hear not ; No preface needs, thou seest we long to know. Mess. It would burst forth, but I recover brea And sense distract, to know well what I utter. Man. Tell us the sum, the circumstance defer Mess. Gaza yet stands, but all her sons are fall All in a moment overwhelm'd and fall'n. [sadd Man. Sad, but thou know'st to Israelites r The desolation of a hostile city. [surf Mess. Feed on that first: there may in grief Man. Relate by whom. Mess. By Samson. Man. That still lessens The sorrow, and converts it nigh to joy. Mess. Ah ! Manoah, I refrain too suddenly To utter what will come at last too soon ; Lest evil tidings with too rude irruption Hitting thy aged ear should pierce too deep. [01 Man. Suspense in news is torture, speak tin Mess. Take then the worst in brief, Samson dead. [feat Man.' The worst indeed, O all my hopes c To free him hence ! but death, who sets all free, Hath paid his ransom now and full discharge. What windy joy this day had I conceiv'd Hopeful of his delivery, which now proves Abortive as the first-born bloom of spring Nipt with the lagging rear of winter's frost ! Yet ere I give the reins to grief, say first, How died he ; death to life is crown or shame. All by him fell, thou say'st : by whom fell he ? What glorious hand gave Samson his death's woun Mess. Unwounded of his enemies he fell, [plai Man. Wearied with slaughter then, or how ? t Mess. By his own hands. Man. Self-violence ? what cause Brought him so soon at variance with himself Among his foes ? SAMSON AGONISTES. 139 Mess. Inevitable cause, Vt once both to destroy, and be destroy'd ; 7he edifice, where all were met to see him, Jpon their heads and on his own he pull'd. Man* O lastly over-strong against thyself! I dreadful way thou took'st to thy revenge, lore than enough we know ; but while things yet Ire in confusion, give us, if thou canst, '^ye-witness of what first or last was done, lelation more particular and distinct. Mess. Occasions drew me early to this city ; aid, as the gates I enter'd with sun-rise, Tie morning trumpets festival proclaim'd 'hrough each high street : little I had despatch' d, Vhen all abroad was rumour'd that this day amson should be brought forth, to show the people 'roof of his mighty strength in feats and games ; sorrow'd at his captive state, but minded Jot to be absent at that spectacle. Tie building was a spacious theatre [alf-round, on two main pillars vaulted high, V'ith seats where all the lords, and each degree >f sort, might sit in order to behold ! lie other side was open, where the throng 'n banks and scaffolds under sky might stand ; among these aloof obscurely stood, he feast and noon grew high, and sacrifice [wine, fad fill'd their hearts with mirth, high cheer, and ^hen to their sports they turn'd. Immediately ^as Samson as a public servant brought, i their state livery clad ; before him pipes, nd timbrels, on each side went armed guards, oth horse and foot, before him and behind rchers, and slingers, cataphracts and spears, t sight of him the people with a shout ifted the air, clamouring their God with praise, ho had made their dreadful enemy their thrall. e patient, but undaunted, where they led him, ime to the place ; and what was set before him, 'hich without help of eye might be assay 'd, ? heave, pull, draw, or break, he still perform'd 11 with incredible, stupendous force ; one daring to appear antagonist. t length for intermission's sake they led him ;tween the pillars ; he his guide requested 'or so from such as nearer stood we heard) > over-tir'd to let him lean a while ith both his arms on those two massy pillars, lat to the arched roof gave main support. 2, unsuspicious, led him ; which when Samson It in his arms, with head a while inclin'd, id eyes fast fix'd he stood, as one who pray'd, some great matter in his mind revolv'd : last with head erect thus cried aloud, Hitherto, lords, what your commands impos'd lave perform'd, as reason was, obeying, >t without wonder or delight beheld: >w of my own accord such other trial nean to show you of my strength, yet greater, with amaze shall strike all who behold." ds utter'd, straining all his nerves he bow'd, with the force of winds and waters pent, hen mountains tremble, those two massy pillars Ith horrible convulsion to and fro ^ tugg'd, he shook, till down they came and drew e whole roof after them, with burst of thunder x>n the heads of all who sat beneath, irds, ladies, captains, counsellors, or priests, teir choice nobility and flower, not only this but each Philistian city round, Met from all parts to solemnize this feast. Samson, with these immix'd, inevitably Pull'd down the same destruction on himself; The vulgar only 'scap'd who stood without. Chor. O dearly-bought revenge, yet glorious ! Living or dying thou hast fulfill'd The work for which thou wast foretold To Israel, and now ly'st victorious Among thy slain self-kill'd, Not willingly, but tangled in the fold Of dire necessity, whose law in death conjoin'd Thee with thy slaughter'd foes, in number more Than all thy life hath slain before. [sublime, 1. Semichor. While their hearts were jocund and Drunk with idolatry, drunk with wine, And fat regorg'd of bulls and goats, Chanting their idol, and preferring Before our living Dread who dwells In Silo, his bright sanctuary : Among them he a spirit of phrenzy sent, Who hurt their minds, And urg'd them on with mad desire To call in haste for their destroyer; They, only set on sport and play, Unweetingly importun'd Their own destruction to come speedy upon them. So fond are mortal men, Fall'n into wrath divine, As their own ruin on themselves to invite, Insensate left, or to sense reprobate, And with blindness internal struck. 2. Semichor. But he, though blind of sight, Despis'd and thought extinguish'd quite, With inward eyes illuminated, His fiery virtue rous'd From under ashes into sudden flame, And as an evening dragon came, Assailant on the perched roosts And nests in order rang'd Of tame villatic fowl ; but as an eagle His cloudless thunder bolted on their heads. So virtue, given for lost, Depress'd, and overthrown, as seem'd, Like that self-begotten bird In the Arabian woods embost, That no second knows nor third, And lay ere while a holocaust, From out her ashy womb now teem'd, Revives, reflourishes, then vigorous most When most unactive deem'd ; And, though her body die, her fame survives A secular bird ages of lives. Man. Come, come ; no time for lamentation now Nor much more cause ; Samson hath quit himself Like Samson, and heroicly hath finish'd A life heroic, on his enemies Fully reveng'd, hath left them years of mourning, And lamentation to the sons of Caphtor Through all Philistian bounds, to Israel Honour hath left, and freedom, let but them Find courage to lay hold on this occasion ; To himself and father's house eternal fame ; And, which is best and happiest yet, all this With God not parted from him, as was fear'd, But favouring and assisting to the end. Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail Or knock the breast ; no weakness, no contempt, Dispraise, or blame ; nothing but well and fair, And what may quiet us in a death so noble. Let us go find the body where it lies MILTON. Soak'd in his enemies' blood ; and from the stream With lavers pure, and cleansing herbs, wash oft' The clotted gore. I, with what speed the while, (Gaza is not in plight to say us nay,) Will send for all my kindred, all my friends, To fetch him hence, and solemnly attend With silent obsequy, and funeral train, Home to his father's house : there will I build liim A monument, and plant it round with shade Of laurel ever green, and branching palm, With all his trophies hung, and acts inroll'd In copious legend, or sweet lyric song. Thither shall all the valiant youth resort, And from his memory inflame their breasts To matchless valour, and adventures high : The virgins also shall, on feastful days, Visit his tomb with flowers ; only bewailing His lot unfortunate in nuptial choice, From whence captivity and loss of eyes. Chor. All is best, though we oft doubt What the unsearchable dispose Of highest Wisdom brings about, And ever best found in the close. Oft he seems to hide his face, But unexpectedly returns, And to his faithful champion hath in place Bore witness gloriously ; whence Gaza mourns, And all that band them to resist His uncontrollable intent ; His servants he, with new acquist Of true experience, from this great event With peace and consolation hath dismist, And calm of mind, all passion spent. CHRISTMAS HYMN. IT was the winter wild, While the Heaven-born child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies ; Nature in awe to him, Had cloff'd her gaudy trim, With her great Master so to sympathize -. It was no season then for her To wanton with the Sun, her lusty paramour. Only with speeches fair She wooes the gentle air To hide her guilty front with innocent snow ; And on her naked shame, Pollute with sinful blame, The saintly veil of maiden white to throw ; Confounded, that her Maker's eyes Should look so near upon her foul deformities. But he, her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-ey'd Peace ; She, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere, His ready harbinger, With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing ; And, waving wide her myrtle wand, She strikes an universal peace through sea and land. No war, or battle's sound, Was heard the world around : > The idle spear and shield were high up hung ; The hooked chariot stood Unstain'd with hostile blood ; The trumpet spake not to the armed throng ; And kings sat still with aweful eye, As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by But peaceful was the night, Wherein the Prince of light His reign of peace upon the Earth began : The winds, with wonder whist, Smoothly the waters kist, Whispering new joys to the mild ocean, Who now hath quite forgot to rave, [wav While birds of calm sit brooding on the charme The stars, with deep amaze, Stand fix'd in stedfast gaze, Bending one way their precious influence ; And will not take their flight, For all the morning light, Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence ; But in their glimmering orbs did glow, Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them ge And, though the shady gloom Had given day her room, The Sun himself withheld his wonted speed, And hid his head for shame, As his inferior flame The new-enlighten'd world no more should need He saw a greater Sun appear [beai Than his bright throne, or burning axletree, coul The shepherds on the lawn, Or e'er the point of dawn, Sat simply chatting in a rustic row ; Full little thought they then, That the mighty Pan Was kindly come to live with them below ; Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep. When such music sweet Their hearts and ears did greet, As never was by mortal finger strook ; Divinely-warbled voice Answering the stringed noise, As all their souls in blissful rapture took : The air, such pleasure loth to lose, [close With thousand echoes still prolongs each heaven! Nature that heard such sound, Beneath the hollow round Of Cynthia's seat, the aery region thrilling, Now was almost won To think her part was done, And that her reign had here its last fulfilling ; She knew such harmony alone Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happier union At last surrounds their sight A globe of circular light, [array'd That with long beams the shamefac'd nigh The helmed Cherubim, And sworded Seraphim, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd Harping in loud and solemn quire, [Heir With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-bon CHRISTMAS HYMN. 14-1 eh music (as 'tis said) fore was never made, But when of old the sons of morning sung, lile the Creator great s constellations set, And the well-balanc'd world on lunges hung ; id cast the dark foundations deep, [keep. id bid the weltering waves their cozy channel ng out, ye crystal spheres, tee bless our human ears, [f ye have power to touch our senses so ; id let your silver chime )ve in melodious time ; And let the base of Heaven's deep organ blow ; id with your ninefold harmony, ike up full consort to the angelic symphony. r, if such holy song wrap our fancy long, Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold ; d speckled Vanity 11 sicken soon and die, And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould ; d Hell itself will pass away, d leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. a, Truth and Justice then 11 down return to men, 3rb'd in a rainbow ; and, like glories wearing, rcy will sit between, ron'd in celestial sheen, kVith radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering; d Heaven, as at some festival, 11 open wide the gates of her high palace hall. t wisest Fate says no, is must not yet be so, Hie babe yet lies in smiling infancy, at on the bitter cross ist redeem our loss ; X) both himself and us to glorify : t first, to those ychain'd in sleep, [the deep ; e wakeful trump of doom must thunder through th such a horrid clang on mount Sinai rang, [brake : Vhile the red fire and smouldering clouds out- e aged Earth aghast th terrour of that blast, Shall from the surface to the centre shake ; len, at the world's last session, [throne. e dieadful Judge in middle air shall spread his d then at last our bliss 11 and perfect is, But now begins ; for, from this happy day, e old Dragon, under ground straiter limits bound, Not half so far casts his usurped sway ; d, wroth to see his kingdom fail, indges the scaly horrour of his folded tail. e oracles are dumb, voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving, olio from his shrine n no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving, i nightly trance, or breathed spell, spires the pale-ev'd nriests from the nronhetic cell. The lonely mountains o'er, And the resounding shore, A voice of weeping heard and loud lament ; From haunted spring and dale, Edg'd with poplar pale, The parting genius is with sighing sent ; With flower-inwoven tresses torn [mourn. The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets In consecrated earth, And on the holy hearth, [plaint ; The Lars, and Lemures, moan with midnight In urns, and altars round, A drear and dying sound Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint ; And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar Power foregoes his wonted seat. Peor and Baalim Forsake their temples dim, With that twice-batter'd god of Palestine ; And mooned Ashtaroth, Heaven's queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with taper's holy shine ; The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn, [mourn. In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz And sullen Moloch, fled, Hath left in shadows dread His burning idol all of blackest hue ; In vain with cymbals' ring They call the grisly king, In dismal dance about the furnace blue: The brutish gods of Nile as fast, Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste. Nor is Osiris seen In Meinphian grove or green, [loud : Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest ; Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud ; In vain with timbrell'd anthems dark The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark. He feels from Judah's land The dreaded infant's hand, The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn ; Nor all the gods beside Longer dare abide, Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine : Our babe, to show his Godhead true, [creu. Can in his swaddling bands controll the damned So, when the Sun in bed, Curtain'd with cloudy red, Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to the infernal jail, Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave ; And the yellow-skirted Fayes [maze. Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-lov'd But see, the Virgin blest Hath laid her babe to rest ; Time is, our tedious song should here have ending: Heaven's youngest-teemed star Hath fix'd her polish'd car, Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending, And all about the courtly stable Brii'ht-harness'd angels sit in order serviceable. 112 EDMUND WALLER. HJDMUND WALLER, born at Coleshill, Hertfordshire, in March, 1605, was the son of Robert Waller, Esq. a gentleman of an ancient family and good fortune, who married a sister of the celebrated John Hamp- den. The death of his father during his infancy left him heir to an estate of 35001. a year, at that period an ample fortune. He was educated first at Eton, whence he was removed to King's College in Cambridge. His election to parliament was as early as between his sixteenth or seventeenth year ; and it was not much later that he made his appear- ance as a poet : and it is remarkable that a copy of verses which he addressed to Prince Charles, in his eighteenth year, exhibits a style and character of versification as perfectly formed as those of his maturest productions. He again served in par- liament before he was of age ; and he continued his services to a later period. Not insensible of the value of wealth, he augmented his paternal fortune by marriage with a rich city heiress. In the long intermissions of parliament which occurred after 1628, he retired to his mansion of Beaconsfield, where he continued his classical studies, under the direction of his kinsman Morley, afterwards bishop of Winchester ; and he obtained admission to a society of able men and polite scholars, of whom JLord Falkland was the connecting medium. Waller became a widower at the age of twenty- five ; he did not, however, spend much time in mourning, but declared himself the suitor of Lady Dorothea Sydney, eldest daughter of the Earl of Leicester, whom lie has immortalized under the poetical name of Saccharissa. She is described by him as a majestic and scornful beauty ; and he seems to delight more in her contrast, the gentler Amoret, who is supposed to have been a Lady So^ phia Murray. Neither of these ladies, however, was won by his poetic strains ; and, like another man, he consoled himself in a second marriage. When the king's necessities compelled him, in 1640, once more to apply to the representatives of the people, Waller, who was returned for Ag- mondesham, decidedly took part with the members who thought that the redress of grievances should precede a vote for supplies ; and he made an ener- getic speech on the occasion. He continued during three years to vote in general with the Opposition in the Long Parliament, but did not enter into all their measures. In particular, he employed much cool argument against the proposal for the abolition of Episcopacy ; and he spoke with freedom and severity against some other plans of the House. In fact, he was at length become a zealous loyalist in his' inclinations ; and his conduct under the dif- ficulties into which this attachment involved him became a source of his indelible disgrace. A short narrative will suffice for the elucidation of this matter. Waller had a brother-in-law, named Tomkyns, who was clerk of the queen's council, and pos- sessed great influence in the city among the warm loyalists. On consulting together, they thought il would be possible to raise a powerful party, which might oblige the parliament to adopt pacific mea- sures, by resisting the payment of the taxes leviec for the support of the war. About this time Sir Nicholas Crispe formed a design of more dangerous import, which was that of exciting th( king's friends in the city to an open resistance o: the authority of parliament ; and for that purpose he obtained a commission of array from his ma- jesty. This plan appears to have been originally unconnected with the other; yet the commissior was made known to Waller and Tomkyns, and the whole was compounded into a horrid and dreadfu plot. Waller and Tomkyns were apprehended when the pusillanimity of the former disclosed th< whole secret. " He was so confounded with fear,' (says Lord Clarendon, ) " that he confessed what ever he had heard, said, thought, or seen, all tha he knew of himself, and all that he suspected o others, without concealing any person, of what de gree or quality soever, or any discourse which h< had ever upon any occasion entertained with them. ' The conclusion of this business was, that Tomkyns and Clraloner, another conspirator, were hanged and that Waller was expelled the House, tried, am condemned ; but after a year's imprisonment, and : fine of ten thousand pounds, was suffered to gi into exile. He chose Rouen for his first place o foreign exile, where he lived with his wife till hi removal to Paris. In that capital he maintainei the appearance of a man of fortune, and enter tained hospitably, supporting this style of living chiefly by the sale of his wife's jewels. At length after the lapse of ten years, being reduced to wha he called his rump jewel, he thought it time to ap ply for permission to return to his own country He obtained this licence, and was also restored t his estate, though now diminished to half its forme rental. Here he fixed his abode, at a house buil by himself, at Beaconsfield ; and he renewed hi courtly strains by adulation to Cromwell, noi Protector, to whom his mother was related. T this usurper the noblest tribute of his muse wa paid. When Charles II. was restored to the crown and past character was lightly regarded, the stain of that of Waller were forgotten, and his wit an poetry procured him notice at court, and admissio: to the highast circles. He had also sufficient in terest to obtain a seat in the House of Commons in all the parliaments of that reign. The king' gracious manners emboldened him to ask for th vacant place of provost of Eton college, which wa granted him; but Lord Clarendon, then Lor MISCELLANEOUS. 143 lancellor, refused to set the seal to the grant, edging that by the statutes laymen were excluded >m that provostship. This was thought the rea- i why Waller joined the Duke of Buckingham, his hostility against Clarendon. On the accession of James II., Waller, then in ; 80th year, was chosen representative for Saltash. aving now considerably passed the usual limit of man life, he turned his thoughts to devotion, and mposed some divine poems, the usual task in which men of gaiety terminate their career. He died at Beaconstield in October, 1687, the 83d year of his age. He left several children by his second wife, of whom, the inheritor of his estate, Edmund, after representing Agmondesham in parliament, became a convert to quakerism. Waller was one of the earliest poets who ob- tained reputation by the sweetness and sonorousness of his strains ; and there are perhaps few masters at the present day who surpass liim in this particular. TO AMORET. AIR ! that you may truly know, hat you unto Thyrsi's owe ; -ill tell you how I do :harissa love, and you. Joy salutes me, when I set y blest eyes on Amoret : it with wonder I am strook, 'lile I on the other look. If sweet Amoret complains, lave sense of all her pains: it for Sacharissa I > not only grieve, but die All that of myself is mine, vely Amoret ! is thine, harissa's captive fain iuld untie his iron chain ; id, those scorching beams to shun thy gentle shadow run. [f the soul had free election dispose of her affection ; .'ould not thus long have borne .ughty Sacharissa's scorn : t 'tis sure some power above, lich controls our wills in love ! [f not a love, a strong desire create and spread that fire my breast, solicits me, auteous Amoret! for thcc. Tis amazement more than love, lich her radiant eyes do move : less splendour wait on thine, t they so benignly shine, /ould turn my dazzled sight behold their milder light. t as hard 'tis to destroy at high flame, as to enjoy : lich how eas'ly I may do, aven (as eas'ly scal'd) does know ! \moret ! as sweet and good the most delicious food, lich, but tasted, does impart e and gladness to the heart. >acharissa's beauty's wine, lich to madness doth incline : :h a liquor, as no brain at is mortal can sustain. Scarce can I to Heaven excuse e devotion, which I use Unto that adored dame : For 'tis not unlike the same, Which I thither ought to send. So that if it could take end, 'Twould to Heaven itself be due, To succeed her, and not you : Who already have of me All that's not idolatry : Which, though not so fierce a flame, Is longer like to be the same. Then smile on me, and I will prove Wonder is shorter-liv'd than love. TO AMORET. AMORET, the Milky Way, Fram'd of many nameless stars ! The smooth stream, where none can say, He this drop to that prefers ! Amoret, my lovely foe ! Tell me where thy strength does lie ? Where the power that charms us so ? In thy soul, or in thy eye ? By that snowy neck alone, Or thy grace in motion seen, No such wonders could be done ; Yet thy waist is straight, and clean, As Cupid's shaft, or Hermes' rod : And powerful too, as either god. OF LOVE. ANGER, in hasty words, or blows, Itself discharges on our foes ; And sorrow too finds some relief In tears, which wait upon our grief: So every passion but fond love, Unto its own redress does move : But that alone the wretch inclines To what prevents his own designs ; Makes him lament, and sigh, and weep, Disorder'd, tremble, fawn, and creep ; Postures which render him despis'd, Where he endeavours to be priz'd : 1 44 WALLER. For women, born to bo control'd, Stoop to the forward and the bold ; Affect the haughty and the proud, The gay, the frolic, and the loud. Who first the generous steed opprest ; Not kneeling did salute the beast ; But with high courage, life, and force, Approaching, tam'd th' unruly horse. Unwisely we the wiser East Pity, supposing them opprest, With tyrants' force, whose law is will, By which they govern, spoil, and kill : Each nymph, but moderately fair, Commands with no less rigour here. Should some brave Turk, that walks among His twenty lasses, bright and young, And beckons to the willing dame, Preferr'd to quench his present flame, Behold as many gallants here, With modest guise, and silent fear, All to one female idol bend, While her high pride does scarce descend To mark their follies, he would swear, That these her guard of eunuchs were ; And that a more majestic queen, Or humbler slaves, he had not seen. All this with indignation spoke, In vain I struggled with the yoke Of mighty love : that conquering look, When next beheld, like lightning strook My blasted soul, and made me bow Lower than those I pity'd now. So the tall stag, upon the brink Of some smooth stream, about to drink, Surveying there his armed head, With shame remembers that he fled The scorned dogs, resolves to try The combat next : but, if their cry Invades again his trembling ear, He strait resumes his wonted care ; Leaves the untasted spring behind, And, wing'd with fear, outflies the wind. OF THE MARRIAGE OF THE DWARFS. DESIGN or Chance make others wive, But Nature did this match contrive : Eve might as well have Adam fled, As she deny'd her little bed To him, for whom Heav'n seem'd to frame, And measure out this only dame. Thrice happy is that humble pair, Beneath the level of all care ! Over whose heads those arrows fly Of sad distrust and jealousy : Secured in as high extreme, As if the world held none but them. To him the fairest nymphs do show Like moving mountains topp'd with snow ; And every man a Polypheme Does to his Galatea seem : None may presume her faith to prove ; He proffers death, that proffers love. Ah ! Chloris ! that kind Nature thus From all the world had sever'd u&: Creating for ourselves us two> As Love has me for only you J - A PANEGYRIC TO MY LORD PROTECTOR, Of the Present Greatness, and Joint Interest, oj hit Highness and this Nation. WHILE with a strong, and yet a gentle, hand, You bridle faction, and our hearts command, Protect us from ourselves, and from the foe, Make us unite, and make us conquer too : Let partial spirits still aloud complain, Think themselves injur'd that they cannot reign, And own no liberty, but where they may Without control upon their fellows prey. Above the waves as Neptune show'd his face, To chide the winds, and save the Trojan race ; So has your highness, rais'd above the rest, Storms of ambition, tossing us, represt. Your drooping country, torn with civil hate, Restor'd by you, is made a glorious state ; The seat of empire, where the Irish come, And the unwilling Scots, to fetch their doom. The sea's our own : and now, all nations greet, With bending sails, each vessel of our fleet : Your power extends as far as winds can blow, Or swelling sails upon the globe may go. Heaven (that hath plac'd this island to give law, To balance Europe, and her states to awe,) In this conjunction doth on Britain smile, The greatest leader, and the greatest isle ! Whether this portion of the world were rent, By the rude ocean, from the continent, Or thus created ; it was sure design 'd To be the sacred refuge of mankind. Hither th' oppress'd shall henceforth resort, Justice to crave, and succour, at your court ; And then your highness, not for our's alone, But for the world's protector shall be known. Fame, swifter than your winged navy, flies Through every land, that near the ocean lies ; Sounding your name, and telling dreadful news To all that piracy and rapine use. With such a chief the meanest nation blest, Might hope to lift her head above the rest ; What may be thought impossible to do By us, embraced by the sea and you ? Lords of the world's great waste, the ocean, we Whole forests send to reign upon the sea ; And every coast may trouble, or reliejze : But none can visit us without your lea^ Angels and we have this prerogati,y^ That none can at our happy seats arrive : While we descend at pleasure, to invade The bad with vengeance, and the good to aid. Our little world, the image of the great, Like that, amidst the boundless ocean set, Of her own growth hath all that nature craves, And all that's rare, as tribute from the waves. A PANEGYRIC TO MY LORD PROTECTOR. 145 As Egypt does not on the clouds rely, But to the Nile owes more than to the sky ; So, what our Earth, and what our Heaven, denies, Our ever-constant friend, the sea, supplies. The taste of hot Arabia's spice we know, Free from the scorching sun that makes it grow : Without the worm, In Persian silks we shine ; And, without planting, drink of every vine. To dig for wealth, we weary not our limbs ; Gold, though the heaviest metal, hither swims. Ours is the harvest where the Indians mow, We plough the deep, and reap what others sow. Filings of the noblest kind our own soil breeds ; Stout are our men, and warlike are our steeds : Rome, though her eagle through the world had flown, Uould never make this island all her own. lere the third Edward, and the Black Prince too, 'Vance-conquering Henry flourish'd, and now you ;
r, would youth and beauty stay, ove hath wings, and will away, ove hath swifter wings than Time ; hange in love to Heaven does climb ods, that never change their state, ary oft their love and hate. Phyllis ! to this truth we owe 11 the love betwixt us two : 3t not you and I inquire, Tiat has been our past desire ; ti what shepherd you have smil'd, r what nymphs I have beguil'd : iave it to the planets too, hat we shall hereafter do : >r the joys we now may prove, ike advice of present love. ON A GIRDLE. CAT, which her slender waist confin'd, ill now my joyful temples bind : i monarch but would give his crown, s arms might do what this has done. ivas my Heaven's extremest sphere, a pale which held that lovely deer : joy, my grief, my hope, my love, 1 all within this circle move ! larrow compass ! and yet there elt all that's good, and all that's fair : e me but what this ribbon bound, ;e all the rest the Sun goes round. TO ZELINDA. REST piece of well-form'd earth ! e not thus your haughty birth : power which you have o'er us, lies in your race, but in your eyes. e but a prince ! Alas ! that voice fines you to a narrow choice, ild you no honey vow to taste, what the master-bees have plac'd ompass of their cells, how small jrtion to your share would fall ! Nor all appear, among those few, Worthy the stock from whence they grew : The sap, which at the root is bred, In trees, through all the boughs is spread : But virtues, which in parent shine, Make not like progress through the line. ' Tis not from whom, but where, we live : The place does oft those graces give. Great Julius, on the mountains bred, A flock perhaps, or herd, had led : He *, that the world subdued, had been But the best wrestler on the green. 'Tis art, and knowledge, which draw forth The hidden seeds of native worth : They blow those sparks, and make them rise Into such flames as touch the skies. To the old heroes hence was given A pedigree, which reach'd to heaven : Of mortal seed they were not held, Which other mortals so excell'd. And beauty too, in such excess As yours, Zelinda ! claims no less. Smile but on me, and you shall scorn, Henceforth, to be of princes born. I can describe the shady grove, Where your lov'd mother slept with Jove, And yet excuse the faultless dame, Caught with her spouse's shape and name . Thy matchless form will credit bring To all the wonders I shall sing. TO A LADY SINGING A SONG OF HIS COMPOSING. CHLORIS, yourself you so excel, When you vouchsafe to breathe my thought, That, like a spirit, with this spell Of my own teaching, I am caught. That eagle's fate and mine are one, Which, on the shaft that made him die, Espy'd a feather of his own, Wherewith he wont to soar so high. Had Echo with so sweet a grace Narcissus' loud complaints return 'd Not for reflection of his face, But of his voice, the boy had burn'd. * Alexander. JOHN DRYDEN. JOHN DRYDEN was born, probably in 1631, in the parish of Aldwincle-Allsaints, in Northamp- tonshire. His father possessed a small estate, acted as a justice of the peace during the usurp- ation, and seems to have been a presbyterian. John, at a proper age, was sent to Westminster school, of which Busby was then master ; and was thence elected to a scholarship in Trinity college, Cambridge. He took his degrees of bachelor and master of arts in the university ; but though he had written two short copies of verses about the time of his admission, his name does not occur among the academical poets of this period. By his father's death, in 1654, he succeeded to the estate, and, re- moving to the metropolis, he made his entrance into public life, under the auspices of his kinsman, Sir Gilbert Pickering, one of Cromwell's council and house of lords, and staunch to the principles then predominant. On the death of Cromwell, Dryden wrote some " Heroic Stanzas," strongly marked by the loftiness of expression and variety of imagery which characterised his more mature efforts. They were, however, criticised with some severity. At the Restoration, Dryden lost no time in obliterating former stains ; and, as far as it was possible, rendered himself peculiarly distinguished for the base servility of his strains. He greeted the king's return by a poem, entitled " Astrcsa Redux," which was followed by " A Panegyric on the Coronation:" nor did Lord Chancellor Clarendon escape his encomiastic lines. His marriage with Lady Elizabeth Howard, daughter of the Earl of Berkshire, is supposed to have taken place in 1665. About this time he first appears as a writer for the stage, in which quality he composed several pieces ; and though he did not display himself as a prime favourite of the dramatic muse, his facility of har- monious versification, and his splendour of poetic diction, gained him admirers. In 1667 he pub- lished a singular poem, entitled " Annus Mira- bilis," the subjects of which were, the naval war with the Dutch, and the fire of London. It was written in four-line stanzas, a form which has since gone into disuse in heroic subjects ; but the piece abounded in images of genuine poetry, though in- termixed with many extravagances. At this period of his life Dryden became pro- fessionally a writer for the stage, having entered into a contract with the patentees of the King's Theatre, to supply them with three plays in a year, upon the condition of being allowed the profit of one share and a quarter out of twelve shares and three quarters, into which the theatrical stock was divided. Of the plays written upon the above con- tract, a small proportion have kept their place on the stage, or in the closet. On the death of Sir W. Davenant, in 1668, Dryden obtained the post of poet-laureat, to which was added the si cure place of historiographer royal ; the joint sj ries of which amounted to 200 1. The tragedies composed by Dryden were writ in his earlier periods, in rhyme, which circumsta: probably contributed to the poetical rant by wh they were too much characterised. For the c rection of this fault, Villiers, Duke of Buckinght in conjunction with other wits, wrote the celebra burlesque drama, entitled " The Rehearsal," which Dryden, under the name of Bayes, was m; the hero ; and, in order to point the ridicule, dress, phraseology, and mode of recitation, w exactly imitated by the actor. It does not, ho ever, appear that his solid reputation as a poet v injured by this attack. He had the candour to ; knowledge that several of the strokes were jt and he wisely refrained from making any dir reply. In 1681, and, as it is asserted, at the king's < press desire, he wrote his famous political poe entitled " Absolom and Achitophel ;" in wh the incidents in the life of David were adapted those of Charles II. in relation to the Duke Monmouth and the Earl of Shaftesbury. poetry and its severity caused it to be read with gn eagerness ; and as it raised the author to high vour with the court party, so it involved him in reconcilable enmity with its opponents. Th< feelings were rendered more acute by his " Med a Satire on Sedition," written in the same year, occasion of a medal struck by the whigs, when grand jury returned Ignoramus to an indictiru preferred against Lord Shaftesbury, for high tr< son. The rancour of this piece is not easily to paralleled among party poems. In 1682, he pu lished " Mac-Flecknoe," a short piece, throwi ridicule upon his very unequal rival, Shad we In the same year, one of liis most serious poen the " Religio Laici," made its appearance. '. purpose was to give a compendious view of the i guments for revealed religion, and to ascertain what the authority of revelation essentially consist Soon after this time he ceased to write for t stage. His dramatic vein was probably exhauste and his circumstances were distressed. To this p riod Mr. Malone refers a letter written by him Hyde, Earl of Rochester, in which, with modi dignity, he pleads merit enough not to deserve starve, and requests some small employment in t customs or excise, or, at least, the payment of h a year's pension for the supply of his present neo sities. He never obtained any of the request places, and was doomed to find the booksellers aest patrons. Charles II. died in 1685, and was succeeded !iis brother James II., who openly declared his tachment to the religion of Rome. It was not lo ANNUS MIRABILIS. 149 efore Dryden conformed to the same religion. ITiis step has been the cause of much obloquy on tie side, and has found much excuse on the other ; ut if it be considered, from a view of his past life, iat, in changing his religious profession, he could ave had little difficulty to encounter, it will appear o breach of candour to suppose that his immediate lotive was nothing more than personal interest, 'he reward he obtained from his compliance was an idition to his pension of 100 1. per annum. Some me after he was engaged in a work which was the ngest single piece he ever composed. This was s elaborate controversial poem of " The Hind id Panther." When completed, notwithstanding > unpromising subject, and signal absurdity of an, such was the power of Dryden's verse, that it as read with avidity, and bore every mark of oc- ipying the public attention. The birth of a ince called forth a congratulatory poem from Dry- n, entitled " Britannia Rediviva," in which he ntured to use a poet's privilege of prophesy, fore- ling a commencing era of prosperity to the nation d the church from this auspicious event; but in in ! for the revolution took place within a few mths, and the hopes of the party were blasted for jr. Dryden was a severe sufferer from the change : posts and pensions were taken away, and the atical laurel was conferred upon his insignificant al, Shadwell. He was now, in advanced life, to )end upon his own exertions for a security from -olute indigence. His faculties were equal to emergency ; and it will surprise some theorists to be told, that the ten concluding years of his life, in which he wrote for bread, and composed at a cer- tain rate per line, were those of many of the pieces which have most contributed to immortalise his name. They were those of his translation of Juve- nal and Persius ; of that of Virgil entire, a work wliich enriches the English language, and has greatly promoted the author's fame ; of his cele- brated Alexander's Feast ; and of his Fables, con- taining some of the richest and most truly poetical pieces which he ever composed. Of these, several will appear in the subsequent collection of his works. Nor ought his prose writings to be neglected, which, chiefly consisting of the critical essays pre- fixed to liis poems, are performances of extraordi- nary vigour and comprehension of mind, and afford, perhaps, the best specimens of genuine English. Dryden died of a spreading inflammation in one of his toes, on the first of May, 1700, and was buried in "VVestminstei Abbey, next to the tomb of Chaucer. No monument marked his grave, till a plain one, with his bust, was erected, at the expence of Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham. He left behind him three sons, all brought up to letters. His own character was cold and reserved, backward in personal advances to the great, and rather heavy in conversation. In fact, he was too much engaged in literature to devote much of his time to society. Few writers of his time delighted so much to ap- proach the verge of prophaneness ; whence it may be inferred, that though religion was an interesting topic of discussion to liim, he had very little of its spirit in his heart. ANNUS MIRABILIS: THE YEAR OF WONDERS, 1666. thriving arts long time had Holland grown, -rouching at home and cruel when abroad : rce leaving us the means to claim our own ; >ur king they courted, and our merchants aw'd. de, which like blood should circularly flow, topp'd in their channels, found its freedom lost: her the wealth of all the world did go, .nd seem'd but shipwreck'd on so base a coast. them alone the Heavens had kindly heat ; i eastern quarries ripening precious dew : them the Idumaan balm did sweat, nd in hot Ccilon spicy forests grew. Sun but seem'd the labourer of the year ; ach waxing Moon supply'd her watery store, well those tides which from the line did bear leir brim-full vessels to the Belgian shore. s, mighty in her ships, stood Carthage long, nd swept the riches of the world from far ; stoop'd to Rome, less wealthy, but more strong : ad this may piovc our second Punic war. What peace can be, where both to one pretend ? (But they more diligent, and we more strong) Or if a peace, it soon must have an end ; For they would grow too powerful were it long. Behold two nations then, engag'd so far, That each seven years the fit must shake each land* Where France will side to weaken us by war, Who only can his vast designs withstand. See how he feeds th' Iberian with delays, To render us his timely friendship vain : And while his secret soul on Flanders preys, He rocks the cradle of the babe of Spain. Such deep designs of empire does he lay O'er them, whose cause he seems to take in hand ; And prudently would make them lords at sea, To whom with ease he can give laws by land. This saw our king ; and long within his breast His pensive counsels balanc'd to and fro : He griev'd the land he freed should be oppress'd, And he less for it than usurpers do. His generous mind the fair ideas drew Of fame and honour, which in dangers lay ; Where wealth, like fruit on precipices, grew, Not to be gather'd but by birds of prey I, 3 150 DRYDEN. The loss and gain each fatally were great ; And still his subjects call'd aloud for war : But peaceful kings, o'er martial people set, Each other's poize and counterbalance are. He first survey'd the charge with careful eyes, Which none but mighty monarchs could maintain ; Yet judg'd, like vapours that from limbecs rise, It would in richer showers descend again. At length resolv'd t' assert the watery ball, He in himself did whole armadoes bring : Him aged seamen might their master call, And choose for general, were he not their king. It seems as every ship their sovereign knows, His awful summons they so soon obey ; So hear the scaly herd when Proteus blows, And so to pasture follow through the sea. To see this fleet upon the ocean move, Angels drew wide the curtains of the skies ; And Heaven, as if there wanted lights above, For tapers made two glaring comets rise. Whether they unctuous exhalations are, Fir'd by the Sun, or seeming so alone ; Or each some more remote and slippery star, Which loses footing when to mortals shown : Or one, that bright companion of the Sun, Whose glorious aspect seal'd our new-born king ; And now, a round of greater years begun, New influence from his walks of light did bring. Victorious York did first with fam'd success, To his known valour make the Dutch give place : Thus Heaven our monarch's fortune did confess, Beginning conquest from his royal race. But since it was decreed, auspicious king, In Britain's right that thou shouldst wed the main, Heaven, as a gage, would cast some precious thing, And therefore doom'dthatLawson should be slain. Lawson amongst the foremost met his fate, Whom sea-green Sirens from the rocks lament : Thus as an offering for the Grecian state, He first was kill'd who first to battle went. Their chief blown up in air, not waves, expir'd, To which his pride presumed to give the law : The Dutch confess'd Heaven present, and retir'd, And all was Britain the wide ocean saw. To nearest ports their shatter 'd ships repair, Where by our dreadful cannon they lay aw'd : So reverently men quit the open air, When thunder speaks the angry gods abroad. And now approach'd their fleet from India fraught, With all the riches of the rising Sun : And precious sand from southern climates brought, The fatal regions where the war begun. Like hunted castors, conscious of their store, [bring: Their way-laid wealth to Norway's coasts they There first the North's cold bosom spices bore, And Winter brooded on the eastern Spring. By the rich scent we found our perfum'd prey, Which, flank'd with rocks, did close in covert lie : And round about their murdering cannon lay, At once to threaten and invite the eye. Fiercer than cannon, and than rocks more hard, The English undertake th' unequal war : Seven ships alone, by which the port is barr'd, Besiege the Indies, and all Denmark dare. These fight like husbands, but like lovers those : These fain would keep, and those more fain enjoy; And to such height their frantic passion grows, That what both love, both hazard to destroy. Amidst whole heaps of spices lights a ball, And now their odours arm'd against them fly : Some preciously by shatter'd porcelain fall, And some by aromatic splinters die. And though by tempests of the prize bereft, In Heaven's inclemency some ease we find : Our foes we vanquish'd by our valour left, And only yielded to the seas and wind. Nor wholly lost we so deserv'd a prey ; For storms, repenting, part of it restor'd : Which, as a tribute from the Baltic sea, The British ocean sent her mighty lord. Go, mortals, now and vex yourselves in vain For wealth, which so uncertainly must come : When what was brought so far, and with such pain, Was only kept to lose it nearer home. The son, who twice three months on th' ocean tost 5 Prepar'd to tell what he had pass'd before, Now sees in English sliips the Holland coast, And parents' arms, in vain, stretch'd from the shore. This careful husband had been long away, Whom his chaste wife and little children mourn : Who on their fingers learn'd to tell the day On which their father promis'd to return. Such are the proud designs of human-kind, And so we suffer shipwreck every where ! Alas, what port can such a pilot find, Who in the night of Fate must blindly steer ! The undistinguish'd seeds of good and ill, Heaven in his bosom from our knowledge hides : And draws them in contempt of human skill, Which oft for friends mistaken foes provides. Let Munster's prelate ever be accurst, In whom we seek the German faith in vain: Alas, that he should teach the English first, That fraud and avarice in the church could reign Happy, who never trust a stranger's will, Whose friendship's in his interest understood ! Since money given but tempts him to be ill, When power is too remote to make him good. Till now, alone the mighty nations strove ; The rest, at gaze, without the lists did stand ; And threatening France, plac'd like a painted Jove Kept idle thunder in his lifted hand. ANNUS MIRABILIS. 151 That eunuch guardian of rich Holland's trade, Who envies us what he wants power t' enjoy ; Whose noiseful valour does no foe invade, And weak assistance will his friends destroy. Offended that we fought without his leave, He takes this time his secret hate to show : Which Charles does with a mind so calm receive, As one that neither seeks nor shuns his foe. With France, to aid the Dutch, the Danes unite : France as their tyrant, Denmark as their slave. But when with one three nations join to fight, They silently confess that one more brave. Lewis had chas'd the English from his shore ; But Charles the French as subjects does invite :} Would Heaven for each some Solomon restore, Who, by their mercy, may decide their right ! Were subjects so but only by their choice, And not from birth did forc'd dominion take, 3ur prince alone would have the public voice ; And all his neighbours' realms would deserts make. le without fear a dangerous war pursues, Which without rashness he began before : Vs honour made him first the danger choose, So still he makes it good on virtue's score, .lie doubled charge his subjects' love supplies, Who in that bounty to themselves are kind : lo glad Egyptians see their Nilus rise, And in his plenty their abundance find. Vith equal power he does two chiefs create, Two such as each seem'd worthiest when alone ; lach able to sustain a nation's fate, Since both had found a greater in their own, Joth great in courage, conduct, and in fame, Yet neither envious of the other's praise ; 'heir duty, faith, and interest too the same, Like mighty partners equally they raise. Tie prince long time had courted Fortune's love, But once possess'd did absolutely reign : "hus with their Amazons the heroes strove, And conquer'd first those beauties they would gain. "he duke beheld, like Scipio, with disdain, That Carthage, which he ruin'd, rise once more ; .nd shook aloft the fasces of the main, To fright those slaves with what they felt before. 'ogether to the watery camp they haste, Whom matrons passing to their children show : ifants' first vows for them to Heaven are cast, And future people bless them as they go. /ith them no riotous pomp, nor Asian train, \ To infect a navy with their gaudy fears ; ' make slow fights, and victories but vain : But war severely like itself appears. 'iffusive of themselves, where'er they pass, They make that warmth in others they expect : heir valour works like bodies on a glass, And does its image on their men project. Our fleet divides, and straight the Dutch appear, In number, and a fam'd commander, bold : The narrow seas can scarce their navy bear, Or crowded vessels can their soldiers hold. The duke, less numerous, but in courage more, On wings of all the winds to combat flies : His murdering guns a loud defiance roar. And bloody crosses on his flag-staffs rise. Both furl their sails, and strip them for the fight ; Their folded sheets dismiss the useless air : Th' Elean plains could boast no nobler sight, When struggling champions did their bodies bare. Borne each by other in a distant line, The sea-built forts in dreadful order move : So vast the noise, as if not fleets did join, But lands unfix'd, and floating nations strove. Now pass'd, on either side they nimbly tack ; Both strive to intercept and guide the wind : And, in its eye, more closely they come back, To finish all the deaths they left behind. On high-rais'd decks the haughty Belgians ride, Beneath whose shade our humble frigates go : Such port the elephant bears, and so defy'd By the rhinoceros her unequal foe. And as the built, so different is the fight : Their mounting shot is on our sails design'd ; Deep in their hulls our deadly bullets light, And through the yielding planks a passage find. Our dreaded admiral from far they threat, Whose batter'd rigging their whole war receives : All bare, like some old oak which tempests beat, He stands, and sees below his scatter'd leaves. Heroes of old, when wounded, shelter sought ; But he who meets all danger with disdain, Ev'n in their face his ship to anchor brought, And steeple-high stood propt upon the main. At this excess of courage, all amaz'd, The foremost of his foes awhile withdraw : With such respect in enter'd Rome they gaz'd, Who on high chairs the godlike fathers saw. And now, as where Patroclus' body lay, Here Trojan chiefs advanc'd, and there the Greek; Ours o'er the duke their pious wings display, And theirs the noblest spoils of Britain seek. Meantime his busy mariners he hastes, His shatter'd sails with rigging to restore j And willing pines ascend his broken masts, Whose lofty heads rise higher than before. Straight to the Dutch he turns his dreadful prow, More fierce th' important quarrel to decide ; Like swans, in long array his vessels show, Whose crests advancing do the waves divide. They charge, recharge, and all along the sea They drive, and squander the huge Belgian fleet Berkeley alone, who nearest danger lay, Did a like fate with lost Creiisa meet. L 4 152 DRYDEN. The night comes on, we eager to pursue The combat still, and they asham'd to leave.: Till the last streaks of dying day withdrew, And doubtful moonlight did our rage deceive. In th' English fleet each ship resounds with joy, And loud applause of their great leader's fame : In fiery dreams the Dutch they still destroy, And slumbering smile at the imagin'd flame. Not so the Holland fleet, who, tir'd and done, Stretch'd on their decks like weary oxen lie: Faint sweats all down their mighty members run ! Vast bulks, which little souls but ill supply. In dreams they fearful precipices tread : Or. shipwreck'd, labour to some distant shore : Or in dark churches walk among the dead ; They wake with horrour, and dare sleep no more. The morn they look on with unwilling eyes, Till from their main-top joyful news they hear Of ships, which by their mould bring new supplies, And in their colours Belgian lions bear. Our watchful general had discern'd from far This mighty succour, which made glad the foe : He sigh'd, but like a father of the war, His face spake hope, while deep his sorrows flow. His wounded men he first sends off to shore, Never till now unwilling to obey ; They, not their wounds, but want of strength, deplore, And think Jthem happy who with him can stay. Then to the rest, " Rejoice," said he, " to-day ; In you the fortune of Great Britain lies : Among so brave a people, you are they Whom Heaven has chose to fight for such a prize. " If number English courages could quell, We should at first have shunn'd, not met our foes : Whose numerous sails the fearful only tell : [grows. '* Courage from hearts, and not from numbers He said, nor needed more to say : with haste To their known stations cheerfully they go ; And all at once, disdaining to be last, Solicit every gale to meet the foe. Nor did th' encourag'd Belgians long delay, But bold in others, not themselves, they stood : So thick, our navy scarce could steer their way, But seem'd to wander in a moving wood. Our little fleet was now engag'd so far, That like the sword-fish in the whale they fought : The combat only seem'd a civil war, [wrought : Till through their bowels we our passage Never had valour, no not ours, before Done aught like this upon the land or main, Where not to be o'ercome was to do more Than all the conquests former kings did gain. The mighty ghosts of our great Harries rose, And armed Edwards look'd with anxious eyes, To see this fleet among unequal foes, [should rise. By which Fate promis'd them their Charles tv4 Meantime the Belgians tack upon our rear, [send : And raking chace-guns through our sterns they Close by, their fire-ships, like jackals, appear, Who on their lions for the prey attend. Silent, in smoke of cannon they come on : Such vapours once did fiery Cacus hide : In these the height of pleas'd revenge is shown, Who burn contented by another's side. Sometimes from fighting squadrons of each fleet, Deceiv'd themselves, or to preserve some friend, Two grappling Etnas on the ocean meet, And English fires with Belgian flames contend. Now at each tack our little fleet grows less ; [main : And, like maim'd fowl, swim lagging on the Their greater loss their numbers scarce confess, While they lose cheaper than the English gain. Have you not seen, when, whistled from the fist, Some falcon stoops at what her eye design'd, And with her eagerness the quarry miss'd, Straight flies at check, and clips it down the wind? The dastard crow, that to the wood made wing, And sees the groves no shelter can afford, With her loud kaws her craven kind does bring, Who safe in numbers cuff the noble bird. Among the Dutch thus Albemarle did fare : He could not conquer, and disdain'd to fly ; Past hope of safety, 'twas his latest care, Like falling Caesar, decently to die. Yet pity did his manly spirit move, To see those perish who so well had fought : And generously with his despair he strove, Resolv'd to live till he their safety wrought. Let other Muses write his prosperous fate, Of conquer'd nations tell, and kings restor'd : But mine shall sing of his eclips'd estate, Which, like the Sun's, more wonders does afford. He drew his mighty frigates all before, On which the foe his fruitless force employs : His weak ones deep into his rear he bore Remote from guns, as sick men from the noise. His fiery cannon did their passage guide, And following smoke obscur'd them from the foe; Thus Israel, safe from the Egyptian's pride, By flaming pillars and by clouds did go. Elsewhere the Belgian force we did defeat, But here our courages did theirs subdue : So Xenophon once led that fam'd retreat, Which first the Asian empire overthrew. The foe approach'd ; and one for his bold sin Was sunk ; as he that touch'd the ark was slain ; The wild waves master'd him and suck'd him in, And smiling eddies dimpled on the main. This seen, the rest at awful distance stood : As if they had been there as servants set To stay, or to go on, a& he thought good, And not pursue but wait on his retreat. ANNUS MIRABILIS. 153 So Libyan huntsmen, on some sandy plain, From shady coverts rous'd, the lion chase : Hie kingly beast roars out with loud disdain, And slowly moves, unknowing to give place. 3ut if some one approach to dare his force, He swings his tail, and swiftly turns him round : 'Vith one paw seizes on his trembling horse, And with the other tears him to the ground. Lmidst these toils succeeds the balmy night ; Now hissing waters the quench'd guns restore ; i.nd weary waves withdrawing from the fight, Lie lull'd and panting on the silent shore. "he Moon shone clear on the becalmed flood, Where, while her beams like glittering silver play, pon the deck our careful general stood, And deeply mus'd on the succeeding day. That happy Sun," said he, " will rise again, Who twice victorious did our navy see : nd I alone must view him rise in vain, Without one ray of all his star for me. Yet, like an English general will I die, And all the ocean make my spacious grave : omen and cowards on the land may lie ; The sea 's a tomb that 's proper for the brave." .stless he pass'd the remnant of the night, Till the fresh air proclaim'd the morning nigh : id burning ships, the martyrs of the fight, With paler fires beheld the eastern sky. it now, his stores of ammunition spent, His naked valour is his only guard : .re thunders are from his dumb cannon sent, And solitary guns are scarcely heard. us far had Fortune power, he forc'd to stay, Nor longer durst with Virtue be at strife : is is a ransom Albemarle did pay, For all the glories of so great a life. r now brave Rupert from afar appears, vVhose waving streamers the glad general knows : th full-spread sails his eager navy steers, Vnd every ship in swift proportion grows. ; anxious prince had heard the cannon long, \.nd from that length of time dire omens drew English overmatch'd, and Dutch too strong, Vho never fought three days, but to pursue. m, as an eagle, who with pious care Vas beating widely on the wing for prey, her now silent eiry does repair, Vnd finds her callow infants forc'd away : ng with her love, she stoops upon the plain, lie broken air loud whistling as she flies : stops and listens, and shoots forth again, .nd guides her pinions by her young ones' cries. h such kind passion hastes the prince to fight, ind spreads his flying canvass to the sound : i, whom no danger, were he there, could fright, fow absent every little noise can wound. As in a drought the thirsty creatures cry, And gape upon the gather'd clouds for rain : And first the martlet meets it in the sky, And with wet wings joys all the feather'd train : With such glad hearts did our despairing men Salute tli' appearance of the prince's fleet ; And each ambitiously would claim the ken, That with first eyes did distant safety meet. The Dutch, who came like greedy hinds before, To reap the harvest their ripe ears did yield, Now look like those, when rolling thunders roar, And sheets of lightning blast the standing field. Full in the prince's passage, hills of sand, And dangerous flats in secret ambush lay, Where the false tides skim o'er the cover'd land, And seamen with dissembled depths betray. The wily Dutch, who like fall'n angels fear'd This new Messiah's coming, there did wait, And round the verge their braving vessels steer'd, To tempt his courage with so fair a bait. But he unmov'd contemns their idle threat, Secure of fame whene'er he please to fight : His cold experience tempers all his heat, And inbred worth doth boasting valour slight. Heroic virtue did his actions guide, And he the substance, not th' appearance, chose : To rescue one such friend, he took more pride, Than to destroy whole thousands of such foes. But when approach'd, in strict embraces bound, Rupert and Albemarle together grow : He joys to have his friend in safety found, Wliich he to none but to that friend would owe. The cheerful soldiers, with new stores supply'd, Now long to execute their spleenful will : And, in revenge for those three days they try'd, Wish one, like Joshua's, when the Sun stood still. Tims reinforc'd, against the adverse fleet, Still doubling ours, brave Rupert leads the way : With the first blushes of the morn they meet, And bring night back upon the new-born day. ' His presence soon blows up the kindling fight, And his loud guns speak thick like angry men : It seem'd as slaughter had been breath'd all night, And Death new pointed his dull dart again. The Dutch too well his mighty conduct knew, And matchless courage, since the former fight : Whose navy like a stiff-stretch' d cord did show, Till he bore in and bent them into flight. The wind he shares, while half their fleet offends His open side, and high above him shows : Upon the rest at pleasure he descends, And doubly harm'd he double harms bestows. Behind the general mends his weary pace, And sullenly to his revenge he sails : So glides some trodden serpent on the grass, And long behind his wounded volume trails 154- DRYDEN. Th' increasing sound is borne to either shore, And for their stakes the throwing nations fear : Their passions double with the cannons' roar, And with warm wishes each man combats there. Ply'd thick and close as when the fight begun, Their huge unwieldy navy wastes away : So sicken waneing Moons too near the Sun, And blunt their crescents on the edge of day. And now reduc'd on equal terms to fight, Their ships like wasted patrimonies show ; Where the thin scattering trees admit the light, And shun each other's shadows as they grow. The warlike prince had sever 'd from the rest Two giant ships, the pride of all the main ; Which with his one so vigorously he press'd, And flew so home they could not rise again. Already batter' d, by his lee they lay, In vain upon the passing winds they call : The passing winds through their torn canvass play, And flagging sails on heartless sailors fall. Their open'd sides receive a gloomy light, Dreadful as day let into shades below ; Without grim Death rides barefac'd in their sight, And urges entering billows as they flow. When one dire shot, the last they could supply, Close by the board the prince's main-mast bore : All three now helpless by each other lie, And this offends not, and those fear no more. So have I seen some fearful hare maintain A course, till tir'd before the dog she lay : Who stretch'd behind her pants upon the plain, Past power to kill, as she to get away. With his loll'd tongue he faintly licks his prey ; His warm breath blows her flix up as she lies ; She, trembling, creeps upon the ground away, And looks back to him with beseeching eyes. The prince unjustly does his stars accuse, Which hinder'd him to push his fortune on ; For what they to his courage did refuse, By mortal valour never must be done. This lucky hour the wise Batavian takes, And warns his tatter' d fleet to follow home : Proud to have so got off with equal stakes, Where 'twas a triumph not to be o'ercome. The general's force, as kept alive by fight, Now, not oppos'd, no longer can pursue : Lasting till Heaven had done his courage right; . When he had conquer'd he his weakness knew. He casts a frown on the departing foe, And sighs to see him quit the watery field : His stern fix'd eyes no satisfaction show, For all the glories which the fight did yield. Though, as when fiends did miracles avow, He stands confess'd ev'n by the boastful Dutch : He only does his conquest disavow, And thinks too little what they found too much. lleturn'd, he with the fleet resolv'd to stay ; No tender thoughts of home his heart divide ; Domestic joys and cares he puts away ; [guid For realms are households which the great mui As those who unripe veins in mines explore, On the rich bed again the warm turf lay, Till time digests the yet imperfect ore, And know it will be gold another day : So looks our monarch on this early fight, Th' essay and rudiments of great success : Which all-maturing Time must bring to light, While he like Heaven does each day's labour blesi Heaven ended not the first or second day, Yet each was perfect to the work design'd : God and kings work, when they their work surve; A passive aptness in all subjects find. In burthen'd vessels first, with speedy care, His plenteous stores do season'd timber send : Thither the brawny carpenters repair, And as the surgeons of maim'd ships attend. With cord and canvass, from rich Hamburgh sent His navy's molted wings he imps once more : Tall Norway fir, their masts in battle spent, And English oak, sprung leaks and planks, reston All hands employ'd the royal work grows warm : Like labouring bees on a long summer's day, Some sound the trumpet for the rest to swarm, And some on bells of tasted lilies play. With glewy wax some new foundations lay Of virgin-combs, which from the roof are hung Some arm'd within doors upon duty stay, Or tend the sick, or educate the young. So here some pick out bullets from the sides, Some drive old oakum through each seam and rif Their left hand does the caulking iron guide, The rattling mallet with the right they lift. With boiling pitch another near at hand, From friendly Sweden brought, the seams instop Which, well paid o'er, the salt sea waves withstam And shakes them from the rising beak in drops, Some the gall'd ropes with dawby marline bind, Or sear-cloth masts with strong tarpawling coat! To try new shrouds one mounts into the wind, And one below their ease or stiffness notes. Our careful monarch stands in person by, His new-cast cannons' firmness to explore : The strength of big-corn'd powder loves to try, And ball and cartridge sorts for every bore. Each day brings fresh supplies of arms and men, And ships which all last winter were abroad ; And such as fitted since the fight had been, Or new from stocks, were fall'n into the road. The goodly London in her gallant trim, The Phenix, daughter of the vanish'd old, Like a rich bride does to the ocean swim, And on her shadow rides in floating gold. ANNUS MIRABILIS. 155 rler flag aloft spread ruffling to the wind, And sanguine streamers seem the Hood to fire : The weaver, charm'd with what his loom design'd, Goes on to sea, and knows not to retire. tVith roomy decks, her guns of mighty strength, Whose 'low-laid mouths each mounting billow laves : )eep in her draught, and warlike in her length, She seems a sea- wasp flying on the waves. "his martial present, piously design'd, The loyal city give their best-lov'd king : uid with a bounty ample as the wind, Built, fitted, and maintain'd, to aid him bring. !y viewing Nature, Nature's handmaid, Art, Makes mighty things from small beginnings grow: "hus fishes first to shipping did impart, Their tail the rudder, and their head the prow. Dme log perhaps upon the waters swam, An useless drift, which, rudely cut within, nd hollow'd first, a floating trough became, And cross some rivulet passage did begin. i shipping such as this, the Irish kern, And untaught Indian on the stream did glide : re sharp-keel'd boats to stem the flood did learn, Or fin-like oars did spread from either side. eld but a sail, and Saturn so appear' d, When from lost empire he to exile went, nd with the golden age to Tyber steer'd, Where coin and commerce first he did invent. .ide as their ships was navigation then ; No useful compass or meridian known ; >asting, they kept the land within their ken, And knew no north but when the Pole-star shone. * all who since have us'd the open sea, Than the bold English none more fame have won : yond the year, and out of Heaven's high way, They make discoveries where they see no Sun. it what so long in vain, and yet unknown, By poor mankind's benighted wit is sought, ill in this age to Britain first be shown, And hence be to admiring nations taught. e ebbs of tides and their mysterious flow, We, as Art's elements, shall understand, d as by line upon the ocean go, Whose paths shall be familiar as the land. itructed ships shall sail to quick commerce, 3y wliich remotest regions are ally'd ; rich makes one city of the universe, vVhere some may gain, and all may be supply'd. 211 we upon our globe's last verge shall go, Vnd view the ocean leaning on the sky : >m thence our rolling neighbours we shall know, Vnd on the lunar world securely pry. s I foretell from your auspicious care, Vho great in search of God and Nature grow ; o best your wise Creator's praise declare, >ince best to praise his works is best to know. O truly royal ! who behold the law And rule of beings in your Maker's mind : And thence, like limbecs, rich ideas draw, To fit the levell'd use of human kind. But first the toils of war we must endure, And from th' injurious Dutch redeem the seas : War makes the valiant of his right secure, And gives up fraud to be chastis'd with ease. Already were the Belgians on our coast, Whose fleet more mighty every day became By late success, which they did falsely boast, And now by first appearing seem'd to claim. Designing, subtle, diligent, and close, They knew to manage war with wise delay : Yet all those arts their vanity did cross, And by their pride their prudence did betray. Nor staid the English long ; but well supply'd, Appear as numerous as th' insulting foe : The combat now by courage must be try'd, And the success the braver nation show. There was the Plymouth squadron now come in, Which in the Straits last winter was abroad ; Wliich twice on Biscay's working bay had been, And on the midland sea the French had aw'd. Old expert Allen, loyal all along, Fam'd for his action on the Smyrna fleet : And Holmes, whose name shall live in epic song, While music numbers, or while verse has feet. Holmes, the Achates of the general's fight; Who first bewitch'd our eyes with Guinea gold : As once old Cato in the Roman sight The tempting fruits of Afric did unfold. With him went Sprag, as bountiful as brave, Whom his high courage to command had brought: Harman, who did the twice-fir'd Harry save, And in his burning ship undaunted fought. Young Hollis on a Muse by Mars begot, Born, Caesar like, to write and act great deeds : Impatient to revenge his fatal shot, His right hand doubly to his left succeeds. Thousands were there in darker fame that dwell, Whose deeds some nobler poem shall adorn : And though to me unknown, they sure fought well, Whom Rupert led, and who were British born. Of every size an hundred fighting sail : So vast the navy now at anchor rides, That underneath it the press'd waters fail, And with its weight it shoulders off the tides. Now, anchors weigh'd, the seamen shout so shrill, That Heaven and Earth and the wide Ocean rings : A breeze from westward waits their sails to fill, And rests in those high beds Iris downy wings. The wary Dutch this gathering storm foresaw, And durst not bide it on the English coast : Behind their treacherous shallows they withdraw, And there lav snares to catch the British host. , , 156 DRYDEN. / * ySo the false spider, when her nets are spread, j y Deep ambush'd in her silent den does lie : k 7 And feels far off' the trembling of her thread, n Whose filmy cord should bind the struggling fly. Then if at last she find him fast beset, She issues forth, and runs along her loom : She joys to touch the captive in her net, And drags the little wretch in triumph home. The Belgians hop'd that, with disorder'd haste, Our deep-cut keels upon the sands might run : Or if with caution leisurely were past, [one. Their numerous gross might charge us one by But with a fore-wind pushing them above, And swelling tide that heav'd them from below, O'er the blind flats our warlike squadrons move, And with spread sails to welcome battle go. It seem'd as there the British Neptune stood, With all his hosts of waters at command, Beneath them to submit th* officious flood ; And with Ms trident shov'd them oft' the sand. To the pale foes they suddenly draw near, And summon them to unexpected fight : They start like murderers when ghosts appear, And draw their curtains in the dead of night. Now van to van the foremost squadrons meet, The midmost battles hastening up behind, Who view far oft' the storm of falling sleet, And hear their thunder rattling in the wind. At length the adverse admirals appear : The two bold champions of each country's right : Their eyes describe the lists as they come near, And draw the lines of death before they fight. The distance judg'd for shot of every size, The linstocs touch, the ponderous ball expires : The vigorous seaman every port-hole plies, And adds his heart to every gun he fires ! Fierce was the fight on the proud Belgians' side, For honour, which they seldom sought before : But now they by their own vain boasts were ty'd, And forc'd at least in show to prize it more. But sharp remembrance on the English part, And shame of being match'd by such a foe, Rouze conscious virtue up in every heart, And seeming to be stronger makes them so. Nor long the Belgians could that fleet sustain, Which did two generals' fates, and Cassar's bear : Each several ship a victory did gain, As Rupert or as Albemarle were there. Their batter'd admiral too soon withdrew, Unthank'd by ours for his unfinish'd fight But he the minds of his Dutch masters knew, Who call'd that providence which we call'd flight. Never did men more joyfully obey, Or sooner understood the sign to fly : With such alacrity they bore away, As if, to praise them, all the States stood by. " O famous leader of the Belgian fleet, Thy monument inscrib'd such praise shall wear, As Varro timely flying once did meet, Because he did not of his Rome despair. Behold that navy, which a while before Provok'd the tardy English close to fight ; Now draw their beaten vessels close to shore, As larks lie dar'd to shun the hobby's flight. Whoe'er would English monuments survey, In other records may our courage know : But let th'em hide the story of this day, Whose fame was blemish'd by too base a foe. Or if too busily they will inquire Into a victory, which we disdain ; Then let them know the Belgians did retire Before the patron saint of injur'd Spain. Repenting England this revengeful day To Philip's manes did an offering bring : England, which first, by leading them astray, Hatch'd up rebellion to destroy her king. Our fathers bent their baneful industry, To check a monarchy that slowly grew ; But did not France or Holland's fate foresee, Whose rising power to swift dominion flew. In Fortune's empire blindly thus we go, And wander after pathless Destiny ; Whose dark resorts since Prudence cannot know, In vain it would provide for what shall be. But whate'er English to the blessed shall go, And the fourth Harry or first Orange meet ; Find him disowning of a Bourbon foe, And him detesting a Batavian fleet. Now on their coasts our conquering navy rides, Waylays their merchants, and their land besets ; Each day new wealth without their care provides ; They lie asleep with prizes in their nets. So close behind some promontory lie The huge leviathans t' attend their prey ; And give no chace, but swallow in the fry, [way. Which through their gaping jaws mistake the Nor was this all : in ports and roads remote, Destructive fires among whole fleets we send ; Triumphant flames upon the water float, And out-bound ships at home their voyage end. Those various squadrons variously design'd, Each vessel freighted with a several load, Each squadron waiting for a several wind, All find but one, to burn them in the road. Some bound for Guinea, golden sand to find, Bore all the gauds the simple natives wear : Some for the pride of Turkish courts design'd, For folded turbans finest Holland beaf. Some English wool vex'd in a Belgian loom, And into cloth of spungy softness made, Did into France or colder Denmark doom, To ruin with worse ware our staple trade. ANNUS MIRABILIS. 157 Our greedy seamen rummage every hold, Smile on the booty of each wealthier chest, And, as the priests who with their gods make bold, Take what they like, and sacrifice the rest. But ah ! how insincere are all our joys ! [no stay : Which, sent from Heaven, like lightning make Their palling taste the journey's length destroys, Or grief sent post o'ertakes them on the way. Swell'd with our late successes on the foe, Which France and Holland wanted power to cross, We urge an unseen fate to lay us low, And feed their envious eyes with English loss. Each element his dread command obeys, Who makes or ruins with a smile or frown ; Who, as by one he did our nation raise, So now he with another pulls us down. Yet, London, empress of the northern clime, By an high fate thou greatly didst expire ; \ Sreat as the world's, which, at the death of TimeV Must fall, and rise a nobler frame by Fire. Vs when some dire usurper Heaven provides, To scourge his country with a lawless sway; :Iis birth, perhaps, some petty village hides, And sets his cradle out of Fortune's way : Till, fully ripe, his swelling fate breaks out, And hurries him to mighty mischiefs on : lis prince, surpris'd at first, no ill could doubt, And wants the power to meet it when 'tis known. luch was the rise of this prodigious Fire, Which in mean buildings first obscurely bred, 'rom thence did soon to open streets aspire, And straight to palaces and temples spread. Tie diligence of trades and noiseful gain, And luxury more late, asleep were laid : Jl was the Night's ; and in her silent reign No sound the rest of Nature did invade. n this deep quiet, from what source unknown, Those seeds of Fire their fatal birth disclose ; vnd first few scattering sparks about were blown, Big with tne flames that to our ruin rose. hen in some close-pent room it crept along, And, smouldering as it went, in silence fed ; ill th' infant monster, with devouring strong, Walk'd boldly upright with exalted head. bw like some rich or mighty murderer, Too great for prison, which he breaks with gold ; ^ho fresher for new mischiefs does appear, And dares the world to tax him with the old : > scapes th' insulting Fire his narrow jail, And makes small outlets into open air : aere the fierce winds his tender force assail, And beat him downward to his first repair. he winds, like crafty courtezans, withheld His flames from burning, but to blow them more : nd every fresh attempt he is repell'd With faint denials weaker than before. And now no longer letted of his prey, He leaps up at it with enrag'd desire : O'erlooks the neighbours with a wide survey, And nods at every house his threatening iirc. The ghosts of traitors from the bridge descend, With bold fanatic spectres to rejoice : About the fire into a dance they bend, And sing their sabbath notes with feeble voice. Our guardian angel saw them where they sate Above the palace of our slumbering king : He sigh'd, abandoning his charge to Fate, And drooping, oft look'd back upon the wing. At length the crackling noise and dreadful blaze Call'd up some waking lover to the sight ; And long it was ere he the rest could raise, Whose heavy eyelids yet were full of night. The next to danger, hot pursued by Fate, Half-cloth'd, half-naked, hastily retire : And frighted mothers strike their breasts too late, For helpless infants left amidst the fire. Their cries soon waken all the dwellers near ; Now murmuring noises rise in every street : The more remote run stumbling with their fear, And in the dark men justle as they meet. So weary bees in little cells repose ; But if night-robbers lift the well-stor'd hive, , An humming through their waxen city grows, . And out upon each other's wings they drive. Now streets grow throng'd and busy as by day : Some run for buckets to the hallow'd quire : Some cut the pipes, and some the engines play ; And some more bold mount ladders to the fire. In vain : for from the east a Belgian wind His hostile breath tlirough the dry rafters sent ; The flames impell'd soon left their foes behind, And forward with a wanton fury went. A key of fire ran all along the shore, And lighten' d all the river with a blaze : The waken'd tides began again to roar, And wondering fish in shining waters gaze. Old father Thames rais'd up his reverend head, But fear'd the fate of Simois would return : Deep in his ooze he sought his sedgy bed, And shrunk his waters back into his urn. The Fire, meantime, walks in a broader gross ; To either hand his wings he opens wide : He wades the streets, and straight he reaches crosa, And plays his longing flames on th' other side. At first they warm, then scorch, and then they take ; Now with long necks from side to side they feed ; At length grown strong their mother Fire forsake, And a new colony of Flames succeed. To every nobler portion of the town The curling billows roll their restless tide : In parties now they straggle up and down, As armies unoppos'd for prey divide. 158 DRYDEN. One mighty squadron with a side-wind sped, Through narrow lanes his cumber'd fire does haste, By powerful charms of gold and silver led, The Lombard bankers and the 'Change to waste. Another backward to the Tower would go, And slowly eats his way against the wind : But the main body of the marching foe Against th' imperial palace is design'd. Now day appears, and with the day the king, Whose early care had robb'd him of his rest : Far off the cracks of falling houses ring, And shrieks of subjects pierce his tender breast. Near as he draws, thick harbingers of smoke With gloomy pillars cover all the place ; Whose little intervals of night are broke By sparks, that drive against his sacred face. More than his guards his sorrows made him known, And pious tears which down his cheeks did shower: The wretched in his grief forgot their own ; So much the pity of a king has power. He wept the flames of what he lov'd so well, And what so well had merited his love : For never prince in grace did more excel, Or royal city more in duty strove. Nor with an idle care did he behold : Subjects may grieve, but monarchs must redress ; He cheers the fearful, and commends the bold, And makes despairers hope for good success. Himself directs what first is to be done, And orders all the succours which they bring : The helpful and the good about him run, And form an army worthy such a king. He sees the dire contagion spread so fast, That where it seizes all relief is vain : Arid therefore must unwillingly lay waste That country, which would else the foe maintain. The powder blows up all before the Fire : Th' amazed Flames stand gather'd on a heap ; And from the precipice's brink retire, Afraid to venture on so large a leap. Tims fighting Fires awhile themselves consume, But straight, like Turks, forc'd on to win or die, They first lay tender bridges of their fume. And o'er the breach in unctuous vapours fly. Part stay for passage, till a gust of wind Ships o'er their forces in a shining sheet : Part creeping under ground their journey blind, And climbing from below their fellows meet. Thus to some desert plain, or old wood side, Dire night-hags come from far to dance their round; And o'er broad rivers on their fiends they ride, Or sweep in clouds above the blasted ground. No help avails : for, hydra-like, the Fire Lifts up his hundred heads to aim his way : And scarce the wealthy can one half retire, Before he rushes in to share the prey. The rich grow suppliant, and the poor grow proud: Those offer mighty gain, and these ask more : So void of pity is th' ignoble crowd, When others' ruin may increase their store. As those who live by shores with joy behold Some wealthy vessel split or stranded nigh, And from the rocks leap down for shipwreck'd gold, And seek the tempests which the others fly : So these but wait the owners' last despair, And what's permitted to the flames invade ; Ev'n from their jaws they hungry morsels tear, I And on their backs the spoils of Vulcan lade. The days were all in this lost labour spent ; And when the weary king gave place to night, His beams he to his royal brother lent, And so shone still in his reflective light. Night came, but without darkness or repose, A dismal picture of the general doom ; Where souls distracted when the trumpet blows, And half unready with their bodies come. Those who have homes, when home they do repair, To a last lodging call their wandering friends : Their short uneasy sleeps are broke with care, To look how near their own destruction tends. Those who have none, sit round where once it was, And with full eyes each wonted room require : Haunting the yet warm ashes of the place, As murder' d men walk where they did expire. Some stir up coals and watch the vestal fire, Others in vain from sight of ruin run ; And while through burning labyrinths they retire, With loathing eyes repeat what they would shun. The most in fields like herded beasts lie down, To dews obnoxious on the grassy floor ; And while their babes in sleep their sorrows drown, Sad parents watch the remnants of their store. While by the motion of the flames they guess What streets are burning now, and what are near, An infant waking to the paps would press, And meets, instead of milk, a falling tear. No thought can ease them but their sovereign's care, Whose praise th' afflicted as their comfort sing : Ev'n those, whom want might drive to just despair, Think life a blessing under such a king. Meantime he sadly suffers in their grief, Outweeps an hermit, and outprays a saint : All the long night he studies their relief, How they may be supply'd and he may want. " O God," said he, " thou patron of my days, Guide of my youth in exile and distress ! Who me unfriended brought'st, by wondrous ways, . The kingdom of my fathers to possess : " Be thou my judge, with what unweary'd care I since have labour'd for my people's good ; To bind the bruises of a civil war, And stop the issues of their wasting blood. ANNUS MIRABILIS. Tliou who hast taught me to forgive the ill, And recompense as friends the good misled ; f mercy be a precept of thy will, Return that mercy on thy servant's head. Or if my heedless youth has stepp'd astray, Too soon forgetful of thy gracious hand ; >n me alone thy just displeasure lay, But take thy judgments from this mourning land. We all have sinn'd, and thou hast laid us low, As humble earth from whence at first we came : ike flying shades before the clouds we show, And shrink like parchment in consuming name. O let it be enough what thou hast done ; [street, When spotted Deaths ran arm'd through every r ith poison'd darts which not the good couM shun, The speedy could outfly, or valiant meet. The living few, and frequent funerals then, Proclaim'd thy wrath on this forsaken place nd now those few who are return' d again, Thy searching judgments to their dwellings trace. O pass not, Lord, an absolute decree, Or bind thy sentence unconditional : it in thy sentence our remorse foresee, And in tliat foresight this thy doom recall. Thy threatenings, Lord, as thine thou may'st re- voke: But if immutable and fix'd they stand, ntinue still thyself to give the stroke, And let not foreign foes oppress thy land. ' ' M ' Eternal heard, and from the heavenly quire Chose out the cherub with the flaming sword ; id bade him swiftly drive th' approaching Fire From where our naval magazines were stor'd. e blessed minister his wings display'd, And like a shooting star he cleft the night : cliarg'd the flames, and those that disobey'd He lash'd to duty with his sword of light. 2 fugitive Flames, chastis'd, went forth to prey )n pious structures, by our fathers rear'd which to Heaven they did affect the way, ire faith in churchmen without works was heard. j wanting orphans saw, with watery eyes, Their founders' charity in dust laid low ; i sent to God their ever-answer'd cries, "or he protects the poor, who made them so. could thy fabric, Paul's, defend thee long, Though thou wert sacred to thy Maker's praise : >ugh made immortal by a poet's song ; ind poets' songs the Theban walls could raise. daring flames peep'd in, and saw from far "he awful beauties of the sacred quire : , since it was profan'd by civil war, feav'n thought it fit to have it purg'd by fire. v down the narrow streets it swiftly came, .nd widely opening did on both sides prey : ; benefit we sadly owe the flame, f only ruin must enlarge our way. And now four days the Sun had seen our woes ; Four nights the Moon beheld th' incessant fire : It seem'd as if the stars more sickly rose, And further from the feverish North retire. In tli' empyrean Heaven, the bless'd abode. The thrones and the dominions prostrate lie, Not daring to behold their angry God ; And an hush'd silence damps the tuneful sky. At length tli' Almighty cast a pitying eye, And mercy softly touch'd his melting breast : He saw the town's one-half in rubbish lie, And eager flames drive on to storm the rest. An hollow crystal pyramid he takes, In firmamental waters dipt above : Of it a broad extinguisher he makes, And hoods the flames that to their quarry drove. The vanquish' d Fires withdraw from every place, Or full with feeding sink into a sleep : Each household genius shows again his face, And from the hearths the little Lares creep. Our king this more than natural change beholds ; With sober joy his heart and eyes abound To the All-good his lifted hands he folds, And thanks him low on his redeemed ground. As when sharp frosts had long constrain'd the earth, A kindly thaw unlocks it with cold rain ; And first die tender blade peeps up to birth [grain : And straight the green fields laugh with promis'd By such degrees the spreading gladness grew In every heart which fear had froze before : The standing streets with so much joy they view, That with less grief the perish'd they deplore. The father of the people opcn'd wide His stores, and all the poor with plenty fed : Thus God's anointed God's own place supply'd, And fill'd the empty with his daily bread. This royal bounty brought its own reward, And in their minds so deep did print the sense ; That if their ruins sadly they regard, 'Tis but with fear the sight might drive him thence. But so may he live long, that town to sway, Which by his auspice they will nobler make, As he will hatch their ashes by his stay. And not their humble ruins now forsake. They have not lost their loyalty by fire ; Nor is their courage or their wealth so low, That from his wars they poorly would retire, Or beg the pity of a vanquish'd foe. Not with more constancy the Jews, of old By Cyrus from rewarded exile sent, Their royal city did in dust behold, Or with more vigour to rebuild it went. The utmost malice of the stars is past, [town, And two dire comets, which have scourg'd the In their own plague and fire have breath'd the last, Or dimly in their sinking sockets frown. 160 DRYDEN. Now frequent trines the happier lights among, And high raised Jove from his dark prison freed, Those weights took off that on his planet hung, Will gloriously the new-laid work succeed. Methinks already from this chymic flame, I see a city of more precious mold : Rich as the town which gives the Indies name, With silver pav'd, and all divine with gold. Already labouring with a mighty fate, She shakes the rubbish from her mounting brow, And seems to have renew'd her charter's date, Which Heaven will to the death of Time allow. More great than human now, and more august, Now deify'd she from her fires does rise : Her widening streets on new foundations trust, And opening into larger parts she flies. Before she like some shepherdess did show, Who sat to bathe her by a river's side ; Not answering to her fame, but rude and low, Nor taught the beauteous arts of modern pride. Now like a maiden queen she will behold, From her high turrets, hourly suitors come ; The East with incense, and the West with gold, Will stand like suppliants to receive her doom. The silver Thames, her own domestic flood, Shall bear her vessels like a sweeping train j And often wind, as of his mistress proud, With longing eyes to meet her face again. The wealthy Tagus, and the wealthier Rhine, The glory of their towns no more shall boast, And Seyne, that would with Belgian rivers join, Shall find her lustre stain'd, and traffic lost. The venturous merchant, who design'd more far, And touches on our hospitable shore, Charm'd with the splendour of this northern star, Shall here unlade him and depart no more. Our powerful navy shall no longer meet, The wealth of France or Holland to invade ; The beauty of this town without a fleet, From all the world shall vindicate her trade. And while this fam'd emporium we prepare, The British ocean shall such triumphs boast, That those, who now disdain our trade to share, Shall rob like pirates on our wealthy coast. Already we have conquer'd half the war, And the less dangerous part is left behind: Our trouble now is but to make them dare, And not so great to vanquish as to find. Thus to the eastern wealth through storms we go, But now, the Cape once doubled, fear no more ; A constant trade-wind will securely blow, And gently lay us on the spicy shore. ALEXANDER'S FEAST: OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC. An Ode in Honour of St. Cecilia's Day. ' TWAS at the royal feast for Persia won By Philip's warlike son : Aloft in awful state The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne : His valiant peers were plac'd around ; Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound (So should desert in arms be crown'd) The lovely Thais, by his side, Sate, like a blooming eastern bride, In flower of youth and beauty's pride. Happy, happy, happy pair ! None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserves the fair. Happy, happy, happy pair ! None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserves the fair. Timotheus, plac'd on high Amid the tuneful quire, With flying fingers touch'd the lyre : The trembling notes ascend the sky, And heavenly joys inspire. The song began from Jove, Who left his blissful seats above, (Such is the power of mighty love. ) A dragon's fiery form bely'd the god Sublime on radiant spires he rode, When he to fair Olympia press'd : And while he sought her snowy breast : Then, round her slender waist he curl'd, [worl< And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of tl The listening crowd admire the lofty sound, A present deity, they shout around : A present deity the vaulted roofs rebound : With ravish'd ears The monarch hears, Assumes the god, Affects to nod, And seems to shake the spheres. CHORUS. With ravish'd ears The monarch hears, Assumes the god, Affects to nod, And seems to shake the spheres. The praise of Bacchus then, the sweet musician sunf Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young : The jolly god in triumph comes ; Sound the trumpets ; beat the drums ; Flush'd with a purple grace He shows his honest face ; Now give the hautboys breath : he comes, he come Bacchus, ever fair and young, Drinking joys did first ordain ; Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure : Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure ; Sweet is nleasure after uain. ALEXANDER'S FEAST. 161 Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure ; Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure ; Sweet is pleasure after pain. Sooth' d with the sound, the king grew vain ; Fought all his battles o'er again ; [the slain. .nd thrice lie routed all his foes ; and thrice he slew The master saw the madness rise ; His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ; And, while he Heaven and Earth defy'd, Chang'd his hand, and check'd his pride. He chose a mournful Muse Soft pity to infuse : He sung Darius great and good, By too severe a fate, Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, Fallen from his high estate, And weltring in his blood ; Deserted, at his utmost need, By those his former bounty fed : On the bare earth expos'd he lies, With not a friend to close his eyes. With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, Revolving in his alter'd soul The various turns of Cliance below ; And, now and then, a sigh he stole ; And tears began to flow. Revolving in his alter'd soul The various turns of Chance below ; And, now and then, a sigh he stole ; And tears began to flow. Tlie mighty master smil'd, to see That love was in the next degree : 'Twas but a kindred sound to move, For pity melts the mind to love. Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures. War, he sung, is toil and trouble ; Honour but an empty bubble ; Never ending, still beginning, Fighting still, and still destroying ; If the world be worth thy winning, Think, O tliink, it worth enjoying: Lovely Thais sits beside thee, Take the good the gods provide thee. ic many rend the skies with loud applause ; Love was crown'd, but Music won the cause. The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Gaz'd on the fair Who caus'd his care, And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again : length, with love and wine at once oppress'd, te vanquish' d victor sunk upon her breast. CHORUS. The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Gaz'd on the fair Who caus'd liis care, And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again : length, with love and wine at once oppress'd, e vanquish' d victor sunk upon her breast Now strike the golden lyre again : A louder yet, and yet a louder strain. Break his bands of sleep asunder, And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. Hark, hark, the horrid sound Has rais'd up his head ! As awak'd from the dead, And amaz'd, he stares around. Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries, See the Furies arise j See the snakes that they rear, How they hiss in their hair, And the sparkles that flash from their eyes ! Behold a* ghastly band, Each a torch in his hand ! Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, And unbury'd remain Inglorious on the plain : Give the vengeance due To the valiant crew. Behold how they toss their torches on high, How they point to the Persian abodes, And glittering temples of their hostile gods. The princes applaud, with a furious joy ; And the king seiz'd a flambeau with zeal to destroy ; Thais led the way, To light him to his prey, And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy. And the king seiz'd a flambeau with zeal to destroy ; Thais led the way, To light him to his prey, And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy. Thus, long ago, Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow, While organs yet were mute ; Timotheus, to his breathing flute, And sounding lyre, Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame ; The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds, With Nature's mother- wit, and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown ; He rais'd a mortal to the skies ; She drew an angel down, GRAND CHORUS. At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame ; The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds, With Nature's mother- wit, and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown ; He rais'd a mortal to the skies ; She drew an angel down. M BRYDEN. BOOK I. PALAMON AND ARCITE: OR THE KNIGHT'S TALE. BOOK I. IN days of old, there liv'd, of mighty fame, A valiant prince, and Theseus was his name : A chief, who more in feats of arms excell'd, The rising nor the setting Sun beheld. Of Athens he was lord ; much land he won, And added foreign countries to his crown. In Scythia with the warrior queen he strove, Whom first by force he conquered, then by love ; He brought in triumph back the beauteous dame, "With whom her sister, fair Emilia, came. With honour to his home let Theseus ride, "With Love to friend, and Fortune for his guide, And his victorious army at his side. I pass their warlike pomp, their proud array, Their shouts, their songs, their welcome on the way . But, were it not too long, I would recite The feats of Amazons, the fatal fight Betwixt the hardy queen and hero knight ; The town besieg'd, and how much blood it cost The female army and th' Athenian host ; The spousals of Hippolita, the queen ; What tilts and turneys at the feast were seen ; The storm at their return, the ladies' fear : But these, and other things, I must forbear. The field is spacious 1 design to sow, With oxen far unfit to draw the plow : The remnant of my tale is of a length To tire your patience, and to waste my strength ; And trivial accidents shall be forborn, That others may have time to take their turn ; As was at first enjoin'd us by mine host, That he whose tale is best, and pleases most, Should win his supper at our common cost. And therefore where I left, I will pursue This ancient story, whether false or true, In hope it may be mended with a new. The prince I mentioned, full of high renown, In this array drew near th' Athenian town ; When, in his pomp and utmost of his pride, Marching, he chanc'd to cast his eye aside, .And saw a choir of mourning dames, who lay By two and two across the common way : At liis approach they rais'd a rueful cry, And beat their breasts, and held their hands on high, Creeping and crying, till they sei/'d at last His courser's bridle, and his feet embrac'd. " Tell me," said Theseus, " what and whence you are, And why this funeral pageant you prepare ? Is tliis the welcome of my worthy deeds, To meet my triumph in ill-omen 'd weeds ? Or envy you my praise, and would destroy With grief my pleasures, and pollute my joy ? Or are you injur'd, and demand relief ? Name your request, and I will ease your grief." The most in years of all the mourning train Began (but swooned first away for pain) ; Then scarce recover'd spoke : " Nor envy we Thy great renown, nor grudge thy victory ; 'Tis thine, O king, th' afflicted to redress, And Fame has fill'd the world with thy success : We, wretched women, sue for that alone, Which of thv uoodness is refus'd to none : Let fall some drops of pity on our grief, If what we beg be just, and we deserve relief: For none of us, who now thy grace implore, But held the rank of sovereign queen before ; Till, thanks to giddy Chance, which never bears. That mortal bliss should last for length of years, She cast us headlong from our high estate, And here iii hope of thy return we wait : And long have waited in the temple nigh, Built to the gracious goddess Clemency. But reverence thou the power whose name it bears, Relieve th' oppress'd, and wipe the widow's tears. I, wretched I, have other fortune seen, The wife of Capaneus, and once a queen : At Thebes he fell, curst be the fatal day ! And all the rest thou seest in this array To make their moan, their lords in battle lost Before that town, besieg'd by our confederate host : But Creon, old and impious, who commands The Theban city, and usurps the lands, Denies the rites of funeral fires to those Whose breathless bodies yet he calls his foes. Unburn'd, unbury'd, on a heap they lie ; Such is their fate, and such his tyranny ; No friend has leave to bear away the dead, But with their lifeless limbs his hounds are fed." At this she shriek'd aloud ; the mournful train Echo'd her grief, and, groveling on the plain, With groans, and hands upheld, to move his mine. Besought his pity to their helpless kind ! The prince was touch'd, his tears began to flow, And, as his tender heart would break in two, He sigh'd, and could not but their fate deplore, So wretched now, so fortunate before. Then lightly from his lofty steed he new, And raising, one by one, the suppliant crew. To comfort each, full solemnly he swore, That by the faith which knights to knighthood bore, And whate'er else to chivalry belongs, He would not cease, till he reveng'd their wrongs : That Greece should see perform'd what he declar'd ; And cruel Creon find his just reward. He said no more, but, shunning all delay, Rode on ; nor enter 1 d Athens on his way : But left his sister and his queen behind, And wav'd his royal banner in the wind : Where in an argent field the god of war Was drawn triumphant on his iron car ; Red was his sword, and shield, and whole attire, And all the godhead seem'd to glow with fire ; Ev'n the ground glitter'd where the standard Hew, And the green grass was dy'd to sanguine hue. High on his pointed lance his pennon bore His Cretan fight, the conquer'd Minotaur : The soldiers shout around with generous rage, And in that victory their own presage. He prais'd their ardour ; inly pleas'd to see His host the flower of Grecian cliivalry. All day he march'd ; and all th' ensuing night ; And saw the city with returning light. The process of the war I need not tell, How Theseus conquer'd, and how Creon fell : Or after, how by storm the walls were won, Or how the victor sack'd and burn'd the town : How to the ladies he restor'd again The bodies of their lords in battle slain : And with what ancient rites they were interr'd ; All these to fitter times shall be deferr'd : I spare the widows' tears, their woeful cries, And howlina- at their husbands' obseuuies : )OK I. PALAMON AND ARCITE. 163 3\f Theseus at these funerals did assist, id with what gifts the mourning dames dismiss'd. Thus when the victor chief had Creon slain, id conquer'd Thebes, he pitch'd upon the plain s mighty camp, and, when the day return'd, .e country wasted, and the hamlets burn'd, id left the pillagers, to rapine bred, ithout control to strip and spoil the dead. There, in a heap of slain, among the rest r o youthful knights they found beneath a load oppress'd slaughter'd foes, whom first to death they sent, e trophies of their strength, a bloody monument, tli fair, and both of royal blood they seem'd, lorn kinsmen to the crown the heralds deem'd ; at day in equal arms they fought for fame ; eir swords, their shields, their surco.its, were the same. ise by each other laid, they press'd the ground, iir manly bosoms pierc'd with many a griesly wound ; r well alive, nor wholly dead they were, t some faint signs of feeble life appear : : wandering breath was on the wing to part, ak was the pulse, and hardly heav'd the heart. :se two were sisters' sons ; and Arcite one, ch fam'd in fields, with valiant Palamon. m these their costly arms the spoilers rent, \ softly both convey'd to Theseus' tent : om, known of Creon's line, and cur'd with care, to his city sent as prisoners of the war, jeless of ransom, and condemn'd to lie lurance, doom'd a lingering death to die. > done, he march'd away with warlike sound, I to liis Athens turn'd with laurels crown'd, 3re happy long he liv'd, much lov'd, and more renown 'd. in a tower, and never to be loos'd, woeful captive kinsmen are enclos'd. hus year by year they pass, and day by day, once, 'twas on the morn of cheerful May, young Emilia, fairer to be seen n the fair lily on the flowery green, e fresh than May herself in blossoms new, with the rosy colour strove her hue, :'d, as her custom was, before the day, lo th' observance due to sprightly May : sprightly May commands our youth to keep vigils of her night, and breaks their sluggard sleep; i gentle breast with kindly warmth she moves ; ires new flames, revives extinguish'd loves, lis remembrance Emily, ere day, ;e, and dress'd herself in rich array ; h as the month, and as the morning fair ; vra her shoulders fell her length of hair : \x bband did the braided tresses bind, rest was loose, and wanton'd in the wind. /. )ra had but newly chas'd the night, / purpled o'er the sky with blushing light, (^ n to the garden walk she took her way, port and trip along in cool of day, offer maiden vows in honour of the May. : every turn, she made a little stand, thrust among the thorns her lily hand .raw the rose ; and every rose she drew, shook the stalk, and brush'd away the dew : i party-colour'd flowers of white and red vove, to make a garland for her head : done, she sung and carol'd out so clear, Ev'n wondering Philomel forgot to sing, And learn'd from her to welcome-in the Spring. The tower, of which before was mention made, Within whose keep the captive knights were laid, Built of a large extent, and strong withal, Was one partition of the palace wall : The garden was enclos'd within the square, Where young Emilia took the morning air. It liappen'd Palamon, the prisoner knight, Restless for woe, arose before the light, And with his gaoler's leave desir'd to breathe An air more wholesome than the damps beneath : This granted, to the tower he took his way, Cheer'd with the promise of a glorious day : Then cast a languishing regard around, And saw with hateful eyes the temples crown'd With golden spires, and all the hostile ground. He sigh'd, and turn'd his eyes, because he knew 'Twas but a larger gaol he had in view : Then look'd below, and, from the castle's height, Beheld a nearer and more pleasing sight, The garden, which before he had not seen, In Spring's new livery clad of white and green, Fresh flowers in wide parterres, and shady walks between. This view'd, but not enjoy'd, with arms across He stood, reflecting on his country's loss ; Himself an object of the public scorn, And often wish'd he never had been born. At last, for so his destiny requir'd, With walking giddy, and with thinking tir'd, He through a little window cast his sight, Though thick of bars, that gave a scanty light : But ev'n that glimmering serv'd him to descry Th' inevitable charms of Emily. Scarce had he seen, but, seiz'd with sudden smart, Stung to the quick, he felt it at his heart ; Struck blind with over-powering light he stood, Then started back amaz'd, and cry'd aloud. Young Arcite heard ; and up he ran with haste, To help his friend, and in his arms embrac'd ; And ask'd him why he look'd so deadly wan, And whence and how his change of cheer began, Or who had done th' offence ? " But if," said he, " Your grief alone is hard captivity, For love of Heaven, with patience undergo A cureless ill, since Fate will have it so : So stood our horoscope in chains to lie, And Saturn in the dungeon of the sky, Or other baleful aspect, rul'd our birth, When all the friendly stars were under Earth : Whate'er betides, by Destiny 'tis done ; And better bear like men, than vainly seek to shun." " Nor of my bonds," said Palamon again, " Nor of unhappy planets I complain ; But when my mortal anguish caus'd me cry, That moment I was hurt through either eye ; Pierc'd with a random shaft, I faint away, And perish with insensible decay : A glance of some new goddess gave the wound, Whom, like Acteon, unaware I found. Look how she walks along yon shady space, Not Juno moves with more majestic grace ; And all the Cyprian queen is in her face. If thou art Venus (for thy charms confess That face was form'd in Heaven, nor art thou less ; Disguis'd in habit, undisguis'd in shape) O help us captives from our chains t' escape ; But if our doom be past, in bonds to lie For life, and in a loathsome dungeon die, 164 DRYDEN. BOOK Then be thy wrath appeas'd with our disgrace, And show compassion to the Theban race, Oppress'd by tyrant power !" While yet he spoke, Arcite on Emily had fix'd his look ; The fatal dart a ready passage found, And deep within his heart infix'd the wound : So that if Palamon were wounded sore, Arcite was hurt as much as he, or more : Then from his inmost soul he sigh'd, and said, " The beauty I behold has struck me dead : Unknowingly she strikes, and kills by chance ; Poison is in her eyes, and death in every glance. O, I must ask, nor ask alone, but move Her mind to mercy, or must die for love." Thus Arcite : and thus Palamon replies, (Eager his tone, and ardent were his eyes.) " Speak'st thou in earnest, or in jesting vein ?" " Jesting," said Arcite, " suits but ill with pain." ' It suits far worse" (said Palamon again, And bent his brows) " with men who honour weigh, Their faith to break, their friendship to betray ; But worst with thee, of noble lineage born, My kinsman, and in arms my brother sworn. Have we not plighted each our holy oath, That one should be the common good of both ; One soul should both inspire, and neither prove His fellow's hindrance in pursuit of love ? To this before the Gods we gave our hands, And nothing but our death can break the bands. This binds thee, then, to further iny design : As I am bound by vow to further thine : Nor canst, nor dar'st thou, traitor, on the plain Appeach my honour, or thine own maintain, Since thou art of my council, and the friend Whose faith I trust, and on whose care depend : And would'st thou court my lady's love, which I Much rather than release would choose to die ? But thou, false Arcite, never shalt obtain Thy bad pretence ; I told thee first my pain : For first my love began ere thine was born ; Thou, as my council, and my brother sworn, Art bound t* assist my eldership of right, Or justly to be deem'd a perjur'd knight." Thus Palamon : but Arcite, with disdain, In haughty language, thus reply'd again : " Forsworn thyself: the traitor's odious name I first return, and then disprove thy claim. If love be passion, and that passion nurst With strong desires, I lov'd the lady first. Canst thou pretend desire, whom zeal inflam'd To worship, and a power celestial nam'd ? Thine was devotion to the blest above, I saw the woman, and desir'd her love ; First own'd my passion, and to thee commend Th' important secret, as my chosen friend. Suppose (which yet I grant not) thy desire A moment slder than my rival fire ; Can chance of seeing first thy title prove ? And know'st thou not, no law is made for love ; Law is to things, which to free choice relate ; Love is not in our choice, but in our fate j Laws are but positive ; love's power, we see, Is Nature's sanction, and her first decree. Each day we break the bond of human laws For love, and vindicate the common cause. Laws for defence of civil rights are plac'd, Love throws the fences down, and makes a general waste : Maids, widows, wives, without distinction fall ; The sweeping deluge, love, comes on, and covers If then the laws of friendship I transgress, I keep the greater, while I break the less ; And both are mad alike, since neither can posses! Both hopeless to be ransom' d, never more To see the Sun, but as he passes o'er." Like ^Esop's hounds contending for the bone, Each pleaded right, and would be lord alone : The fruitless fight continued all the day : A cur came by, and snatch'd the prize away. " As courtiers therefore justle for a grant, [wai And, when they break their friendship, plead tin So, thou, if Fortune will thy suit advance, Love on, nor envy me my equal chance : For. I must love, and am resolv'd to try My fate, or failing in th' adventure, die." Great was their strife, which hourly was renew' Till each with mortal hate his rival view'd : Now friends no more, nor walking hand in hand But when they met, they made a surly stand ; And glar'd like angry lions as they pass'd, And wish'd that every look might be their last. It chanc'd at length, Pirithous came t' attend This worthy Theseus, his familiar friend ; Their love in early infancy began, And rose as childhood ripen'd into man : Companions of the war, and lov'd so well, That when one dy'd, as ancient stones tell, His fellow to redeem him went to Hell. But to pursue my tale : to welcome home His warlike brother is Pirithous come : Arcite of Thebes was known in arms long since, And honour'd by this young Thessalian prince. Theseus, to gratify his friend and guest, Who made our Arcite's freedom his request, Ilestor'd to liberty the captive knight, But on these hard conditions I recite : That if hereafter Arcite should be found Within the compass of Athenian ground, By day or night, or on whate'er pretence, His head should pay the forfeit of th' offence. To this Pirithous for his friend agreed, And on his promise was the prisoner freed. Unpleas'd and pensive hence he takes his way, At his own peril ; for his life must pay. Who now but Arcite mourns his bitter fate, Finds his dear purchase, and repents too late ? " What have I gain'd," he said, " in prison p.nt If I but change my bonds for banishment ? And banish'd from her sight, I suffer more In freedom, than I felt in bonds before : Forc'd from her presence, and condemn 'd to live : Unwelcome freedom, and unthank'd reprieve : Heaven is not, but where Emily abides ; And where she's absent, all is Hell besides. Next to my day of birth, was that accurst, Which bound my friendship to Pirithous first : Had I not known that prince, I still had been In bondage, and had still Emilia seen : For, though I never can her grace deserve, 'Tis recompense enough to see and serve. Palamon, my kinsman and my friend, How much more happy fates thy love attend ! Thine is th' adventure ; thine the victory : Well has thy fortune turn'd the dice for thee : Thou on that angel's face may'st feed thine eyes, In prison, no ; but blissful Paradise ! Thou daily seest that sun of beauty shine, And lov'st at least in love's extremest line. 1 mourn in absence, love's eternal night ; And who can tell but since thou hast her sight. ~>OK I. PALAMON AND ARCITE. 165 iitunc (a various power) may cease to frown, ul by some ways unknown thy wishes crown ? it I, the most forlorn of human kind, >r help can hope, nor remedy can find ; it, doom'd to drag my loathsome life in care, >r my reward, must end it in despair. re, water, air, and earth, and force of fates tat governs all, and Heaven that all creates, >r art, nor Nature's hand can ease my grief; rthing but death, the wretch's last relief : en farewell youth, and all the joys that dwell, ith youth and life, and life itself farewell. But why, alas ! do mortal men in vain ' Fortune, Fate, or Providence complain ? >d gives us what he knows our wants require, id better things than those which we desire : me pray for riches ; riches they obtain ; .t, watch'd by robbers, for their wealth are slain ; Tie pray from prison to be freed ; and come, ien guilty of their vows, to fall at home ; irder'd by those they trusted with their life, favour'd servant, or a bosom wife. ch dear-bought blessings happen every day, cause we know not for what things to pray. ;e drunken sots about the street we roam : :11 knows the sot he has a certain home ; t knows not how to find th' uncertain place, d blunders on, and staggers every pace. us all seek happiness; but few can find, far the greater part of men are blind. is is my case, who thought our utmost good is in one word of freedom understood : 2 fatal blessing came : from prison free, arve abroad, and lose the sight of Emily." Thus Arcite : but if Arcite thus deplore > sufferings, Palamon yet suffers more. when he knew his rival freed and gone, swells with wrath ; he makes outrageous moan : frets, he fumes, he stares, he stamps the ground ; hollow tower with clamours rings around : th briny tears he bath'd his fetter'd feet, d dropt all o'er with agony of sweat. lias!" he cry'd, " I wretch in prison pine, > happy rival, while the fruit is thine : )u liv'st at large, thou draw'st thy native air, as'd with thy freedom, proud of my despair : )u mayst, since thou hast youth and courage join'd, weet behaviour, and a solid mind, ernble ours, and all the Theban race, vindicate on Athens thy disgrace ; cl after, by some treaty made, possess r Emily, the pledge of lasting peace, thine shall be the beauteous prize, while I st languish in despair, in prison die. is .ill th' advantage of the strife is thine, f portion double joys, and double sorrows mine." "lie rage of jealousy then fir'd his soul, \ 1 his face kindled like a burning coal : \ v cold Despair, succeeding in her stead, \ livid paleness turns the glowing red. blood, scarce liquid, creeps within his veins, e water which the freezing wind constrains, n thus he said : " Eternal deities, rule the world with absolute decrees, 1 write whatever time shall bring to pass, h pens of adamant, on plates of brass ; :it, is the race of human kind your care, ond what all his fellow-creatures are? He with the rest is liable to pain, And like the sheep, his brother-beast, is slain. Cold, hunger, prisons, ills without a cure, All these he must, and, guiltless, oft endure ; Or does your justice, power, or prescience fail, When the good suffer, and the bad prevail ? What worse to wretched Virtue could befall, If Fate or giddy Fortune govern'd all ? Nay, worse than other beasts is our estate ; Them, to pursue their pleasures, you create ; We, bound by harder laws, must curb our will, And your commands, not our desires, fulfil ; Then when the creature is unjustly slain, Yet after death at least he feels no pain ; But man, in life surcharg'd with woe before, Not freed when dead, is doom'd to suffer more. A serpent shoots his sting at unaware ; An ambush'd thief forelays a traveller : The man lies murder'd, while the thief and snake, One gains the thickets, and one thrids the brake. This let divines decide ; but well I know, Just or unjust, I have my share of woe, Through Saturn seated in a luckless place, And Juno's wrath, that persecutes my race ; Or Mars and Venus, in a quartile, move My pangs of jealousy for Arcite's love." Let Palamon, oppress'd in bondage, mourn, While to his exil'd rival we return. By this, the Sun, declining from his height, The day had shorten'd, to prolong the night : The lengthened night gave length of misery Both to the captive lover and the free ; For Palamon in endless prison mourns, And Arcite forfeits life if he returns : The banish 'd never hopes his love to see, Nor hopes the captive lord his liberty : 'Tis hard to say who suffers greater pains : One sees his love, but cannot break his chains : One free, and all his motions uncontrol'd, Beholds whate'er he would, but what he would be- hold. Judge as you please, for I will haste to tell What fortune to the banish'd knight befell. When Arcite was to Thebes return'd again, The loss of her he lov'd renew'd his pain ; What could be worse, than never more to see His life, his soul, his charming Emily ? He rav'd with all the madness of despair, He roar'd, he beat his breast, he tore his hair. Dry sorrow in his stupid eyes appears, For, wanting nourishment, he wanted tears : His eye-balls in their hollow sockets sink : Bereft of sleep, he loaths his meat and drink : He withers at his heart, and looks as wan As the pale spectre of a murder'd man : That pale turns yellow, and his face receives The faded hue of sapless boxen leaves : In solitary groves he makes his moan, Walks early out, and ever is alone : Nor, mix'd in mirth, in youthful pleasures shares, But sighs when songs and instruments he hears : His spirits are so low, his voice is drown'd, He hears as from afar, or in a swoon, Like the deaf murmurs of a distant sound : Uncomb'd his locks, and squalid his attire, Unlike the trim of Love and gay Desire : But full of museful mopings, which presage The loss of reason, and conclude in rage. This when he had endur'd a year and more, Now wholly changed from what he was before, M 3 166 DRYDEN. BOOK II It happen' d once, that, slumbering as he lay, He dream'd (his dream began at break of day) That Hermes o'er his head in air appear'd, And with soft words his drooping spirits cheer'd: His hat, adorn'd with wings, disclos'd the god, And in his hand he bore the sleep-compelling rod : Such as he seem'd, when, at his sire's command, On Argus' head he laid the snaky wand. " Arise," he said, " to conquering Athens go, There Fate appoints an end to all thy woe." The fright awaken'd Arcite with a start, Against his bosom bounced his heaving heart ; But soon he said, with scarce recover'd breath, " And thither will I go, to meet my death, Sure to be slain, but death is my desire, Since in Emilia's sight I shall expire." By chance he spy'd a mirror while he spoke, And gazing there beheld his alter'd look ; Wondering, he saw his features and his hue So much were chang'd, that scarce himself he knew. A sudden thought then starting in his mind, " Since I in Arcite cannot Arcite find, The world may search in vain with all their eyes, But never penetrate through this disguise. Thanks to the change which grief and sickness give, In low estate I may securely live, And see unknown my mistress day by day." He said ; and cloth'd himself in coarse array : A labouring hind in show, then forth he went, And to th' Athenian towers his journey bent: One squire attended in the same disguise, Made conscious of his master's enterprise. Arriv'd at Athens, soon he came to court, Unknown, unquestion'd, in that thick resort : Proffering for hire his service at the gate, To drudge, draw water, and to run or wait. So fair befell him, that for little gain He serv'd at first Emilia's chamberlain : And, watchful all advantages to spy, Was still at hand, and in his master's eye : And as his bones were big, and sinews strong, Refus'd no toil, that could to slaves belong; But from deep wells with engines water drew, And us'd his noble hands the wood to hew. He pass'd a year at least attending thus On Emily, and call'd Philostratus. But never was there man of his degree So much esteem'd, so well belov'd as he. So gentle of condition was he known, That through the court his courtesy was blown : All think him worthy of a greater place, And recommend him to the royal grace, That, exercis'd within a higher sphere, His virtues more conspicuous might appear. Thus by the general voice was Arcite prais'd, And by great Theseus to high favour rais'd : Among his menial servants first enroll'd, And largely enter tain 'd with sums of gold : Besides what secretly from Thebes was sent, Of his oww income, and his annual rent : This well employ'd, he purchas'd friends and fame, But cautiously conceal'd from whence it came. Thus for three years he liv'd with large increase, In arms of honour, and esteem in peace ; To Theseus' person he was ever near ; And Theseus for his virtues held him dear. BOOK II. WHILE Arcite lives in bliss, the story turns Where hopeless Palamon in prison mourns. For six long years immur'd, the captiv'd knight Had dragg'd his chains, and scarcely seen the light: Lost liberty, and love, at once he bore : His prison pain'd him much, his passion more : Nor dares he hope his fetters to remove, Nor ever wishes to be free from love. But when the sixth revolving year was run, And May within the Twins receiv'd the Sun, Were it by Chance, or forceful Destiny, Which forms in causes first whate'er shall be, Assisted by a friend, one moonless night, This Palamon from prison took his flight : A pleasant beverage he prepar'd before Of wine and honey, mix'd with added store Of opium ; to his keeper this he brought, Who swallow'd unaware the sleepy draught, And snor'd secure till morn, his senses bound In slumber, and in long oblivion drown'd. Short was the night, and careful Palamon Sought the next covert ere the rising Sun. A thick spread forest near the city lay, To this with lengthen'd strides he took liis way (For far he could not fly, and fear'd the day). Safe from pursuit, he meant to shun the light, Till the brown shadows of the friendly night To Thebes might favour his intended flight. When to his country come, his next design Was all the Theban race in arms to join, And war on Theseus, till he lost his life Or won the beauteous Emily to wife. Thus while his thoughts the lingering day beguile, To gentle Arcite let us turn our style ; Who little dreamt how nigh he was to care, Till treacherous Fortune caught him in the snare. The morning-lark, the messenger of Day, Saluted in her song the morning gray ; And soon the Sun arose with beams so bright, That all th' horizon laugh'd to see the joyous sight He with his tepid rays the rose renews, And licks the drooping leaves, and dries the dews When Arcite left his bed, resolv'd to pay Observance to the month of merry May : Forth on his fiery steed betimes he rode, That scarcely prints the turf on which he trod : At ease he seem'd, and, prancing o'er the plair Turn'd only to the grove his horse's reins, The grove I nam'd before ; and, lighted there, A woodbine garland sought to crown his hair ; Then turn'd his face against the rising day, And rais'd his voice to welcome in the May. [wear " For thee, sweet month, the groves green liverie If not the first, the fairest of the year : For thee the Graces lead the dancing Hours, And Nature's ready pencil paints the flowers : When thy short reign is past, the feverish Sun The sultry tropic fears, and moves more slowly on. So may thy tender blossoms fear no blight, Nor goats with venom' d teeth thy tendrils bite, As thou shalt guide my wandering feet to find The fragrant greens I seek, my brows to bind." His vows address'd, within the grove he stray'd, Till Fate, or Fortune, near the place convey'd His steps where secret Palamon was laid. Full little thought of him the gentle knight, Who, flying death, had there conceal'd his flight, , BOOK II. PALAMON AND ARCITE. 167 In brakes and brambles hid, and shunning mortal sight : And less he knew him for his hated foe, But fear'd him as a man he did not know. But as it has been said of ancient years, That fields are full of eyes, and woods have cars ; For this the wise are ever on their guard, For, unforeseen, they say, is unprepar'd. Uncautious Arcite thought himself alone, And less than all suspected Palamon, [grove, Who, listening, heard him, while he search'd the And loudly sung liis roundelay of love : But on the sudden stopp'd, and silent stood, As lovers often muse, and change their mood ; Now high as Heaven, and then as low as Hell ; Now up, now down, as buckets in a well : For Venus, like her day, will change her cheer, And seldom shall we see a Friday clear. Thus Arcite, having sung, with alter'd hue Sunk on the ground, and from his bosom drew A desperate sigh, accusing Heaven and Fate, And angry Juno's unrelenting hate. j ' Curs'd be the day when first I did appear ; Let it be blotted from the calendar, Lest it pollute the month, and poison all the year. Still will the jealous queen pursue our race ? Jadmus is dead, the Theban city was : ifet ceases not her hate : for all who come From Cadmus are involv'd in Cadmus' doom. [ suffer for my blood : unjust decree ! That punishes another's crime on me. in mean estate I serve my mortal foe, The man who caus'd my country's overthrow. This is not all ; for Juno, to my shame, [las forc'd me to forsake my former name; \rcite I was, Philostratus I am. Hiat side of Heaven is all my enemy : Mars ruin'd Thebes : his mother ruin'd me. Df all the royal race remains but one Besides myself, the unhappy Palamon, Whom Theseus holds in bonds, and will not free ; Without a crime, except his kin to me. Vet these, and all the rest, I could endure ; But love's a malady without a cure ; Fierce Love has pierc'd me with his fiery dart, He fires within, and hisses at my heart, if our eyes, fair Emily, my fate pursue ; [ suffer for the rest, I die for you. Of such a goddess no time leaves record, Who burn'd the temple where she was ador'd : And let it burn, I never will complain, Pleas'd with my sufferings, if you knew my pain." At this a sickly qualm his heart assail 'd, His ears ring inward, and his senses fail'd. No word miss'd Palamon of all he spoke, But soon to deadly pale he chang'd his look : He trembled every limb, and felt a smart, As if cold steel had glided through his heart : No longer staid, but starting from his place, Discover'd stood, and show'd his hostile face : ' False traitor Arcite, traitor to thy blood, Bound by thy sacred oath to seek my good, Now art thou found foresworn, for Emily ; \nd dar'st attempt her love, for whom I die. So hast thou cheated Theseus with a wile, Against thy vow, returning to beguile Under a borrow'd name : as false to me, So false thou art to him who set thee free : But rest assur'd, that either thou shalt die, Or else renounce thy claim in Emily : For, though unarm'd I am, and (freed by chance) Am here without my sword, or pointed lance : Hope not, base man, unquestion'd hence to go, For I am Palamon, thy mortal foe." Arcite, who heard his tale, and knew the man, His sword unsheath'd, and fiercely thus began : " Now by the gods who govern Heaven above, Wert thou not weak with hunger, mad with love, That word had been thy last, or in this grove This hand should force thee to renounce thy love. The surety which I gave thee, I defy : Fool, not to know, that love endures no tie, And Jove but laughs at lovers' perjury. Know I will serve the fair in thy despite ; But since thou art my kinsman, and a knight, Here, have my faith, to-morrow in this grove Our arms shall plead the titles of our love : And Heaven so help my right, as I alone [known ; Will come, and keep the cause and quarrel both un- With arms of proof both for myself and thee ; Choose thou the best, and leave the worst to me. And, that a better ease thou may'st abide, Bedding and clothes I will this night provide, And needful sustenance, that thou mayst be A conquest better won, and worthy me." His promise Palamon accepts ; but pray'd, To keep it better than the first he made. Tims fair they parted till the morrow's dawn, For each had laid his plighted faith to pawn. O Love ! thou sternly dost thy power maintain, And wilt not bear a rival in thy reign, Tyrants and thou all fellowship disdain. This was in Arcite prov'd, and Palamon ; Both in despair, yet each would love alone. Arcite return'd, and, as in honour ty'd, His foe with bedding and with food supply'd : Then, ere the day, two suits of armour sought, Which borne before him on his steed he brought : Both were of shining steel, and wrought so pure, As might the strokes of two such arms endure. Now, at the time, and in th' appointed place, The challenger and challeng'd, face to face, Approach; each other from afar they knew, And from afar their hatred chang'd their hue. So stands the Thracian herdsman with his spear, Full in the gap, and hopes the hunted bear, And hears him rustling in the wood, and sees His course at distance by the bending trees, And thinks, here comes my mortal enemy, And either he must fall in fight, or I : This while he thinks, he lifts aloft his dart ; A generous chillness seizes every part ; The veins pour back the blood, and fortify the heart. Thus pale they meet ; their eyes with fury burn ; None greets ; for none the greeting will return: But in dumb surliness, each arm'd with care His foe profest, as brother of the war : Then both, no moment lost, at once advance Against each other, arm'd with sword and lance : They lash, they foin, they pass, they strive to bore Their corslets, and the thinnest parts explore. Thus two long hours in equal arms they stood, And wounded, wound ; till both were bath'd in blood; And not a foot of ground had either got, As if the world depended on the spot. Fell Arcite like an angry tiger far'd, And like a lion Palamon appear'd : Or as two boars whom love to battle draws, With rising bristles, and with frothy jaws, M4 168 DllYDEN. BOOK II. Their adverse breasts with tusks oblique they wound, With grunts and groans the forest rings around : So fought the knights, and fighting must abide, Till Fate an umpire sends their difference to decide. The power that ministers to God's decrees, And executes on Earth what Heaven foresees, Call'd Providence, or Chance, or Fatal Sway, Comes with resistless force, and finds or makes her way. Nor kings, nor nations, nor united power, One moment can retard th' appointed hour. And some one day, some wondrous chance appears, Which happen'd not in centuries of years : For sure, whate'er we mortals hate, or love, Or hope, or fear, depends on powers above ; They move our appetites to good or ill, And by foresight necessitate the will. In Theseus this appears ; whose youthful joy Was beasts of chase in forests to destroy. This gentle knight, inspir'd by jolly May, Forsook his easy couch at early day, And to the wood and wilds pursued his way. Beside him rode Hippolita the queen, And Emily .attir'd in lively green, With horns, and hounds, aad all the tuneful cry, To hunt a royal hart within the covert nigh : And as he follow'd Mars before, so now He serves the goddess of the silver bow. The way that Theseus took was to the wood Where the two knights in cruel battle stood : The lawn on which they fought, th' appointed place In which th' uncoupled hounds began the chase. Thither forth-right he rode to rouse the prey, That, shaded by the fern, in harbour lay ; And, thence dislodg'd, was wont to leave the wood, For open fields, and cross the crystal flood. Approach'd, and looking underneath the Sun, He saw proud Arcite, and fierce Palamon, In mortal battle doubling blow on blow, Like lightning flam'd their faulchions to and fro, And shot a dreadful gleam : so strong they strook, There seem'd less force requir'd to fell an oak : He gaz'd with wonder on their equal might, Look'd eager on, but knew not either knight : Resolv'd to learn, he spurr'd his fiery steed With goring rowels to provoke his speed. The minute ended that began the race, So soon he was betwixt them on the place ; And with his sword unsheath'd, on pain of life Commands both combatants to cease their strife : Then with imperious tone pursues his threat : " What are you ? why in arms together met ? How dares your pride presume against my laws, As in a listed field to fight your cause ? Unasked the royal grant; no marshal by, As knightly rites require ; nor judge to try?*' Then Palamon, with scarce recover'd breath, Thus hasty spoke : f { We both deserve the death, And both would die ; for look the world around, A pair so wretched is not to be found : Our life's a load ; eneumber'd with the charge, We long to set th' imprison'd soul at large. Now, as thou art a sovereign judge, decree The rightful doom of death to him and me, Let neither find thy grace, for grace is cruelty. Me first, O kill me first ; and cure my woe ; Then sheath the sword of Justice on my foe : Or kill him first ; for when his name is heard, He foremost will receive his due reward. Arcite of Thebes is he ; thy mortal foe : On whom thy grace did liberty bestow ; But first contracted, that if ever found By day or night upon th' Athenian ground, His head should pay the forfeit; see return'd The perjur'd knight, his oath and honour scorn'd. For this is he, who, with a borrow'd name And proffer'd service, to thy palace came, Now call'd Philostratus : retain'd by thee, A traitor trusted, and in high degree, Aspiring to the bed of beauteous Emily. My part remains ; from Thebes my birth I own, And call myself th' unhappy Palamon. Think me not like that man ; since no disgrace Can force me to renounce the honour of my race. Know me for what I am : I broke my chain, Nor promis'd I thy prisoner to remain : The love of liberty with life is given, And life itself th' inferior gift of Heaven. Thus without crime I fled ; but farther know, I with this Arcite am thy mortal foe : Then give me death, since I thy life pursue ; For safeguard of thyself, death is my due. More wouldst thou know ? I love bright Emily, And for her sake and in her sight will die : But kill my rival too ; for he no less Deserves ; and I thy righteous doom will bless, Assur'd that what I lose, he never shall possess." To this reply'd the stern Athenian prince, And sourly smil'd : " In owning your offence, You judge yourself; and I but keep record In place of law, while you pronounce the word. Take your desert, the death you have decreed ; I seal your doom, and ratify the deed : By Mars, the patron of my arms, you die." He said ; dumb Sorrow seiz'd the standers-by. The queen above the rest, by nature good, (The pattern form'd of perfect womanhood) For tender pity wept : when she began, Through the bright quire th' infectious virtue ran. All dropt their tears, ev'n the contended maid, And thus among themselves they softly said : " What eyes can suffer this unworthy sight ! Two youths of royal blood, renown'd in fight, The mastership of Heaven in face and mind, And lovers, far beyond their faithless kind : See their wide streaming wounds ; they neither came For pride of empire, nor desire of fame : Kings for kingdoms, madmen for applause ; But love for love alone; that crowns the lover's cause." This thought, which ever bribes the beauteous kind, Such pity wrought in every lady's mind, They left their steeds, and prostrate on the place, From the fierce king, implor'd th' offenders grace. He paus'd awhile, stood silent in his mood ( For yet his rage was boiling in his blood) ; But soon his tender mind th' impression felt, ( As softest metals are not slow to melt And pity soonest runs in softest minds) : Then reasons with himself; and first he finds His passion cast a mist before his sense. And either made, or magnify'd th' offence. " Offence! of what? to whom? who judg'd the cause ? The prisoner freed himself by Nature's laws : Born free, he sought his right : the man he freed Was perjur'd, but his love excus'd the deed." Thus pondering, he look'd under with his eyes, And saw the women's tears, and heard their cries, Which mov'd compassion more ; he shook his head, And softly sighing to himself he said : )OK II. PALAMON AND ARCITE. 169 ' Curse on th' unpardoning prince, whom tears can draw no remorse ; who rules by lions' law ; d deaf to prayers, by no submission bow'd, nds all alike ; the penitent, and proud." this, with look serene, he rais'd his head ; ason resum'd her place, and Passion fled : en thus aloud he spoke : " The power of Love, Earth, and seas, and air, and Heaven above, lies, unresisted, with an awful nod ; daily miracles declar'd a god : blinds the wise, gives eye-sight to the blind ; d moulds and stamps anew the lover's mind, hold that Arcite, and this Palamon, jed from my fetters, and in safety gone, lat hinder'd either in their native soil ease to reap the harvest of their toil ; t Love, their lord, did otherwise ordain, d brought them in their own despite again, suffer death deserv'd ; for well they know, s in my power, and I then- deadly foe ; e proverb holds, that to be wise and love, hardly granted to the gods above. how the madmen bleed ; behold the gains th which their master, Love, rewards their pains ; seven long years, on duty every day, their obedience, and their monarch's pay : , as in duty bound, they serve him on ; d, ask the fools, they think it wisely done ; r ease, nor wealth, nor life itself regard, 'tis their maxim, love is love's reward. s is not all ; the fair for whom they strove r knew before, nor could suspect their love, r thought, when she beheld the fight from far, r beauty was th' occasion of the war. t sure a general doom on man is past, d all are fools and lovers, first or last : s both by others and myself I know, I have serv'd their sovereign long ago ; have been caught within the winding train female snares, and felt the lover's pain, d learh'd how far the god can human hearts constrain. this remembrance, and the prayers of those 10 for tli' offending warriors interpose, ive their forfeit lives ; on this accord, do me homage as their sovereign lord ; d as my vassals, to their utmost might, ;ist my person, and assert my right." s freely sworn, the knights their grace obtain'd. MI thus the king his secret thoughts explain'd : f wealth, or honour, or a royal race, each, or all, may win a lady's grace, in either of you knights may well deserve )rincess born ; and such is she you serve : C Emily is sister to the crown, d but too well to both her beauty known : t should you combat till you both were dead, o lovers cannot share a single bed : therefore both are equal in degree, 3 lot of both be left to Destiny. w hear th' award, and happy may it prove her, and him who best deserves her love ! part from hence in peace, and free as air, rch the wide world, and where you please repair ; t on the day when this returning Sun the same point through every sign has run, en each of you his hundred knights shall bring, royal lists, to fight before the king ; d then the knight, whom Fate or happy Chance ill with his friends to victory advance, And grace his arms so far in equal fight, From out the bars to force his opposite, Or kill, or make him recreant on the plain, The prize of valour and of love shall gain ; The vanquish'd party shall their claim release, And the long jars conclude in lasting peace. The charge be mine t' adorn the chosen ground, The theatre of war, for champions -so renown'd ; And take the patron's place of either knight, With eyes impartial to behold the fight ; And Heaven of me so judge, as I shall judge aright. If both are satisfied with this accord, Swear by the laws of knighthood on my sword." Who now but Palamon exults with joy ? And ravish'd Arcite seems to touch the sky : The whole assembled troop was pleas'd as well, Extol th' award, and on their knees they fell To bless the gracious king. The knights, with leave Departing from the place, his last commands receive ; On Emily with equal ardour look, And from her eyes their inspiration took : From thence to Thebes' old walls pursue their way, Each to provide bis champions for the day. It might be deem'd, on our historian's part, Or too much negligence or want of art, If he forgot the vast magnificence Of royal Theseus, and his large expense. He first enclos'd for lists a level ground, The whole circumference a mile around ; The form was circular ; and all without A trench was sunk, to moat the place about. Within, an amphitheatre appear'd, Rais'd in degrees, to sixty paces rear'd ; That when a man was plac'd in one degree, Height was allow'd for him above to see. Eastward was built a gate of marble white ; The like adorn'd the western opposite. A nobler object than this fabric was, Rome never saw : nor of so vast a space : For, rich with spoils of many a conquer'd land, All arts and artists Theseus could command : Who sold for hire, or wrought for better fame, The master-painters, and the carvers, came. So rose within the compass of the year An age's work, a glorious theatre. Then o'er its eastern gate was rais'd, above, A temple, sacred to the queen of love ; An altar stood below ; on either hand A priest with roses crown'd, who held a myrtle wand. The dome of Mars was on the gate oppos'd, And on the north a turret was enclos'd, Within the wall, of alabaster white, And crimson coral, for the queen of night, Who takes in sylvan sports her chaste delight. Within these oratories might you see Rich carvings, portraitures, and imagery : Where every figure to the life express'd The godhead's power to whom it was address'd. In Venus' temple on the sides were seen The broken slumbers of enamour'd men, Prayers, that even spoke, and pity seem'd to call, And issuing sighs, that smok'd along the wall, Complaints, and hot desires, the lover's Hell, And scalding tears, that wore a channel where they fell : And all around were nuptial bonds, the ties, Of love's assurance, and a train of lies. That, made in lust, conclude in perjuries. Beauty, and Youth, and Wealth, and Luxury, And sprightly Hope, and short-endurin<< Joy ; 170 DRYDEN. BOOK II And sorceries to raise th' infernal powers, And sigils, fram'd in planetary hours : Expense, and Afterthought, and idle Care, And Doubts of motley hue, and dark Despair ; Suspicions, and fantastical Surmise, And Jealousy sufFus'd, with jaundice in her eyes, Discolouring all she view'd, in tawny dress'd, Down-look'd, and with a cuckoo on her fist. Oppos'd to her, on t' other side advance The costly feast, the carol, and the dance, Minstrels, and music, poetry, and play, And balls by nights, and tournaments by day. All these were painted on the wall, and more : With acts and monuments of times before : And others added by prophetic doom, And lovers yet unborn, and loves to come : For there th' Idalian mount, and Citheron, The court of Venus was in colours drawn : Before the palace-gate, in careless dress, And loose array, sat portress Idleness : There, by the fount, Narcissus pin'd alone : There Samson was ; with wiser Solomon, And all the mighty names by love undone. Medea's charms were there, Circean feasts, With bowls that turn'd enamour'd youth to beasts. Here might be seen, that beauty, wealth, and wit, And prowess, to the power of love submit : The spreading snare for all mankind is laid ; And lovers all betray, and are betray'd. The goddess' self some noble hand had wrought ; Smiling she seem'd, and full of pleasing thought : From ocean as she first began to rise, And smooth'd the ruffled seas and clear'd the skies, She trod the brine, all bare below the breast, And the green waves but ill conceal'd the rest ; A lute she held ; and on her head was seen A wreath of roses red, and myrtles green ; Her turtles fann'd the buxom air above ; And, by his mother, stood an infant Love, With wings unfledg'd ; his eyes were banded o'er; His hands a bow, his back a quiver bore, Supply'd with arrows bright and keen, a deadly store. But in the dome of mighty Mars the red With different figures all the sides were spread ; This temple, less in form, with equal grace, Was imitative of the first in Thrace : For that cold region was the lov'd abode, And sovereign mansion of the warrior god. The landscape was a forest wide and bare ; Where neither beast, nor human kind repair ; The fowl, that scent afar, the borders fly, And shun the bitter blast, and wheel about the sky. A cake of scurf lies baking on the ground, And prickly stubs, instead of trees, are found ; Or woods with knots and knares deform'd and old ; Headless the most, and hideous to behold : A rattling tempest through the branches went, That stripp'd them bare, and one sole way they bent. Heaven froze above, severe, the clouds congeal, And through the crystal vault appear'd the standing hail. Such was the face without ; a mountain stood Threatening from high, and overlook'd the wood : Beneath the lowering brow, and on a bent, The temple stood of Mars armipotent : The frame of burnish'd steel, that cast a glare From far, and seem'd to thaw the freezing air. A straight long entry to the temple led, Blind with high walls, and Ilorrour over head : Thence issued such a blast, and hollow roar, As threaten'd from the hinge to heave the door ; In through that door, a northern light there shone 'Twas all it had, for windows there were none ; The gate was adamant, eternal frame ! Which, hew'd by Mars himself, from Indian quarrie came, The labour of a god ; and all along Tough iron plates were clench'd to make it strong A tun about was every pillar there ; A polish'd mirror shone not half so clear. There saw I how the secret felon wrought, And Treason labouring in the traitor's thought : And midwife Time the ripen'd plot to murde: brought. There the red Anger dar'd the pallid Fear ; Next stood Hypocrisy, with holy leer, Soft smiling, and demurely looking down, But hid the dagger underneath the gown : Th' assassinating wife, the household fiend, And, far the blackest, there, the traitor-friend. On t' other side there stood Destruction bare, Unpunished Rapine, and a waste of war. Contest, with sharpen'd knives, in cloisters drawn, And all with blood bespread the holy lawn. Loud menaces were heard, and foul Disgrace, And bawling Infamy, in language base : [place Till sense was lost in sound, and Silence fled thi The slayer of himself yet saw I there, The gore congeal'd was clotted in his hair : With eyes half clos'd, and gaping mouth he lay, And grim, as when he breath'd his sudden sou away. In midst of all the dome, Misfortune sate, And gloomy Discontent, and fell Debate, And Madness laughing in his ireful mood ; And arm'd Complaint on Theft; and cries of Blood There was the murder'd corpse, in covert laid, And violent Death in thousand shapes display'd ; The city to the soldiers' rage resign'd ; Successless wars, and Poverty behind ; Ships burnt in fight, or forc'd on rocky shores, And the rash hunter strangled by the boars : The new-born babe by nurses overlaid ; And the cook caught within the raging fire he made All ills of Mars's nature, flame and steel ; The gasping charioteer, beneath the wheel Of his own car ; the ruin'd house, that falls And intercepts her lord betwixt the walls : The whole division, that to Mars pei tains, All trades of death, that deal in steel for gains, Were there : the butcher, armourer, and smith, Who forges sharpen'd faulchions, or the scythe. The scarlet Conquest on a tower was plac'd, With shouts, and soldiers' acclamations grac'd: A pointed sword hung threatening o'er his head, Sustain'd but by a slender twine of thread. There saw I Mars's ides, the Capitol, The seer in vain foretelling Caesar's fall ; The last triumvirs, and the wars they move, And Antony, who lost the world for love. These, and a thousand more, the fane adorn ; Their fates were painted ere the men were born, All copied from the Heavens, and ruling force Of the red star, in his revolving course. The form of Mars high on a chariot stood, All sheath'd in arms, and gruffly look'd the god : Two geomantic figures were display'd Above his head, a warrior and a maid; One when direct, and one when retrograde. ( OOK III. PALAMON AND ARCITE. 171 Tir'd with defonnities of death, I haste 'o the third temple of Diana chaste. i. sylvan scene with various greens was drawn, hades on the sides, and on the midst a lawn : "he silver Cynthia, with her nymphs around, 'ursued the flying deer, the woods with horns re- sound : 'alisto there stood manifest of shame, ..nd, turn'd a bear, the northern star became : [er son was next, and, by peculiar grace, i the cold circle held the second place : he stag Acteoh in the stream had spy'd he naked huntress, and, for seeing, dy'd : [is hounds, unknowing of his change, pursue he chase, and their mistaken master slew. 'eneian Daphne too was there to see, .polio's love before, and now his tree : h' adjoining fane th' assembled Greeks express'd, nd hunting of the Caledonian beast, 'enides' valour, and his envy'd prize ; he fatal power of Atalanta's eyes ; liana's vengeance on the viclor shown, he murdress mother, and consuming son ; he Volscian queen extended on the plain -. he treason punish'd, and the traitor slain, he rest were various huntings, well design'd, nd savage beasts destroy'd, of every kind, he graceful goddess was array'd in green ; .bout her feet were little beagles seen, [queen, hat watch'd with upward eyes the motions of their fer legs were buskin'd, and the left before ; i act to shoot, a silver bow she bore, .nd at her back a painted quiver wore, he trod a wexing moon, that soon would wane, .nd drinking borrow'd light, be fill'd again j /ith downcast eyes, as seeming to survey he dark dominions, her alternate sway, iefore her stood a woman in her throes, .nd call'd Lucina's aid, her burden to disclose. .11 these the painter drew with such command, hat Nature snatch'd the pencil from his hand, .sham'd and angry that his art could feign .nd mend the tortures of a mother's pain, heseus beheld the fanes of every god, .nd thought his mighty cost was well bestow'd. o princes now their poets should regard ; !ut few can write, and fewer can reward. The theatre thus rais'd, the lists enclos'd, i.nd all with vast magnificence dispos'd, Ve leave the monarch pleas'd, and haste to bring he knights to combat ; and their arms to sing. BOOK III. 'HE day approach'd when Fortune should decide h' important enterprize, and give the bride ; 'or now, the rivals round the world had sought, .nd each his rival, well appointed, brought, he nations, far and near, contend in choice, ind send the flower of war by public voice ; hat after, or before, were never known uch chiefs, as each an army seem'd alone : Reside the champions, all of high degree, Vho knighthood lov'd, and deeds of chivalry, .hrong'd to the lists, and envy'd to behold The names of others, not their own, enroll'd. >Tor seems it strange ; for every noble knight Vho loves the fair, and is endu'd with might, n such a quarrel would be proud to fight. There breathes not scarce a man on British ground (An isle for love and arms of old renown'd) But would have sold his life to purchase fame, To Palamon or Arcite sent his name : And had the land selected of the best, [rest. Half had come hence, and let the world provide the A hundred knights with Palamon there came, Approv'd in fight, and men of mighty name ; Their arms were several, as their nations were, But furnish'd all alike with sword and spear. Some wore coat armour, imitating scale ; And next their skins were stubborn shirts of mail. Some wore a breast-plate and a light juppon, Their horses cloth'd with rich caparison : Some for defence would leathern bucklers use, Of folded hides ; and others shields of pruce. One hung a pole-axe at his saddle-bow, And one a heavy mace to shun the foe. One for his legs and knees provided well, With jambeaux arm'd, and double plates of steel. This on his helmet wore a lady's glove, And that a sleeve embroider'd by his love. With Palamon, above the rest in place, Lycurgus came, the surly king of Thrace ; Black was his beard, and manly was his face ; The balls of his broad eyes roll'd in his head, And glar'd betwixt a yellow and a red : He look'd a lion with a gloomy stare, And o'er his eyebrows hung his matted hair : Big-bon'd, and large of limbs, with sinews strong, Broad-shoulder'd, and his arms were round and long. Four milkwliite bulls (the Thracian use of old) Were yok'd to draw his car of burnish'd gold. Upright he stood, and bore aloft his shield, Conspicuous from afar, and overlook'd the field. His surcoat was a bear-skin on his back ; His hair hung long behind, and glossy raven black. His ample forehead bore a coronet, With sparkling diamonds and with rubies set : Ten brace, and more, of greyhounds, snowy fair, And tall as stags, ran loose, and cours'd around his chair, A match for pards in flight, in grapling for the bear: With golden muzzles all their mouths were bound, And collars of the same their necks surround. Thus through the fields Lycurgus took his way : His hundred knights attend in pomp and proud array. To match this monarch, with strong Arcite came Emetrius, king of Inde, a mighty name, On a bay courser, goodly to behold, [gold. The trappings of his horse adorn'd with barbarous Not Mars bestrode a steed with greater grace ; His surcoat o'er his arms was cloth of Thrace, Adorn'd with pearls, all orient, round, and great ; His saddle was of gold, with emeralds set. His shoulders large, a mantle did attire, With rubies thick, and sparkling as the fire : His amber-colour'd locks in ringlets run, With graceful negligence, and shone against the Sun, His nose was aquiline, his eyes were blue, Ruddy his lips, and fresh and fair his hue : Some sprinkled freckles on his face were seen, Whose dusk set off the whiteness of the skin : His awful presence did the crowd surprise, Nor durst the rash spectator meet his eyes, Eyes that confess'd him born for kingly sway, So fierce, they flash'd intolerable day. 172 DRYDEN. BOOK II His age in Nature's youthful prime appear'd, And just began to bloom his yellow beard. Whene'er he spoke, his voice was heard around, Loud as a trumpet, with a silver sound : A laurel wreath 'd his temples, fresh and green ; And myrtle sprigs, the marks of love, were mix'd between. Upon his fist he bore, for his delight, An eagle well reclaim'd, and lily white. His hundred knights attend liim to the war. All arm'd for battle ; save their heads were bare. Words and devices blaz'd on every shield, And pleasing was the terrour of the field. For kings, and dukes, and barons you might see, Like sparkling stars, though different in degree, All for th' increase of arms, and love of chivalry. Before the king tame leopards led the way, And troops of lions innocently play. So Bacchus through the conquer'd Indies rode, And beasts in gambols frisk'd before the honest god. In this array the war of either side Through Athens pass'd with military pride. At prime, they enter'd on the Sunday morn ; Rich tapestry spread the streets, and flowers the posts adorn. The town was all a jubilee of feasts ; So Theseus wilPd, in honour of his guests ; Himself with open arms the king embrac'd. Then all the rest in their degrees were grac'd. No harbinger was needful for a night, For every house was proud to lodge a knight. I pass the royal treat, nor must relate The gifts bcstow'd, nor how the champions sate : Who first, or last, or how the knights addrcss'd Their vows, or who was fairest at the feast; [prise ; Whose voice, whose graceful dance, did most sur- Soft amorous sighs, and silent love of eyes. The rivals call my Muse another way, To sing their vigils for th' ensuing day. 'Twas ebbing darkness, past the noon of night, And Phospher, on the confines of the light, Promis'd the Sun, ere day began to spring ; The tuneful lark already stretch 'd her wing, [sing : And, flickering on her nest, made short essays to When wakeful Palamon, preventing day, Took, to the royal lists, his early way, To Venus at her fane, in her own house, to pray. There, falling on his knees before her shrine, He thus implor'd with prayers her power divine. " Creator Venus, genial power of love, The bliss of men below, and gods above ! Beneath the sliding Sun thou runn'st thy race, Dost fairest shine, and best become thy place. For thee the winds their eastern blasts forbear, Thy month reveals the spring, and opens all the year. Thee, Goddess, thee the storms of winter fly, Earth smiles with flowers renewing, laughs the sky, And birds to lays of love their tuneful notes apply. For thee the lion loaths the taste of blood, And roaring hunts his female through the wood : For thee the bulls rebellow through the groves, And tempt the stream, and snufF their absent loves. 'Tis thine, whate'er is pleasant, good, or fair : All nature is thy province, life thy care : Thou mad'st the world, and dost the world repair. Thou gladder of the mount of Cytheron, Increase of Jove, companion of the Sun ; If e'er Adonis touch'd thy tender heart, Have pity, goddess, for thou know'st the smart. Alas ! I have not words to tell my grief; TY v*nt. mv snrrnw \vrmlr.l 'IP nmrTi r>li<>f Light sufferings give us leisure to complain ; We groan, but cannot speak, in greater pain. O goddess, tell thyself what I would say, Thou know'st it, and I feel too much to pray. So grant my suit, as I enforce my might. In love to be thy champion, and thy knight ; A servant to thy sex, a slave to thee, A foe profest to barren chastity. Nor ask I fame or honour of the field, Nor choose I more to vanquish than to yield : In my divine Emilia make me blest, Let Fate, or partial Chance, dispose the rest : Find thou the manner, and the means prepare ; Possession, more than conquest, is my care. Mars is the warrior's god ~; in him it lies, On whom he favours to confer the prize ; With smiling aspect you serenely move In your fifth orb, and rule the realm of love. The Fates but only spin the coarser clue, The finest of the wool is left for you. Spare me but one small portion of the twine, And let the sisters cut below your line : The rest among the rubbish may they sweep, Or add it to the yarn of some old miser's heap. But, if you this ambitious prayer deny, (A wish, I grant, beyond mortality) Then let me sink beneath proud Arcite's arms, And, I once dead, let him possess her charms." Thus ended he then, with observance due, The sacred incense on her altar threw : The curling smoke mounts heavy from the fires ; At length it catches flame, and in a blaze expires , At once the gracious goddess gave the sign, Her statue shook, and trembled all the shrine: Pleas'd Palamon the tardy omen took : For, since the flames pursu'd the trailing smoke, He knew his boon was granted ; but the day [lav To distance driven, and joy adjourn'd with longde Now Morn with rosy light had streak'd the sky, Up rose the Sun, and up rose Emily ; Address'd her early steps to Cynthia's fane, In state attended by her maiden train, Who bore the vests that holy rites require, Incense, and odorous gums, and cover'd fire. The plenteous horns with pleasant mead they crown Nor wanted aught besides in honour of the Moon. Now while the temple smok'd with hallow'd steam They wash the virgin in a living stream : The secret ceremonies I conceal, Uncouth, perhaps unlawful, to reveal : But such they were as pagan use requir'd, Perform'd by women when the men retir'd, Whose eyes prophane their chaste mysterious rites Might turn to scandal, or obscene delights. Well-meaners think no harm ; but for the rest. Tilings sacred they pervert, and silence is the best. Her shining hair, uncomb'd, was loosely spread, A crown of mastless oak adorn'd her head : When to the shrine approach'd, the spotless maid Had kindling fires on either altar laid, (The rites were such as were observ'd of old, By Statius in his Theban story told,) Then kneeling with her hands across her breast, Thus lowly she preferr'd her chaste request. " O goddess, haunter of the woodland green, To whom both Heaven and Earth and seas are seen ; Queen of the nether skies, where half the year Thy silver beams descend, and light the gloomv sphere ; Goddess of maids, and conscious of our hearts, Sn Icoon mp from t)n> vpnrrpanro of thv darts. OK III. PALAMON AND ARCITE. 173 licli Niobc's devoted issue felt, [were dealt, icn hissing through the skies the feather'd deaths I desire to live a virgin life, r know the name of mother or of wife, y votress from my tender years I am, id love, like thee, the woods and sylvan game. ce death, thou know'st, I loath the nuptial state, id man, the tyrant of our sex, I hate, lowly servant, but a lofty mate : here love is duty on the female side, [pride, i theirs mere sensual gust, and sought with surly >w by thy triple shape, as thou art seen Heaven, Earth, Hell, and every where a queen, ant this my first desire : let discord cease, id make betwixt the rivals lasting peace : icnch their hot fire, or far from me remove ie flame, and turn it on some other love : , if my frowning stars have so decreed, tat one must be rejected, one succeed, ike him my lord, within whose faithful breast fix'd my image, and who loves me best, tt, oh ! ev'n that avert ! I choose it not, it take it as the least unhappy lot. maid I am, and of thy virgin train ; i, let me still that spotless name retain ! equent the forests, thy chaste will obey, id only make the beasts of chase my prey !" The flames ascend on either altar clear, hile thus the blameless maid address'd her prayer, hen lo ! the burning fire that shone so bright, aw off, all sudden, with extinguished light, id left one altar dark, a little space, hich turn'd self-kindled, and renew'd the blaze ; ie other victor-flame a moment stood, ten fell, and lifeless left th' extinguish'd wood ; >r ever lost, th' irrevocable light rsook the blackening coals, and sunk to night : ; either end it whistled as it flew, id as the brands were green, so dropp'd the dew, fected as it fell with sweat of sanguine hue. The maid from that ill omen turn'd her eyes, id with loud shrieks and clamours rent the skies, >r knew what signified the boding sign, [divine. it found the powers displeas'd, and fear'd the wrath Then shook the sacred shrine, and sudden light .rung through the vaulted roof, and made the temple bright. The power, behold ! the power in glory shone, y her bent bow and her keen arrows known ; ie rest, a huntress issuing from the wood, eclining on her cornel spear she stood, len gracious thus began : " Dismiss thy fear, nd Heaven's unchang'd decrees attentive hear : ore powerful gods have torn thee from my side, nwilling to resign, and doom'd a bride : tie two contending knights are weigh 'd above ; ne Mars protects, and one the queen of love : ut which the man, is in the Thunderer's breast ; his he pronounc'd, 'tis he who loves thee best, he fire, that once extinct reviv'd again, oreshows the love allotted to remain : arewell !" she said, and vanish'd from the place ; he sheaf of arrows shook, and rattled in the case, ghast at this, the royal virgin stood "isclaim'd, and now no more a sister of the wood : .ut to the parting goddess thus she pray'd ; Propitious still be present to my aid, " Tor quite abandon your once favour 'd maid." 'hen sigliing she return'd ; but smil'd betwixt, Vitfi hopes and fears, and joys with sorrows mixt. The next returning planetary hour Of Mars, who shar'd the heptarchy of power. His steps bold Arcite to the temple bent, T adore with pagan rites the power omnipotent : Then prostrate, low before his altar lay, And rais'd his manly voice, and thus began to pray : " Strong god of arms, whose iron sceptre sways The freezing north, and Hyperborean seas, And Scythian colds, and Thracia's winter coast, Where stand thy steeds, and thou art honour'd most : There most, but every where thy power is known, The fortune of the fight is all thy own : Terrour is thine, and wild amazement, flung From out thy chariot, withers ev'n the strong : And disarray and shameful rout ensue, And force is added to the fainting crew. Acknowledg'd as thou art, accept my prayer, If aught I have achiev'd deserve thy care : If to my utmost power with sword and shield I dar'd the death, unknowing how to yield, And, falling in my rank, still kept the field : Then let my arms prevail, by thee sustain'd, That Emily by conquest may be gain'd. Have pity on my pains ; nor those unknown To Mars, which, when a lover, were his own. Venus, the public care of all above, Thy stubborn heart has softened into love : Now by her blandishments and powerful charms, When yielded she lay curling in thy anns, Ev'n by thy shame, if shame it may be call'd, Wlien Vulcan had thee in his net enthrall'd : envy'd ignominy, sweet disgrace, When every God that saw thee wish'd thy place ! By those dear pleasures, aid my arms in light, And make me conquer in my patron's right : For I am young, a novice in the trade, The fool of love, unpractis'd to persuade : And want the soothing arts that catch the fair, But, caught myself, lie struggling in the snare : And she I love, or laughs at all my pain, [duin. Or knows her worth too well ; and pays me witli dis- For sure I am, unless I win in arms, To stand excluded from Emilia's charms : Nor can my strength avail, unless by thee Endued by force I gain the victory ; Then for the fire which warm'd thy gen'rous heart, Pity thy subject's pains, and equal smart. So be the morrow's sweat and labour mine, The palm and honour of the conquest thine : Then shall the war, and stern debate, and strife Immortal, be the business of my life ; And in thy fane, the dusty spoils among, [hung, High on the burnish'd roof, my banner shall be Rank'd with my champion's bucklers, and below, With arms revers'd, th' achievements of my foe : And while these limbs the vital spirit feeds, While day to night, and night to day succeeds, Thy smoking altar shall be fat with food Of incense, and the grateful steam of blood ; Burnt-offerings morn and evening shall be thine ; And fires eternal in thy temple shine. The bush of yellow beard, this length of hair, Which from my birth inviolate I bear, Guiltless of steel, and from the razor free, Shall fall a plenteous crop, reserv'd for thee. So may my arms with victory be blest, 1 ask no more ; let Fate dispose the rest." The champion ceas'd ; there follow'd in the close A hollow groan : a murmuring wind arose ; The rings of iron, that on the doors were hung, Sent out a jarring sound, and harshly rung : 174 DRYDEN. BOOK III. The bolted gates flew open at the blast, The storm rushed in, and Arcite stood aghast : The flames were blown aside, yet shone they bright, Fann'd by the wind, and gave a ruffled light. Then from the ground a scent began to rise, Sweet-smelling as accepted sacrifice : This omen pleas'd, and as the flames aspire With odorous incense Areite heaps the fire : Nor wanted hymns to Mars, or heathen charms : At length the nodding statue clash'd his arms, And with a sullen sound and feeble cry, Half sunk, and halfpronounc'd, the word of victory. For this, with soul devout, he thank'd the god, And, of success secure, return'd to his abode. These vows thus granted, raised a strife above, Betwixt the god of war, and queen of love. She granting first, had right of time to plead : But he had granted too, nor would recede. Jove was for Venus ; but he fear'd his wife, And seem'd unwilling to decide the strife : Till Saturn from his leaden throne arose, And found a way the difference to compose : Though sparing of his grace, to mischief bent, He seldom does a good with good intent. Wayward, but wise ; by long experience taught To please both parties, for ill ends, he sought : For this advantage age from youth has won, As not to be outridden, though outrun. By Fortune he was now to Venus trin'd, And with stern Mars in Capricorn was join'd : Of him disposing in his own abode, He sooth'd the goddess while he gull'd the god : " Cease, daughter, to complain, and stint the strife ; Thy Palamon shall have his promis'd wife : And Mars, the lord of conquest, in the fight With palm and laurel shall adorn his knight. Wide is my course, nor turn I to my place Till length of time, and move with tardy* pace. Man feels me, when I press th' etherial plains, My hand is heavy, and the wound remains. Mine is the shipwreck, in a watery sign ; And in an earthy, the dark dungeon mine. Cold shivering agues, melancholy care, And bitter blasting winds, and poison'd air, Are mine, and wilful death, resulting from despair. The throtling quinsey 'tis my star appoints, And rheumatisms ascend to rack the joints : When churls rebel against their native prince, I arm their hands, and furnish the pretence ; And, housing in the lion's hateful sign, Bought senates and deserting troops are mine. Mine is the privy poisoning ; I command Unkindly seasons, and ungrateful land. By me kings' palaces are push'd to ground, And miners crush'd beneath their mines are found. 'Twas I slew Samson, when the pillar'd hall Fell down, and crush'd the many with the fall. My looking is the fire of pestilence, That sweeps at once the people and the prince. Now weep no more, but trust thy grandsire's art. Mars shall be pleas'd, and thou perform thy part. 'Tis ill, though different your complexions are, The family of Heaven for men should war." Th' expedient pleas'd, where neither lost his right; Mars had the day, and Venus had the night. The management they left to Chronos' care ; Now turn we to th' effect, and sing the war. In Athens all was pleasure, mirth, and play, All proper to the spring, and sprightly May, Which every soul inspir'd with such delight, 'Twas lesting all the dav, and love at nicrht. Heaven smiPd, and gladded was the heart of man ; And Venus had the world as when it first began. At length in sleep their bodies they compose, And dreamt the future fight, and early rose. Now scarce the dawning day began to spring, As at a signal given, the streets with clamours ring : At once the crowd arose ; confus'd and high Ev'n from the Heaven was heard a shouting cry ; For Mars was early up, and rous'd the sky'. The gods came downward to behold the wars, Sharpening their sights, and leaning from their stars. The neighing of the generous horse was heard, For battle by the busy groom prepar'd, Rustling of harness, rattling of the shield, Clattering of armour, furbish'd for the field. Crowds to the castle mounted up the street, Battering the pavement with their coursers' feet : The greedy sight might there devour the gold Of glittering arms, too dazzling to behold : And polish'd steel that cast the view aside, And crested morions, with their plumy pride. Knights, with a long retinue of their squires, In gaudy liveries march, and quaint attires. One lac'd the helm, another held the lance, A third the shining buckler did advance. The courser paw'd the ground with restless feet, And snorting foam'd, and champ'd the golden bit. The smiths and armourers on palfreys ride. Files in their hands, and hammers at their side, And nails for loosen'd spears, and thongs for shields provide. The yeomen guard the streets, in seemly bands, And clowns come crowding on, with cudgels in their hands. The trumpets, next the gate, in order plac'd, Attend the sign to sound the martial blast ; The palace-yard is fill'd with floating tides, And the last comers bear the fonner to the sides. The throng is in the midst ; the common crew Shut out, the hall admits the better few ; In knots they stand, or in a rank they walk, Serious in aspect, earnest in their talk ; Factious, and favouring this or t' other side, As their strong fancy or weak reason guide : Their wagers back their wishes ; numbers hold With the fair freckled king, and beard of gold : So vigorous are his eyes, such rays they cast, So prominent his eagle's beak is plac'd. But most their looks on the black monarch bend, His rising muscles and his brawn commend ; His double-biting axe and beaming spear, Each asking a gigantic force to rear. All spoke as partial favour mov'd the mind : And, safe themselves, at others' cost divin'd. Wak'd by the cries, th' Athenian chief arose, The knightly forms of combat to dispose ; And passing through th' obsequious guards, he sale Conspicuous on a throne, sublime in state ; There, for the two contending knights he sent : Arm'd cap-a-pee, with reverence low they bent ; He smil'd on both, and with superior look Alike their offer 'd adoration took. The people press on every side, to see Their awful prince, and hear his high decree. Then signing to their heralds with his hand, They gave his orders from their lofty stand. Silence is thrice enjoin'd ; then thus aloud The king at arms bespeaks the knights and listen- Jng crowd. " Our sovereign lord lias ponder'd in his mind The means to spare the blood of gentle kind ; III. PALAMON AND ARCITE. 175 of his grace, and inborn clemency, modifies his first severe decree, keener edge of battle to rebate, troops for honour fighting, not for hate, wills, not death should terminate their strife ; I wounds, if wounds ensue, be short of life : issues, ere the fight, his dread command, t slings afar, and poinards hand to hand, janish'd from the field ; that none shall dare h shortened sword to stab in closer war ; in fair combat fight with manly strength, push with biting point, but strike at length, tourney is allow'd but one career, he tough ash, with the sharp-grinded spear, knights unhors'd may rise from off the plain, I fight on foot their honour to regain ; , if at mischief taken, on the ground ilain, but prisoners to the pillar bound, iither banner plac'd ; nor (captives made) freed, or arm'd anew the fight invade, chief of either side, bereft of life, yielded to his foe, concludes the strife, [young s dooms the lord : now valiant knights and it each his fill with swords and maces long." 'he herald ends : the vaulted firmament h loud acclaims and vast applause is rent : eaven guard a prince so gracious and so good, ust, and yet so provident of blood !" i was the general cry. The trumpets sound, I warlike symphony is heard around, marching troops through Athens take their way, great earl-marshal orders their array, fair from high the passing pomp behold ; ain of flowers is from the windows roll'd. casements are with golden tissue spread, 1 horses' hoofs, for earth, on silken tapestry tread ; king goes midmost, and the rivals ride iqual rank, and close his either side. :t after these, there rode the royal wife, ,h Emily, the cause and the reward of strife. following cavalcade, by three and three, 'Ceed by titles marshall'd in degree, is through the southern gate they take their way, 1 at the list arriv'd ere prime of day. :re, parting from the king, the chiefs divide, d, wheeling east and west, before their many ride. Athenian monarch mounts his throne on high, d after him the queen and Emily : tt these the kindred of the crown are grac'd th nearer seats, and lords by ladies plac'd : rce were they seated, when, with clamours loud, rushed at once a rude promiscuous crowd ; a guards and then each other overbear, d in a moment throng the spacious theatre, w chang'd the jarring noise to whispers low, winds forsaking seas more softly blow ; len at the western gate, on which the car plac'd aloft, that bears the god of war, md Arcite entering arm'd before his train, ps at the barrier, and divides the plain, d was his banner, and display'd abroad, e bloody colours of his patron god. \t that self moment enters Palamon 2 gate of Venus, and the rising-sun ; iv'd by the wanton winds, his banner flies, maiden white, and shares the people's eyes. Dm east to west, look all the world around, 'o troops so match'd were never to be found ; ch bodies built for strength, of equal age, stature siz'd ; so proud an equipage : The nicest eye could no distinction make, Where lay th' advantage, or what side to take. Thus rang'd, the herald for the last proclaims A silence, while they answer'd to their names : For so the king decreed, to shun the care, The fraud of musters false, the common bane of war. The tale was just, and then the gates were clos'd ; And chief to chief, and troop to troop oppos'd. The heralds last retir'd, and loudly cry'd, The fortune of the field be fairly try'd. At this, the challenger with fierce defy His trumpet sounds ; the challeng'd makes reply : With clangor rings the field, resounds the vaulted sky. Their vizors closed, their lances in the rest, Or at the helmet pointed, or the crest ; They vanish from the barrier, speed the race, And spurring see decrease the middle space. A cloud of smoke envelops either host, i And all at once the combatants are lost : J Darkling they join adverse, and shock unseen, Coursers with coursers justling, men with men : As labouring in eclipse, awhile they stay, Till the next blast of wind restores the day. They look anew : the beauteous form of fight Is chang'd, and war appears a grizly sight. Two troops in fair array one moment show'd, The next, a field with fallen bodies strow'd : Not half the number in their seats are found ; But men and steeds lie groveling on the ground. The points of spears are stuck within the shield, The steeds without their riders scour the field. The knights unhors'd, on foot renew the fight ; The glittering faulchions cast a gleaming light : Hauberks and helms are hew'd with many a wound. Out spins the streaming blood, and dyes the ground. The mighty maces with such haste descend, [bend. They break the bones, and make the solid armour This thrusts amid the throng with furious force ; Down goes, at once, the horseman and the horse : That courser stumbles on the fallen steed, And, floundering, throws the rider o'er his head. One rolls along, a foot-ball to his foes ; One with a broken truncheon deals his blows. This halting, this disabled with his wound, In triumph led, is to the pillar bound, Where by the king's award he must abide : There goes a captive led on t' other side. By fits they cease ; and, leaning on the lance, Take breath awhile, and to new fight advance. Full oft the rivals met, and neither spar'd His utmost force, and each forgot to ward. The head of this was to the saddle bent, The other backward to the crupper sent : Both were by turns unhors'd ; the jealous blows Fall thick and heavy, when on foot they close. So deep their faulchions bite, that every stroke Pierc'd to the quick ; and equal wounds they gave and took. Borne far asunder by the tides of men, Like adamant and steel they meet again. So when a tiger sucks the bullock's blood, A famish'd lion, issuing from the wood, Roars lordly tierce, and challenges the food. Each claims possession, neither will obey, But both their paws are fasten 'd on the prey ; They bite, they tear ; and while in vain they strive, The swains come arm'd between, and both to dis- tance drive. At length, as Fate foredoom'd, and all things tend By course of time to their appointed end ; 176 DRYDEN. BOOK Ii So when the Sun to west was far declin'd, And both afresh in mortal battle join'd, The strong Emctrius came in Arcite's aid, And Palamon with odds was overlaid : For, turning short, he struck with all his might Full on the helmet of th' unwary knight. Deep was the wound ; he stagger'd with the blow, And turn'd him to his unexpected foe ; Whom with such force he struck, he fell'd him down, And cleft the circle of his golden crown. But Arcite's men, who now prevail'd in fight, Twice ten at once surround the single knight : O'erpower'd, at length, they force him to the ground, Unyielded as he was, and to the pillar bound ; And king Lycurgus, while he fought in vain His friend to free, was tumbled on the plain. Who now laments but Palamon, compell'd No more to try the fortune of the field ! And, worse than death, to view with hateful eyes His rival's conquest, and renounce the prize ! The royal judge, on his tribunal plac'd, Who had beheld the fight from first to last, Bad cease the war ; pronouncing from on high, Arcite of Thebes had won the beauteous Emily. The sound of trumpets to the voice reply'd, And round the royal lists the heralds cry'd, " Arcite of Thebes has won the beauteous bride." The people rend the skies with vast applause ; All own the chief, when Fortune owns the cause. Arcite is own'd ev'n by the gods above, And conquering Mars insults the queen of love. So laugh'd he, when the rightful Titan fail'd, And Jove's usurping arms in Heaven prevail'd : Laugh'd all the powers who favour tyranny ; And all the standing army of the sky. But Venus with dejected eyes appears, And, weeping, on the lists distill'd her tears ; Her will refus'd, which grieves a woman most, And, in her champion foil'd, the cause of Love is lost Till Saturn said, " Fair daughter, now be still, The blustering fool has satisfy 'd his will ; His boon is given ; his knight has gain'd the day, But lost the prize, th' arrears are yet to pay. Thy hour is come, and mine the care shall be To please thy knight, and set thy promise free." Now while the heralds run the lists around, And Arcite, Arcite, Heaven and Earth resound ; A miracle (nor less it could be call'd) Their joy with unexpected sorrow pal I'd. The victor knight had laid his helm aside, Part for his ease, the greater part for pride.: Bare-headed, popularly low he bow'd, And paid the salutations of the crowd. Then, spurring at full speed, ran endlong on Where Theseus sate on his imperial throne ; Furious he drove, and upward cast his eye, Where next the queen was plac'd his Emily ; Then passing to the saddle-bow he bent : A sweet regard the gracious virgin lent (For women, to the brave an easy prey, Still follow Fortune where she leads the way) : Just then, from earth sprung out a flashing fire, By Pluto sent, at Saturn's bad desire : The startling steed was seiz'd with sudden fright, And bounding, o'er the pummel cast the knight : Forward he flew, and, pitching on his head, He quiver' d with his feet, and lay for dead. Black was his count'nance in a little space, For all the blood was gather'd in his face. Help was at hand : they rear'd him from the groun And from his cumbrous arms his limbs unbound Then lanc'd a vein, and watch'd returning breath It came, but clogg'd with symptoms of his death, The saddle-bow, the noble parts had prest, All bruis'd and mortify'd his manly breast. Him still entranc'd, and in a litter laid, They bore from field, and to his bed convey'd. At length he wak'd, and, with a feeble cry, The word he first pronounc'd was Emily. Meantime the king, though inwardly he mourn 1 In pomp triumphant to the town return 'd. Attended by the chiefs who fought the field (Now friendly mix'd, and in one troop compell'd Compos'd his looks to counterfeited cheer, And bade them not for Arcite's life to fear. But that which gladded all the warrior-train, Though most were sorely wounded, none were slai The surgeons soon despoil'd them of their arms, And some with salves they cure, and some wi charms ; Foment the bruises, and the pains assuage, [of sag And heal their inward hurts with sovereign draugl The king in person visits all around, Comforts the sick, congratulates the sound ; Honours the princely chiefs, rewards the rest, And holds for thrice three days a royal feast. None was disgrac'd ; for falling is no shame ; And cowardice alone is loss of fame. The venturous knight is from the saddle thrown ; But 'tis the fault of Fortune, not his own : If crowds and palms the conquering side adorn, The victor under better stars was born : The brave man seeks not popular applause, Nor, overpower'd with arms, deserts his cause ; Unsham'd, though foil'd, he does the best he can ; Force is of brutes, but honour is of man. Thus Theseus smiFd on all with equal grace ; And each was set according to his place. With ease were reconcil'd the differing parts, For envy never dwells in noble hearts. At length they took their leave, the time expir'd, Well pleas'd, and to their several homes retir'd. Meanwhile the health of Arcite still impairs ; From bad proceeds to worse, and mocks the leechc cares; Swoln is his breast ; his inward pains increase, All means are us'd, and all without success. The clotted blood lies heavy on his heart, Corrupts, and there remains in spite of art : Nor breathing veins, nor cupping, will prevail ; All outward remedies and inward fail : The mold of Nature's fabric is destroy'd, Her vessels discompos'd, her virtue void : The bellows of his lungs begin to swell, All out of frame is every secret cell, Nor can the good receive, nor bad expel. Those breathing organs, thus within opprest, With venom soon distend the sinews of his breast, Nought profits him to save abandon'd life, Nor vomit's upward aid, nor downward laxative. The midmost region batter'd and destroy'd, When Nature cannot work, th' effect of Art is voi For physic can but mend our crazy state, Patch an old building, not a new create. Arcite is doom'd to die in all his pride, Must leave his youth, and yield his beauteous brid Gain'd hardly, against right, and unenjoy'd. When 'twas declar'd all hope of life was past, Conscience (that of all physic works the hist) Caus'd him to send for Emily in haste. OK III. PALAMON AND ARCITE. 177 th her, at his desire, came Palamon ; en on his pillow rais'd, he thus begun. NO language can express the smallest part what I feel, and suffer in" my heart, - you, whom best I love and value most ; t to your service I bequeath my ghost ; lich, from this mortal body when unty'd, seen, unheard, shall hover at your side ; r fright you waking, nor your sleep offend, t wait officious, and your steps attend : w I have lov'd, excuse my faultering tongue, spirits feeble, and my pains are strong : s I may say, I only grieve to die ause I lose my charming Emily : die, when Heaven had put you in my power, e could not choose a more malicious hour ! at greater curse could envious Fortune give, m just to die, when I began to live ! n men, how vanishing a bliss we crave, v warm in love, now withering in the grave ! er, O never more to see the Sun ! I dark, in a damp vault, and still alone ! i fate is common ; but I lose my breath r bliss, and yet not bless'd before my death. 2well ; but take me dying in your arms, all I can enjoy of all your charms : i hand I cannot but in death resign ; ! could I live ! but while I live 'tis mine, el my end approach, and, thus embrac'd, pleas'd to die ; but hear me speak my last. my sweet foe, for you, and you alone, oke my faith with injur'd Palamon. Love the sense of right and wrong confounds, ng Love and proud Ambition have no bounds. much I doubt, should Heaven my life prolong, ould return to justify my wrong : while my former flames remain within, entance is but want of power to sin. i mortal hatred I pursu'd his life, he, nor you, were guilty of the strife : I, but as I lov'd ; yet all combin'd, r beauty, and my impotence of mind, his concurrent flame, that blew my fire ; still our kindred souls had one desire, lad a moment's right in point of time ; I seen first, then his had been the crime. made it mine, and justify 'd his right ; holds this Earth a more deserving knight, virtue, valour, and for noble blood, h, honour, all that is compriz'd in good ; elp me Heaven, in all the world is none orthy to be lov'd as Palamon. oves you too, with such an holy fire, ill not, cannot, but with life expire : vow'd affections both have often try'd, any love but yours could ours divide, i, by my love's inviolable band, ly long suffering, and my short command, er you plight your vows when I am gone, i pity on the faithful Palamon." lis was his last ; for Death came on amain, exercis'd below his iron reign ; upward to the seat of life he goes : i fled before him, what he touch'd he froze : ould he not his closing eyes withdraw, igh less and less of Emily he saw ; peechless, for a little space he lay ; [away, i grasp'd the hand he held, and sigh'd his soul it whither went his soul, let such relate search the secrets of the future state : Divines can say but what themselves believe ; Strong proofs they have, but not demonstrative : For, were all plain, then all sides must agree, And faith itself be lost in certainty. To live uprightly then is sure the best, To save ourselves, and not to damn the rest. The soul of Arcite went where heathens go, Who better live than we, though less they know. In Palamon a manly grief appears ; Silent he wept, asham'd to show his tears : Emilia shriek'd but once, and then, oppress 'd With sorrow, sunk upon her lover's breast : Till Theseus in his arms convey'd with care, Far from so sad a sight, the swooning fair. ' Twere loss of time her sorrow to relate ; 111 bears the sex a youthful lover's fate, When just approaching to the nuptial state : But, like a low-hung cloud, it rains so fast, That all at once it falls, and cannot last. The face of things is chang'd, and Athens now, That laugh'd so late, becomes the scene of woe : Matrons and maids, both sexes, every state, With tears lament the knight's untimely fate. Nor greater grief in falling Troy was seen For Hector's death ; but Hector was not then. Old men with dust deform'd their hoary hair, The women beat their breasts, their cheeks they tare. " Why would'st thou go," with one consent they cry, " When thou had'st gold enough, and Emily ?" Theseus himself, who should have cheer'd the grief Of others, wanted now the same relief. Old Egeus only could revive his son, Who various changes of the world had known, And strange vicissitudes of human fate, Still altering, never in a steady state; Good after ill, and after pain delight ; Alternate like the scenes of day and night : " Since every man who lives is born to die, And none can boast sincere felicity, With equal mind what happens let us bear, [care. Nor joy nor grieve too much fer things beyond our Like pilgrims to th' appointed place we tend ; The world's an inn, and death the journey's end. Ev'n kings but play ; and when their part is done, Some other, worse or better, mount the throne. " With words like these the crowd was satisfy 'd, And so they would have been had Theseus dy'd. But he, their king, was labouring in his mind, A fitting place for funeral pomps to find, Which were in honour of the dead design 'd. And, after long debate, at last he found (As Love itself had mark'd the spot of ground) That grove for ever green, that conscious land, Where he with Palamon fought hand to hand : That where he fed his amorous desires With soft complaints, and felt his hottest fires, There other flames might waste his earthly part, And burn his limbs, where love had burn'd his heart. This once resolv'd, the peasants were enjoin'd Sere-wood, and firs, and dodder'd oaks to find. With sounding axes to the grove they go, Fell, split, and lay the fuel on a row, Vulcanian food : a bier is next prepar'd, On which the lifeless body should be rear'd, Cover'd with cloth of gold, on which was laid The corpse of Arcite, in like robes array 'd. White gloves were on his hands, and on his head A wreath of laurel, mix'd with myrtle spread. A sword keen-edg'd within his right he held, The warlike emblem of the conquer'd field : 178 DRYDEN. BOOK III. Bare was his manly visage on the bier : Menac'd his countenance ; ev'n in death severe. Then to the palace-hall they bore the knight, To lie in solemn state, a public sight. Groans, cries, and bowlings, fill the crowded place, And unaffected sorrow sat on every face. Sad Palamon above the rest appears, In sable garments, dew'd with gushing tears : His auburn locks on either shoulder flow'd, Which to the funeral of his friend he vow'd : But Emily, as chief, was next his side, A virgin-widow, and a mourning bride. And, that the princely obsequies might be Perform'd according to his high degree, The steed, that bore him living to the fight, Was trapp'd with polish' d steel, all shining bright, And cover'd with th' achievements of the knight. The riders rode abreast, and one his shield, His lance of cornel-wood another held ; The third his bow, and, glorious to behold, The costly quiver, all of burnish'd gold. The noblest of the Grecians next appear, And, weeping, on their shoulders bore the bier ; With sober pace they march'd, and often staid, And through the master-street the corpse convcy'd. The houses to their tops with black were spread, And ev'n the pavements were with mourning hid. The right side of the pall old Egeus kept, And on the left the royal Theseus wept ; Each bore a golden bowl, of work divine, [wine. With honey fill'd, and milk, and mix'd with ruddy Then Palamon, the kinsman of the slain, And after him appear'd the illustrious train. To grace the pomp, came Emily the bright With cover'd fire, the funeral pile to light. With high devotion was the service made, And all the rites of pagan-honour paid : So lofty was the pile, a Parthian bow, With vigour drawn, must send the shaft below. The bottom was full twenty fathom broad, With crackling straw beneath in due proportion strow'd. The fabric seem'd a wood of rising green, With sulphur and bitumen cast between, To feed the flames : the trees were unctuous fir, And mountain ash, the mother of the spear ; The mourner yew and builder oak were there : The beech, the swimming alder, and the plane, Hard box, and linden of a softer grain, [ordain. And laurels, which the gods for conquering chiefs How they were rank'd, shall rest untold by me, With nameless nymphs that liv'd in every tree ; Nor how the Dryads, or the woodland train, Disherited, ran howling o'er the plain : Nor how the birds to foreign seats repair 'd, Or beasts, that bolted out, and saw the forest bar'd : Nor how the ground, now clear'd, with ghastly fright Beheld the sudden Sun, a stranger to the light. The straw, as first I said, was laid below : Of chips and sere- wood was the second row ; The third of greens, and timber newly fell'd ; The fourth high stage the fragrant odours held, And pearls, and precious stones, and rich array, In midst of which, einbalm'd, the body lay. The service sung, the maid with mourning eyes The stubble fir'd ; the smouldering flames arise : This office done, she sunk upon the ground ; But what she spoke, recover'd from her swoon, I want the wit in moving words to dress ; But by themselves the tender sex may guess. While the devouring fire was burning fast, Rich jewels in the flame the wealthy cast ; And some their shields, and some their lances threw, And gave their warrior's ghost, a warrior's due. Full bowls of wine, of honey, milk, and blood, Were pour'd upon the pile of burning wood, And hissing flames receive, and hungry lick the food. Then thrice the mounted squadrons ride around The fire, and Arcite's name they thrice resound ; Hail, and farewell, they shouted thrice amain, Thrice facing to the left, and thrice they turn'd again : Still as they turn'd, they beat their clattering shields ; The women mix their cries ; and Clamour fills the fields. The warlike wakes continued all the night, [light. And funeral games were play'd at new returning Who, naked, wrestled best, besmear'd with oil, Or who with gauntlets gave or took the foil, I will not tell you, nor would you attend ; | But briefly haste to my long story's end. I pass the rest ; the year was fully mourn'd, j And Palamon long since to Thebes return'd : I When, by the Grecians' general consent, i At Athens Theseus held his parliament : i Among the laws that pass'd, it was decreed, i That conquer 'd Thebes from bondage should be freed ; ! Reserving homage to th' Athenian throne, I To which the sovereign summon'd Palamon. i Unknowing of the cause, he took his way, Mournful in mind, and still in black array, [high, The monarch mounts the throne, and, plac'd on Commands into the court the beauteous Emily : So call'd, she came ; the senate rose, and paid Becoming reverence to the royal maid. And first soft whispers through th' assembly went : With silent wonder then they watch'd th' event : All hush'd, the king arose with awful grace, [face, Deep thought was in his breast, and counsel in hi At length he sigh'd ; and, having first prepar'd Th' attentive audience, thus his will declar'd. " The Cause and Spring of Motion, from above, Hung down on Earth the golden chain of love : Great was th' effect, and high was his intent, When peace among the jarring seeds he sent, Fire, flood, and earth, and air, by this were bound And love, the common link, the new creatioi crown'd. The chain still holds ; for, though the forms decay, Eternal matter never wears away : The same first Mover certain bounds has plac'd, How long those perishable forms shall last : Nor can they last beyond the time assign'd By that all-seeing and all-making Mind : Shorten their hours they may ; for will is free ; But never pass th' appointed destiny. So men oppress'd, when weary of their breath, Throw oft' the burthen, and suborn their death. Then, since those forms begin, and have their end, On some unalter'd cause they sure depend : Parts of the whole are we ; but God the whole ; Who gives us life and animating soul : For Nature cannot from a part derive That being, which the whole can only give : He perfect, stable ; but imperfect we, Subject to change, and different in degree ; Plants, beasts, and man ; and, as our organs are, We more or less of his perfection share. But by a long descent, th' etherial fire Corrupts : and forms, the mortal part, expire THE WIFE OF BATH. 179 5 he withdraws his virtue, so they pass, id the same matter makes another mass : us law th' Omniscient Power was pleas'd to give, lat every kind should by succession live ! iat individuals die, his will ordains, e propagated species still remains. e monarch oak, the patriarch of the trees, oots rising up, and spreads by slow degrees ; ree centuries he grows, and three he stays, preme in state, and in three more decays ; wears the paving pebble in the street, d towns and towers their fatal periods meet : rivers, rapid once, now naked lie, [dry- rsaken of their springs ; and leave their channels man, at first a drop, dilates with heat, 3n, form'd, the little heart begins to beat ; ret he feeds, unknowing in the cell length, for hatching ripe, he breaks the shell, d struggles into breath, and cries for aid ; ;n, helpless, in his mother's lap is laid, creeps, he walks, and, issuing into man, idges their life, from whence his own began : :kless of laws, affects to rule alone, cious to reign, and restless on the throne : t vegetive, then feels, and reasons last ii of three souls, and lives all three to waste. ie thus ; but thousands more in flower of age : few arrive to run the latter stage, k in the first, in battle some are slain, t others whelm'd beneath the stormy main, it makes all this, but Jupiter the king, vhose command we perish, and we spring? a 'tis our best, since thus ordain 'd to die, nake a virtue of necessity. 3 what he gives, since to rebel is vain ; bad grows better, which we well sustain ; could we choose the time, and choose aright, best to die, our honour at the height. n we have done our ancestors no shame, serv'd our friends, and well secur'd our fame ; i should we wish our happy life to close, leave no more for Fortune to dispose : lould we make our death a glad relief i future shame, from sickness, and from grief: ying while we live the present hour, dying in our excellence and flower, . round our death-bed every friend should run, joyous of our conquest early won : e the malicious world with envious tears Id grudge our happy end, and wish it theirs, then our Arcite is with honour dead, should we mourn, that he so soon is freed, ill untimely what the gods decreed ? grief as just, a friend may be deplor'd, i a foul prison to free air restor'd. it he to thank his kinsman or his wife, 1 tears recall him into wretched life ? sorrow hurts themselves ; on him is lost ; worse than both, offends his happy ghost, then remains, but, after past annoy, ke the good vicissitude of joy? ank the gracious gods for what they give, ss our souls, and, while we live, to" live? n we then two sorrows to combine, in one point th' extremes of grief to join ; thence resulting joy may be renew'd, notes in harmony conclude, propose that Palamon shall be J join'd with beauteous Emily ; :h alreadv T have tnan'd th* awpnt Long love to her has borne the faithful knight, And well deserv'd, had Fortune done him right : "Tis time to mend her fault ; since Emily By Arcite's death from former vows is free : If you, fair sister, ratify th' accord, And take him for your husband and your lord, 'Tis no dishonour to confer your grace On one descended from a royal race : And were he less, yet years of service past From grateful souls exact reward at last : Pity is Heaven's and yours ; nor can she find A throne so soft as in a woman's mind." He said ; she blush'd ; and, as o'eraw'd by might, Seem'd to give Theseus what she gave the knight. Then turning to the Theban thus he said ; " Small arguments are needful to persuade Your temper to comply with my command ; " And speaking thus, he gave Emilia's hand. Smil'd Venus, to behold her own true knight Obtain the conquest, though he lost the fight ; And bless'd with nuptial bliss the sweet laborious night. Eros, and Anteros, on either side, One fir'd the bridegroom, and one warm'd the bride j And long-attending Hymen, from above, Shower'd on the bed the whole Idalian grove. All of a tenour was their after-life, No day discolour ! d with domestic strife , No jealousy, but mutual truth believ'd, Secure repose, and kindness undeceiv'd. Thus Heaven, beyond the compass of his thought, Sent him the blessing he so dearly bought. So may the queen of love long duty bless, And all true lovers find the same success. THE WIFE OF BATH. HER TALE. Iv days of old, when Arthur fill'd the throne, Whose acts and fame to foreign lands were blown; The king of elfs and little fairy queen Gambol'd on heaths, and danc'd on every green ; And where the jolly troop had led the round, The grass unbidden rose, and mark'd the ground : Nor darkling did they glance, the silver light Of Phoebe serv'd to guide their steps aright, And, with their tripping pleas'd, prolong the night. Her beams they follow'd, where at full she play'd, Nor longer than she shed her horns they stay'd, From thence with airy flight to foreign lands convey 'd. Above the rest our Britain held they dear, More solemnly they kept their sabbaths here, [year. And made more spacious rings, and revel'd half the I speak of ancient times, for now the swain Returning late may pass the woods in vain, And never hope to see the nightly train : In vain the dairy now with mint is dress'd, The dairy-maid expects no fairy guest To skim the bowls, and after pay the feast. She sighs, and shakes her empty shoes in vain, No silver penny to reward her pain : For priests with prayers and other goodly geer, Have made the merry goblins disappear : And where they play'd their merry pranks before, Have sprinkled holy water on the floor : And friars that through the wealthy regions run, Thick as the motes that twinkle in the sun, 180 DRYDEN. Resort to farmers rich, and bless their halls, And exorcise the beds, and cross the walls : This makes the fairy quires forsake the place. When once 'tis hallow'd with the rites of grace : But in the walks where wicked elves have been, The learning of the parish now is seen, The midnight parson posting o'er the green, With gown tuck'd up, to wakes, for Sunday next ; With humming ale encouraging his text ; Nor wants the holy leer to country-girl betwixt. From fiends and imps he sets the village free, There haunts not any incubus but he. The maids and women need no danger fear To walk by night, and sanctity so near : For by some haycock, or some shady thorn, He bids his beads both even song and morn. It so befell in this king Arthur's reign, A lusty knight was pricking o'er the plain ; A bachelor he was, and of the courtly train. It happen' d, as he rode, a damsel gay In russet robes to market took her way : Soon on the girl he cast an amorous eye, So straight she walk'd, and on her pasterns lu'gli : If seeing her behind he lik'd her pace, Now turning short, he better likes her face. He lights in haste, and, full of youthful fire, By force accomplished his obscene desire : This done, away he rode, not unespy'd, For swarming at his back the country cry'd : And once in view they never lost the sight, But seiz'd, andpinion'd, brought to court the knight. Then courts of kings were held in high renown, Ere made the common brothels of the town : There, virgins honourable vows receiv'd, But chaste as maids in monasteries liv'd : The king himself, to nuptial ties a slave, No bad example to his poets gave: And they, not bad, but in a vicious age, Had not, to please the prince, debauch'd the stage. Now what should Arthur do? He lov'd the knight, But sovereign monarchs are the source of right : Mov'd by the damsel's tears and common cry, He doom'd the brutal ravisher to die. But fair Geneura rose in his defence, And pray'd so hard for mercy from the prince. That to his queen the king th' offender gave, And left it in her power to kill or save : This gracious act the ladies all approve, Who thought it much a man should die for love ; And with their mistress join'd in close debate (Covering their kindness with dissembled hate) If not to free him, to prolong his fate. At last agreed they call'd him by consent Before the queen and female parliament. And the fair speaker rising from the chair, Did thus the judgment of the house declare. " Sir knight, though I have ask'd thy life, yet still Thy destiny depends upon my will : Nor hast thou other surety than the grace Not due to thee from our offended race. But as our kind is of a softer mold, And cannot blood without a sigh behold, I grant thee life : reserving still the power To take the forfeit when I see my hour: Unless thy answer to my next demand Shall set thee free from our avenging hand. The question, whose solution I require, Is, What the sex of women most desire ? Yet (lest, surpris'd, unknowing what to say, Thou damn thyself) we give thee farther day : A year is thine to wander at thy will ; And learn from others, if thou want'st the skill But, not to hold our proffer turn'd in scorn, Good sureties will we have for thy return ; That at the time prefix'd thou shalt obey, And at thy pledge's peril keep thy day.'" Woe was the knight at this severe command : But well he knew 'twas bootless to withstand : The terms accepted as the fair ordain, He put in bail for his return again, And promis'd answer at the day assign'd, The best, with Heaven's assistance, he could find His leave thus taken, on his way he went With heavy heart, and full of discontent, Misdoubting much, and fearful of th' event. 'Twas hard the truth of such a point to find, As was not yet agreed among the kind. Thus on he went ; still anxious more and more, Ask'd all he met, and knock'd at every door ; Enquir'd of men ; but made his chief request To learn from women what they lov'd the best. They answer'd each according to her mind To please herself, not all the female kind. One was for wealth, another w r as for place : Crones, old and ugly, wish'd a better face. The widow's wish was oftentimes to wed ; The wanton maids were all for sport a-bed. Some said the sex were pleas'd with handsome lies And some gross flattery lov'd without disguise : " Truth is," says one, " he seldom fails to win | Who flatters well ; for that's our darling sin : But long attendance, and a duteous mind, Will work ev'n with the wisest of the kind." One thought the sex's prime felicity Was from the bonds of wedlock to be free : Their pleasures, hours, and actions, all their own, And uncontrol'd to give account to none. Some wish a husband-fool : but such are curst, For fools perverse of husbands are the worst : All women would be counted chaste and wise, Nor should our spouses see, but with our eyes ; For fools will prate ; and though they want the v To find close faults, yet open blots will hit : Though better for their ease to hold their tongue, For woman-kind was never in the wrong. So noise ensues, and quarrels last for life ; The wife abhors the fool, the fool the wife. And some men say that great delight Irave we, To be for truth extoll'd, and secrecy : And constant in one purpose still to dwell ; And not our husbands' counsels to reveal. But that's a fable : for our sex is frail, Inventing rather than not tell a tale. Like leaky sieves no secrets we can hold: Witness the famous tale that Ovid told. Midas the king, as in his book appears, By Phrebus was endow'd with ass's ears, Which under his long locks he well conceal'd, As monarchs' vices must not be rcveal'd, For fear the people have them in the wind, Who long ago were neither dumb nor blind : Nor apt to think from Heaven their title springs Since Jove and Mars left off' begetting kings. This Midas knew : and durst communicate To none but to his wife his ears of state : One must be trusted, and he thought her fit, As passing prudent, and a parlous wit. THE WIFE OF BATH. 181 But told it under matrimonial seal, With strict injunction never to reveal. Hie secret heard, she plighted him her troth, And sacred sure is every woman's oath) Die royal malady should rest unknown, Both for her husband's honour and her own ; But ne'ertheless she pin'd with discontent ; The counsel rumbled till it found a vent. Flie thing she knew she was obliged to hide ; By interest and by oath the wife was ty'd ; 3ut if she told it not, the woman dy'd. lne day was only left to solve the doubt, 'et knew no more than when he first set out. Jut home he must, and, as th' award had been, 'ield up his body captive to the queen, n this despairing state he hapt to ride, is Fortune led him, by a forest side : onely the vale, and full of horrour stood, frown with the shade of a religious wood : VTien full before him at the noon of night, The Moon was up, and shot a gleamy light) le saw a quire of ladies in a round, Tiat featly footing seem'd to skim the ground : THIS dancing hand in hand, so light they were, Ie knew not where they trod, on earth or air. .t speed he drove, and came a sudden guest, n hope where many women were, at least, ame one by chance might answer his request, tut faster than his horse the ladies flew, i.nd in a trice were vanish' d out of view. One only hag remain'd : but fouler far 'han grandame apes in Indian forests are ; igainst a wither'd oak she lean'd her weight, 'ropp'd on her trusty staff, not half upright, ;nd dropp'd an aukward court' sy to the knight. Tien said, " What makes you, sir, so late abroad Without a guide, and this no beaten road? r want you aught that here you hope to find, >r travel for some trouble in your mind ? "he last I guess ; and if I read aright, hose of our sex are bound to serve a knight ; erhaps good counsel may your grief assuage, 'hen tell your pain : for wisdom is in age." [know To this the knight: " Good mother, would you "he secret cause and spring of all my woe ? ly life must with to-morrow's light expire, I tell what women most desire. /nless Now could you help me at this hard essay, Or for your inborn goodness, or for pay ; Yours is my life, redeem'd by your advice, Ask what you please, and I will pay the price : The proudest kerchief of the court shall rest Well satisfy'd of what they love the best." " Plight me thy faith," quoth she, " That what I ask, Thy danger over, and perform'd thy task, That thou shalt give for hire of thy demand ; Here take thy oath, and seal it on my hand ; I warrant thee, on peril of my life, Thy words shall please both widow, maid, and wife." More words there needed not to move the knight, To take her offer, and his truth to plight. With that she spread a mantle on the ground, And, first inquiring whither he was bound, Bade him not fear, though long and rough the way, At court he should arrive ere break of day ; His horse should find the way without a guide, She said : with fury they began to ride, He on the midst, the beldam at his side. The horse, what devil drove I cannot tell, But only this, they sped their journey well : And all the way the crone inform'd the knight, How he should answer the demand aright, [spread To court they came ; the news was quickly Of his returning to redeem his head. The female senate was assembled soon, With all the mob of women of the town : The queen sate lord chief justice of the hall, And bade the crier cite the criminal. The knight appear'd ; and silence they proclaim : Then first the culprit answer 'd to his name : And, after forms of law, was last requir'd To name the thing that women most desir'd. Th' offender, taught his lesson by the way, And by his counsel order'd what to say, Thus bold began : " My lady Liege," said he, " What all your sex desire is sovereignty. The wife affects her husband to command : All must be hers, both money, house, and land. The maids are mistresses ev'n in their name ; And of their servants full dominion claim. This, at the peril of my head, I say, A blunt plain truth, the sex aspires to sway, You to rule all, while we, like slaves, obey." There was not one, or widow, maid, or wife, But said the knight had well deserv'd his life. Ev'n fair Geneura, with a blush, confess'd The man had found what women love the best. Up starts the beldam, who was there unseen : And, reverence made, accosted thus the queen. " My liege," said she, " before the court arise, May I, poor wretch, find favour in your eyes, To grant my just request : 'twas I who taught The knight this answer, and inspir'd his thought. None but a woman could a man direct To tell us women, what we most affect. But first I swore him on his knightly troth, ( And here demand performance of his oath) To grant the boon that next I should desire ; He gave his faith, and I expect my hire : My promise is fulfill'd : I sav'd his life, And claim hi's debt, to take me for his wife." The knight was ask'd, nor could his oath deny, But hoped they would not force him to comply. The women, who would rather wrest the laws, Than let a sister-plaintiff lose the cause, (As judges on the bench more gracious are, And more attent, to brothers of the bar,) N 3 182 DRYDEN. Cry'd one and all, the suppliant should have right, And to the grandame hag adjudg'd the knight. In vain he sigh'd, and oft with tears desir'd, Some reasonable suit might be requir'd. But still the crone was constant to her note : The more he spoke, the more she stretch'd her throat. In vain he proffer'd all his goods, to save His body destin'd to that living grave. The liquorish hag rejects the pelf with scorn ; And nothing but the man would serve her turn. "'Not all the wealth of eastern kings," said she, " Have power to part my plighted love and me : And, old and ugly as I am, and poor, Yet never will I break the faith I swore ; For mine thou art by promise, during life, And I thy loving and obedient wife." " My love ! nay rather my damnation thou," Said he : " nor am I bound to keep my vow ; The fiend thy sire hath sent thee from below, Else how could'st thou my secret sorrows know ? Avant, old witch, for I renounce thy bed : The queen may take the forfeit of my head, Ere any of my race so foul a crone shall wed." Both heard, the judge pronounc'd against the knight ; So was he marry'd in his own despite : And all day after hid him as an owl, Not able to sustain a sight so foul. Perhaps the reader thinks I do him wrong, To pass the marriage feast and nuptial song : Mirth there was none, the man was d-la-mort, And little courage had to make his court. To bed they went, the bridegroom and the bride : Was never such an ill-pair'd couple ty'd : Restless he toss'd, and tumbled to and fro, And roll'd and wriggled further off for woe. The good old wife lay smiling by his side, And caught him in her quivering arms, and cry'd, " When you my ravish'd predecessor saw, You were not then become this man of straw ; Had you been such, you might have 'scap'd the law. Is this the custom of king Arthur's court ? Are all round-table knights of such a sort ? Remember I am she who sav'd your life, Your loving, lawful, and complying wife : Not thus you swore in your unhappy hour, Nor I for this return employ'd my power. In time of need, I was your faithful friend ; Nor did I since, nor ever will offend. Believe me, my lov'd lord, 'tis much unkind ; What Fury has possessed your alter'd mind ? Thus on my wedding-night without pretence Come turn this way, or tell me my offence. If not your wife, let reason's rule persuade ; Name but my fault, amends shall soon be made." " Amends! nay that's impossible," said he; " What change of age or ugliness can be ? Or, could Medea's magic mend thy face, Thou art descended from so mean a race, That never knight was match' d with such disgrace. What wonder, madam, if I move my side, When, if I turn, I turn to such a bride ?" " And is this all that troubles you so sore?" " And what the devil could'st thou wish me more?" " Ah, Benedicite," reply'd the crone : " Then cause of just complaining have you none. The remedy to this were soon apply'd, Would you be like the bridegroom to the bride : But, for you say a long descended race, And wealth, and dignity, and power, and place, Make gentlemen, and that your high degree Is much disparag'd to be match'd with me ; Know this, my lord, nobility of blood c Is but a glittering and fallacious good : The nobleman is he whose noble mind Js fill'd with inborn worth, unborrow'dfrom his kind.. The King of Heaven was in a manger laid ; And took his earth but from an humble maid ; Then what can birth, or mortal men, bestow? Since floods no higher than their fountains flow. We, who for name and empty honour strive, Our true nobility from him derive. Your ancestors, who puff your mind with pride, And vast estates to mighty titles ty'd, Did not your honour, but their own, advance j For virtue comes not by inheritance. If you tralineate from your father's mind, What are you else but of a bastard-kind ? Do, as your great progenitors have done, And by their virtues prove yourself their son. No father can infuse or wit or grace j A mother comes across, and mars the race. A grandsire or a grandame taints the blood ; And seldom three descents continue good. Were virtue by descent, a noble name Could never villanize his father's fame : But, as the first, the last of all the line Would like the Sun even in descending shine ; Take fire, and bear it to the darkest house, Betwixt king Arthur's court and Caucasus ; If you depart, the flame shall still remain, And the bright blaze enlighten all the plain : Nor, till the fuel perish, can decay, By Nature form'd on things combustible to prey Such is not man, who, mixing better seed With worse, begets a base degenerate breed : The bad corrupts the good, and leaves behind No trace of all the great begetter's mind. The father sinks within his son, we see, And often rises in the third degree ; If better luck a better mother give, Chance gave us being, and by chance we live. Such as our atoms were, even such are we, Or call it chance, or strong necessity : Thus loaded with dead weight, the will is free. And thus it needs must be : for seed conjoin'd Lets into nature's work th' imperfect kind ; But fire, th' enlivener of the general frame, Is one, its operation still the same. Its principle is in itself : while ours Works, as confederates war, with mingled powers ; Or man or woman, whichsoever fails : And, oft, the vigour of the worse prevails. Ether with sulphur blended alters hue, And casts a dusky gleam of Sodom blue. Thus, in a brute, their ancient honour ends, And the fair mermaid in a fish descends : The line is gone ; no longer duke or earl ; But, by himself degraded, turns a churl. Nobility of blood is but renown Of thy great fathers by their virtue known, And a long trail of light, to thee descending down. If in thy smoke it ends, their glories shine ; But infamy and villanage are thine. Then what I said before is plainly show'd, The true nobility proceeds from God : Nor left us by inheritance, but given By bounty of our stars, and grace of Heaven. Thus from a captive Servius Tullius rose, Whom for his virtues the first Romans chose : Fabricius from CHARACTER OF A GOOD PARSON. ricius from their walls repel I'd the foe, Whose noble hands had exercis'd the plough. From hence, my lord and love, I thus conclude, That though my homely ancestors were rude, Mean as I am, yet I may have the grace To make you father of a generous race : And noble then am I, when I begin, In Virtue cloath'd, to cast the rags of Sin. If poverty be my upbraided crime, And you believe in Heaven, there was a time When He, the great controller of our fate, Deign'd to be man, and liv'd in low estate : Which he, who had the world at his dispose, If poverty were vice, would never choose. Philosophers have said, and poets sing, That a glad poverty's an honest thing. Content is wealth, the riches of the mind; And happy he who can that treasure find. But the base miser starves amidst his store, Broods on his gold, and, griping still at more, Sits sadly pining, and believes he's poor. The ragged beggar, though iie want relief, Has not to lose, and sings before the thief. Want is a bitter and a hateful good, Because its virtues are not understood : Yet many things, impossible to thought, Have been by need to full perfection brought : The daring of the soul proceeds from thence, Sharpness of wit, and active diligence ; Prudence at once, and fortitude, it gives, \nd, if in patience taken, mends our lives ; For ev'n that indigence, that brings me low, Makes me myself, and Him above, to know. \ good which none would challenge, few would choose, \ fair possession, which mankind refuse, f we from wealth to poverty descend, vVant gives to know the flatterer from the friend, if I am old and ugly, well for you, Vo lewd adulterer will my love pursue ; Sor jealousy, the bane of marry'd life, >hall haunt you for a wither'd homely wife ; A>r age and ugliness, as all agree, \re the best guards of female chastity. " Yet since I see your mind is worldly bent, ;'ll do my best to further your content. Vnd therefore of two gifts in my dispose, Hiink ere you speak, I grant you leave to choose ; Vould you I should be still deform'd and old, "fauseous to touch, and loathsome to behold ; )n this condition to remain for life V. careful, tender, and obedient wife, n all I can, contribute to your ease, Vnd not in deed, or word, or thought, displease ? )r would you rather have me young and fair, Vnd take the chance that happens to your share ? Temptations are in beauty, and in youth, \.nd how can you depend upon my truth ? >Jow weigh the danger with the doubtful bliss, Ind thank yourself if aught should fall amiss.' Sore sigh'd the knight, who this long sermon heard ; Vt length, considering all, his heart he cheer'd ; ind thus reply 'd : " My lady and my wife, \> your wise conduct I resign my life : Jhoose you for me, for well you understand [Tie future good and ill, on either hand : 3ut if an humble husband may request, 'rovide, and order all things for the best ; I'ours be the care to profit, and to please : \nd let your subject servant take liis ease. ' ' 183 " Then thus in peace," quoth she, " concludes the strife, Since I am turn'd the husband, you the wife : The matrimonial victory is mine, Which, having fairly gain'd, I will resign ; Forgive if I have said or done amiss, And seal the bargain with a friendly kiss : I promis'd you but one content to share, But now I will become both good and fair, No nuptial quarrel shall disturb your ease ; The business of my life sliall be to please : And for my beauty, that, as time shall try ; But draw the curtain first, and cast your eye." He look'd, and saw a creature heavenly fair, In bloom of youth, and of a charming air. With joy he turn'd, and seiz'd her ivory arm ; And like Pygmalion found the statue warm. Small arguments there needed to prevail, A storm of kisses pour'd as thick as hail. Thus long in mutual bliss they lay embrac'd, And their first love continued to the last : One sunshine was their life, no cloud between ; Nor ever was a kinder couple seen. And so may all our lives like theirs be led ; Heaven send the maids young husbands fresh in bed; May widows wed as often as they can, And ever for the better change their man ; And some devouring plague pursue their lives, Who will not well be govern'd by their wives. CHARACTER OF A GOOD PARSON. A PARISH priest was of the pilgrim-train ; An awful, reverend, and religious man. His eyes diffus'd a venerable grace, And charity itself was in his face. Rich was his soul, though his attire was poor, As God had cloth'd his own ambassador, For such, on Earth, his bless'd Redeemer bore. Of sixty years he seem'd ; and well might last To sixty more, but that he liv'd too fast ; Refin'd himself to soul, to curb the sense ; And made almost a sin of abstinence. Yet, had his aspect nothing of severe, But such a face as promis'd him sincere. Nothing reserv'd or sullen was to see : But sweet regards, and pleasing sanctity : Mild was his accent, and his action free. With eloquence innate his tongue was arm'd ; Though harsh the precept, yet the people charm'd For, letting down the golden chain from high, He drew his audience upward to the sky : And oft with holy hymns he charm'd their ears, (A music more melodious than the spheres,) For David left him, when he went to rest, His lyre ; and after him he sung the best. He bore his great commission in his look : But sweetly temper'd awe ; andsoften'd all he spoke. He preach'd the joys of Heaven, and pains of Hell, And warn'd the sinner with becoming zeal; But on eternal mercy lov'd to dwell. He taught the gospel rather than the law ; And forc'd himself to drive ; but lov'd to draw. For Fear but freezes minds : but Love, like heat, Exhales the soul sublime, to seek her native seat. N 4 DRYDEN. To threats the stubborn sinner oft is hard, Wrapp'd in his crimes, against the storm prepar'd ; But when the milder beams of Mercy play, He melts, and throws his cumbrous cloak away. Lightning and thunder (Heaven's artillery) As harbingers before th' Almighty fly : Those but proclaim his style, and disappear ; The stiller sound succeeds, and God is there. The tithes, his parish freely paid, he took ; But never sued, or curs'd with bell and book. With patience bearing wrong ; but offering none : Since every man is free to lose his own. The country churls, according to their kind, (Who grudge their dues, and love to be behind,) The less he sought his offerings, pinch'd the more, And prais'd a priest contented to be poor. Yet of his little he had some to spare, To feed the famish' d, and to clothe the bare : For mortify'd he was to that degree, A poorer than himself he would not see. True priests, he said, and preachers of the word, Were only stewards of their sovereign lord ; Nothing was theirs ; but all the public store : Intrusted riches, to relieve the poor. Who, should they steal, for want of his relief, He judg'd himself accomplice with the thief. Wide was his parish 5 not contracted close In streets, but here and there a straggling house j Yet still he was at hand, without request, To serve the sick ; to succour the distress'd : Tempting, on foot, alone, without affright, The dangers of a dark tempestuous night. All this, the good old man perform'd alone, Nor spar'd his pains ; for curate he had none. Nor durst he trust another with his care ; Nor rode himself to Paul's, the public fair, To chaffer for preferment with his gold, Where bishoprics and sinecures are sold. But duly watch'd his flock, by night and day ; And from the prowling wolf redeem'd the prey : And hungry sent the wily fox away. The proud he tam'd, the penitent he cheer'd : Nor to rebuke the rich offender fear'd. His preaching much, but more his practice wrought, (A living sermon of the truths he taught,) For this by rules severe his life he squar'd : That all might see the doctrine which they heard. For priests, he said, are patterns for the rest (The gold of Heaven, who bear the God impress'd) : But when the precious coin is kept unclean, The sovereign's image is no longer seen. If they be foul on whom the people trust, Well may the baser brass contract a rust. The prelate, for his holy life he priz'd j The worldly pomp of prelacy despis'd. His Saviour came not with a gaudy show ; Nor was his kingdom of the world below. Patience in want, and poverty of mind, These marks of church and churchmen he design'd, And living taught, and dying left behind. The crown he wore was of the pointed thorn : In purple he was crucified, not born. They who contend for place and high degree, Are not his sons, but those of Zebedee. Not but he knew the signs of earthly power Might well become Saint Peter's successor ; The holy father holds a double reign, [plain. The prince may keep his pomp, the fisher must be Such was the saint ; who shone with every grace, Reflecting, Moses b'ke, Ills Maker's face. God saw his image lively was express \1 ; And his own work, as in creation, bloss'd. The tempter saw him too witli envious eye ; And, as on Job, demanded leave to try. He took the time when Richard was depos'd, And high and low with happy Harry clos'd. This prince, though great in arms, the priest withstood : Near though he was, yet not the next of blood. Had Richard, unconstrain'd, resign'd the throne, A king can give no more than is his own : The title stood entail'd, had Richard had a son. Conquest, an odious name, was laid aside, Where all submitted, none the battle try'd. The senseless plea of right by Providence Was, by a flattering priest, invented since ; And lasts no longer than the present sway ; But justifies the next who comes in play. The people's right remains ; let those who dare Dispute their power, when they the judges are. He join'd not in their choice, because he knew Worse might, and often did, from change ensue. Much to himself he thought ; but little spoke ; And, undepriv'd, his benefice forsook, [stretch'd ; Now, through the land, his cure of souls he And like a primitive apostle preach 'd. Still cheerful ; ever constant to his call ; By many follow 'd ; lov'd by most, admir'd by all With what he begg'd, his brethren he reliev'd ; And gave the charities himself receiv'd. Gave, while he taught ; and edify'd the more, Because he show'd, by proof, 'twas easy to be poor. He went not with the crowd to see a shrine ; But fed us, by the way, with food divine. In deference to his virtues, I forbear To show you what the rest in orders were : This brilliant is so spotless, and so bright, He needs no foil, but shines by his own proper light. THEODORE AND HONORIA. OF all the cities in Romanian lands, The clu'ef, and most renown'd, Ravenna stands, Adorn'd in ancient times with arms and arts, And rich inhabitants, with generous hearts. But Theodore the brave, above the rest, With gifts of Fortune and of Nature bless'd, The foremost place for wealth and honour held, And all in feats of chivalry excell'd. This noble youth to madness lov'd a dame Of high degree, Honoria was her name ; Fair as the fairest, but of haughty mind, And fiercer than became so soft a kind. Proud of her birth (for equal she had none) ; The rest she scorn'd, but hated him alone ; His gifts, his constant courtship, nothing gain'd ; For she, the more he lov'd, the more disdain'd. He liv'd with all the pomp he could devise, At tilts and tournaments obtain'd the prize ; But found no favour in his lady's eyes : Relentless as a rock, the lofty maid, Turn'd all to poison, that he did or said : [move ; Nor prayers, nor tears, nor offer'd vows, could The work went backward ; and the more he strove T advance his suit, the farther from her love. Weary'd at length, and wanting remedy, He doubted oft, and oft rcsolv'd to die. THEODORE AND HONORIA. 185 Pride stood ready to prevent the blow, who would die to gratify a foe ? generous mind disdain'd so mean a fate ; : pass'd, his next endeavour was to hate, vainer that relief than all the rest, less he hop'd, with more desire possess'd ; 2 stood the siege, and would not yield his breast, ige was the next, but change deceiv'd his care ; >ought a fairer, but found none so fair, .vould have worn her out by slow degrees, tien by fasting starve th' untam'd disease : present love requir'd a present ease, cing he feeds alone his famish'd eyes, Is lingering Death, but looking not he dies, still he chose the longest way to Fate, ting at once his life and his estate, is friends beheld, and pity'd him in vain, what advice can ease a lover's pain ! nee, the best expedient they could find, it save the fortune, if not cure the mind : means they long propos'd, but little gain'd, after much pursuit, at length obtain'd. ard you may think it was to give consent, struggling with his own desires he went, large expense, and with a pompous train, ided as to visit France and Spain, >r some distant voyage o'er the main. Love had clipp'd his wings, and cut him short, in'd within the purlieus of the court, e miles he went, nor farther could retreat ; ;ravels ended at his country seat : Chassis' pleasing plains he took his way, e pitch'd his tents, and there resolv'd to stay, e spring was in the prime ; the neighbouring grove ly'd with birds, the choristers of Love : c unbought, that minister'd delight lorning walks, and lull'd his cares by night : 2 he discharg'd his friends : but not th' expense equent treats, and proud magnificence, v'd as kings retire, though more at large i public business, yet with equal charge ; house and heart still open to receive : ell content as Love would give him leave : ould have liv'd more free ; but many a guest, could forsake the friend, pursued the feast, hapt one morning, as his fancy led, e his usual hour he left his bed ; alk within a lonely lawn, that stood very side surrounded by a wood : ; he walk'd, to please his pensive mind, sought the deepest solitude to find ; ^ in a grove of spreading pines he stray'd ; vinds within the quivering branches play'd, dancing trees a mournful music made. >lace itself was suiting to his care, uth and savage, as the cruel fair, ander'd on, unknowing where he went n the wood, and all on love intent : )ay already half his race had run, mmmon'd him to due repast at noon, ..ove could feel no hunger but his own. lilst listening to the murmuring leaves he stood, than a mile immers'd within the wood, ce the wind was laid ; the whispering sound iumb ; a rising earthquake rock'd the ground; deeper brown the grove was overspread ; Iden horrour seized his giddy head, his ears tinkled, and his colour fled, e was in alarm ; some danger nigh 'd thrt-atcn'd, thouirh unseen to mortal eve. Unus'd to fear, he summon'd all his soul, And stood collected in himself, and whole ; Not long : for soon a whirlwind rose around, And from afar he heard a screaming sound, As of a dame distress'd, who cry'd for aid, And fill'd with loud laments the secret shade. A thicket close beside the grove there stood, With briers and brambles choak'd, and dwarfish wood; From thence the noise, which now, approaching near, With more distinguish'd notes invades his ear ; He rais'd his head, and saw a beauteous maid, With hair dishevell'd, issuing through the shade ; Stripp'd of her clothes, and ev'n those parts reveal'd, Which modest Nature keeps from sight conceal'd. Her face, her hands, her naked limbs were torn, With passing through the brakes, and prickly thorn ; Two mastiffs gaunt and grim her flight pursu'd, And oft their fasten'd fangs in blood embru'd; Oft they came up, and pinch'd her tender side, " Mercy, O mercy Heaven !" she ran, and cry'd. When Heaven was nam'd, they loos'd their hold again, Then sprang she forth, they follow'd her amain. Not far behind, a knight of swarthy face, High on a coal-black steed pursu'd the chase: With flashing flames his ardent eyes were fill'd, And in his hand a naked sword he held : He cheer'd the dogs to follow her who fled, And vow'd revenge on her devoted head. As Theodore was born of noble kind, The brutal action rous'd his manly mind ; Mov'd with unworthy usage of the maid, He, though unarm'd, resolv'd to give her aid, A saplin pine he wrench'd from out the ground, The readiest weapon that his fury found. Thus furnish'd for offence, he cross'd the way Betwixt the graceless villain and his prey. The knight came thundering on, but, from afar, Thus in imperious tone forbade the war : " Cease, Theodore, to proffer vain relief, Nor stop the vengeance of so just a grief; But give me leave to seize my destin'd prey, And let Eternal Justice take the way : I but revenge my fate, disdain'd, betray'd, And suffering death for this ungrateful maid." He said, at once dismounting from the steed ; For now the hell-hounds with superior speed Had reach'd the dame, and, fastening on her side, The ground with issuing streams of purple dy'd, Stood Theodore surpris'd in deadly fright, With chattering teeth, and bristling hair upright ; Yet arm'd with inborn worth, " Whate'er," said he, " Thou art, who know'st me better than I thee ; Or prove thy rightful cause, or be defy'd ;" The spectre, fiercely staring, thus reply'd : " Know, Theodore, thy ancestry I claim, And Guido Cavalcanti was my name. One common sire our fathers did beget, My name and story some remember yet : Thee, then a boy, within my arms I laid, When for my sins I lov'd this haughty maid ; Not less ador'd in life, nor serv'd by me, Than proud Honoria now is loved by thee. What did I not her stubborn heart to gain ? But all my vows were answcr'd with disdain : She scorn'd my sorrows, and despis'd my pain. Long time I dragg'd my days in fruitless care ; Then, loathing life, and plung'd in deep despair, To finish my unhappy life, I fell On this sharp sword, and now am dainn'd in HclL 186 DRYDEN. " Short was her joy ; for soon th* insulting maid By Heaven's decree in this cold grave was laid. And as in unrepented sin she dy'd, [pride : Doom'd to the same bad place is punish'd for her Because she deemed I well deserv'd to die, And made a merit of her cruelty. [cast, There, then, we met ; both try'd, and both were And this irrevocable sentence pass'd ; That she, whom I so long pursu'd in vain, Should suffer from my hands a lingering pain : Renew'd to life that she might daily die, I daily doom'd to follow, she to fly ; No more a lover, but a mortal foe, I seek her life (for love is none below) ; As often as my dogs with better speed Arrest her flight, is she to death decreed : Then with this fatal sword, on which I dy'd, I pierce her open back, or tender side, And tear that harden' d heart from out her breast, Which, with her entrails, makes my hungry hounds a feast. Nor lies she long, but, as her Fates ordain, Springs up to life, and fresh to second pain, Is sav'd to-day, to-morrow to be slain." This, vers'd in death, th' infernal knight relates, And then for proof fulfill'd the common fates ; Her heart and bowels through her back he drew, And fed the hounds that help'd him to pursue, Stern look'd the fiend, as frustrate of his will, Not half suffic'd, and greedy yet to kill. And now the soul, expiring through the wound, Had left the body breathless on the ground, When thus the grisly spectre spoke again : " Behold the fruit of ill-rewarded pain : As many months as I sustain'd her hate, So many years is she condemned by Fate To daily death ; and every several place, Conscious of her disdain and my disgrace, Must witness her just punishment ; and be A scene of triumph and revenge to me ! As in this grove I took my last farewell, As on this very spot of earth I fell, As Friday saw me die, so she my prey Becomes ev'n here, on this revolving day." Thus while he spoke the virgin from the ground Upstarted fresh, already clos'd the wound, And, unconcern'd for all she felt before, Precipitates her flight along the shore : The hell-hounds, as ungorg'd with flesh and blood, Pursue their prey, and seek their wonted food : The fiend remounts his courser, mends his pace ; And all the vision vanish'd from the place. Long stood the noble youth oppress' d with awe And stupid at the wondrous things he saw, [law. Surpassing common faith, transgressing Nature's He would have been asleep, and wish'd to wake, But dreams, he knew, no long impression make, Though strong at first ; if vision, to what end, But such as must his future state portend ? His love the damsel, and himself the fiend, But yet, reflecting that it could not be From Heaven, which cannot impious acts decree, Resolv'd within himself to shun the snare, Which Hell for his destruction did prepare ; And, as his better genius should direct, From an ill cause to draw a good effect. Inspir'd from Heaven he homeward took his way, Nor paU'd liis new design with long delay : But of his train a trusty servant sent, To call liis friends together at his tent. They came, and, usual salutations paid, With words premeditated thus he said : " What you have often counsell'd, to remove My vain pursuit of unregarded love ; By thrift my sinking fortune to repair, Though late yet is at last become my care : My heart shall be my own ; my vast expense Reduc'd to bounds, by timely providence : This only I require ; invite for me Honoria, with her father's family, Her friends, and mine ; the cause I shall display, On Friday next; for that's th' appointed day." Well pleas'd were all his friends, the task was ligl The father, mother, daughter, they invite ; Hardly the dame was drawn to this repast ; But yet resolv'd, because it was the last. The day was come, the guests invited came, And, with the rest, th' inexorable dame : A feast prepar'd with riotous expense, Much cost, more care, and most magnificence. The place ordain'd was in that haunted grove, Where the revenging ghost pursu'd his love : The tables in a proud pavilion spread, With flowers below, and tissue overhead : The rest in rank, Honoria, chief in place, Was artfully contriv'd to set her face To front the thicket, and behold the chase. The feast was serv'd, the time so well forecast, ^ That just when the desert and fruits were plac'd, The fiend's alarm began ; the hollow sound Sung in the leaves, the forest shook around. Air blacken'd, roll'd the thunder, groan'd t ground. Nor long before the loud laments arise, Of one distress'd, and mastiffs' mingled cries ; And first the dame came rushing through the wot And next the famish'd hounds that sought their foe And grip'd her flanks, and oft essay'd their jaws blood. Last came the felon, on his sable steed, [spet Arm'd with his naked sword, and urg'd his dogs She ran, and cry'd, her flight directly bent (A guest unbidden) to the fatal tent, [mei The scene of death, and place ordain'd for puni; Loud was the noise, aghast was every guest, The women shriek'd, the men forsook the feast ; The hounds at nearer distance hoarsely bay'd ; The hunter close pursu'd the visionary maid, [a She rent the Heaven with loud laments, implori The gallants, to protect the lady's right, Their faulchions brandish'd at the grisly sprite ; High on his stirrups he provok'd the tight. Then on the crowd he cast a furious look, And wither'd all their strength before he spoke : " Back on your lives ; let be," said he, "my pr And let my vengeance take the destin'd way : Vain are your arms, and vainer your defence, Against th' eternal doom of Providence : Mine is th' ungrateful maid by Heaven design'd Mercy she would not give, nor mercy shall she fine At this the former tale again he told With thundering tone, and dreadful to behold : Sunk were their hearts with horrour of the crinw Nor needed to be warn'd a second time, But bore each other back : some knew the face, And all had heard the much-lamented case Of him who fell for love, and this the fatal place And now th' infernal minister advanc'd, Seiz'd the due victim, and with fury lanc'd Her back, and, piercing through her inmost heal Drew backward as before th' offending part; RELIGIO LAICI. 187 ie reeking entrails next he tore away, id to his meagre mastiffs made a prey, ie pale assistants on each other star'd, ith gaping mouths for issuing words prepar'd ; e still-born sounds upon the palate hung, id dy'd imperfect on the faultering tongue, e fright was general ; but the female band helpless train) in more confusion stand : th horrour shuddering, on a heap they run, k at the sight of hateful justice done ; [their own. r conscience rung th' alarm, and made the case >o, spread upon a lake with upward eye, jlump of fowl behold their foe on high ; 2y close their trembling troop ; and all attend whom the sowsing eagle will descend. 3ut most the proud Honoria fear'd th' event, i thought to her alone the vision sent. r guilt presents to her distracted mind iven's justice, Theodore's revengeful kind, 1 the same fate to the same sin assign'd. eady sees herself the monster's prey, I feels her heart and entrails torn away, as a mute scene of sorrow, mix'd with fear j on the table lay th' unfinish'd cheer : knight and hungry mastiffs stood around, mangled dame lay breathless on the ground ; in on a sudden, re-inspir'd with breath, in she rose, again to suffer death ; staid the hell-hounds, nor the hunter staid, follow 'd, as before, the flying maid : avenger took from earth th' avenging sword, mounting light as air his sable steed he spurr'd : clouds dispell'd, the sky resum'd her light, Nature stood recover'd of her fright, fear, the last of ills, remain'd behind, horrour heavy sat on every mind. Theodore encourag'd more the feast, sternly look'd, as hatching in his breast e deep designs ; which when Honoria view'd, fresh impulse her former fright renew'd ; thought herself the trembling dame who fled, him the grisly ghost that spurr'd th' infernal steed : more dismay'd, for when the guests withdrew, r courteous host, saluting all the crew, [adieu); irdless pass'd her o'er ; nor grac'd with kind sting infix'd within her haughty mind lownfall of her empire she divin'd ; her proud heart with secret sorrow pin'd. e as they went, the sad discourse renew'd ie relentless dame to death pursu'd, of the sight obscene so lately view'd. durst arraign the righteous doom she bore, they who pity'd most, yet blam'd her more : >arallel they needed not to name, n the dead they damn'd the living dame, every little noise she look'd behind, till the knight was present to her mind : anxious oft she started on the way, thought the horseman-ghost came thundering for his prey. n'd, she took her bed with little rest, i short slumbers dreamt the funeral feast : 'd, she turn'd her side, and slept again ; ame black vapours mounted in her brain, :he same dreams return'd with double pain, w forc'd to wake, because afraid to sleep, >lood all fever'd, with a furious leap >rang from bed, distracted in her mind, "ear'd, at every step, a twitching sprite behind. Darkling and desperate, with a staggering pace, Of death afraid, and conscious of disgrace ; Fear, Pride, Remorse, at once her heart assail'd, Pride put Remorse to flight, but Fear prevail'd. Friday, the fatal day, when next it came, [game, Her soul forethought the fiend would change his And her pursue, or Theodore be slain, [plain. And two ghosts join their packs to hunt her o'er the This dreadful image so possess'd her mind, That, desperate any succour else to find, She ceas'd all farther hope ; and now began To make reflection on th' unhappy man. Rich, brave, and young, who past expression lov'd, Prbof to disdain, and not to be remov'd : Of all the men respected and admir'd, Of all the dames, except herself, desir'd : Why not of her ? preferr'd above the rest By him with knightly deeds, and open loveprofess'd? So had another been, where he his vows address'd. This quell'd her pride, yet other doubts remain'd, That, once disdaining, she might be disdain'd. The fear was just, but greater fear prevail'd, Fear of her life by hellish hounds assail'd : He took a lowering leave ; but who can tell, What outward hate might inward love conceal ? Her sex's arts she knew ; and why not, then, Might deep dissembling have a place in men ? Here hope began to dawn ; resolv'd to try, She fix'd on this her utmost remedy : Death was behind, but hard it was to die. 'Twas time enough at last on Death to call, The precipice in sight : a shrub was all, That kindly stood betwixt to break the fatal fall. One maid she had, belov'd above the rest ; Secure of her, the secret she confess'd ; And now the cheerful light her fears dispell'd, She with no winding turns the truth conceal'd, But put the woman off, and stood reveal'd : With faults confess'd commission'd her to go, If pity yet had place, and reconcile her foe. The welcome message made, was soon receiv'd ; ' Twas to be wish'd, and hop'd, but scarce believ'd ; Fate seem'd a fair occasion to present; He knew the sex, and fear'd she might repent, Shou'd he delay the moment of consent. There yet remain'd to gain her friends (a care The modesty of maidens well might spare) ; But she with such a zeal the cause embrac'd, (As women, where they will, are all in haste) The father, mother, and the kin beside, Were overborne by fury of the tide ; With full consent of all she chang'd her state ; Resistless in her love, as in her hate. By her example warn'd, the rest beware : More easy, less imperious, were the fair ; And that one hunting, which the Devil design'd For one fair female, lost him half the kind. R LAICI. AN EPISTLE. DIM as the borrow'd beams of Moon and stars >^ To lonely, weary, wandering travellers, Is reason to the soul : and as on high, / Those rolling fires discover but the sky, / Not light us here ; so Reason's glimmering ray >. Was lent, not to assure our doubtful way, But guide us upward to a better day. 183 DRYDEN. And as those nightly tapers disappear When day's bright lord ascends our hemisphere ; So pale grows Reason at Religion's sight ; So dies, and so dissolves in supernatural light. Some few, whose lamp shone brighter, have been led From cause to cause, to Nature's secret head ; And found, that one first principle must be : But what, or who, that universal He ; Whether some soul encompassing this ball Unmade, unmov'd ; yet making, moving all ; Or various atoms, interfering dance, Leap'd into form, the noble work of chance ; Or this great all was from eternity ; Not ev'n the Stagirite himself could see ; And Epicurus guess'd as well as he ; As blindly grop'd they for a future state ; As rashly judg'd of providence and fate : But least of all could their endeavours find What most concern'd the good of human kind : For happiness was never to be found ; But vanish'd from them like enchanted ground. One thought content the good to be enjoy'd ; This every little accident destroy'd : The wiser madmen did for virtue toil ; A thorny, or at best a barren soil : In pleasure some their glutton souls would steep ; But found their line too short, the well too deep ; And leaky vessels which no bliss could keep. Thus anxious thoughts in endless circles roll, Without a centre where to fix the soul : In this wild maze their vain endeavours end : How can the less the greater comprehend ? Or finite reason reach Infinity ? For what could fathom God were more than He. The deist thinks he stands on firmer ground ; Cries tupiKo,, the mighty secret's found : God is that spring of good ; supreme, and best ; We made to serve, and in that service blest. If so, some rules of worship must be given, Distributed alike to all by Heaven : Else God were partial, and to some deny'd The means his justice should for all provide. This general worship is to praise and pray ; One part to borrow blessings, one to pay : And when frail Nature slides into offence, The sacrifice for crimes is penitence. Yet, since the effects of providence, we find, Are variously dispens'd to human kind ; That Vice triumphs, and Virtue suffers here, \ A brand that sovereign justice cannot bear ; -* Our reason prompts us to a future state : The last appeal from fortune and from fate : Where God's all-righteous ways will be declar'd ; The bad meet punishment, the good reward. Thus man by his own strength to Heaven would soar : And would not be oblig'd to God for more. \ Vain wretched creature, how art thou misled \ To think thy wit these god-like notions bred ! / These truths are not the product of thy mind, \ But dropt from Heaven, and of a nobler kind. \ Reveal'd religion first inform'd thy sight, \And reason saw not till faith sprung the light. Hence all thy natural worship takes the source : 'Tis revelation what thou think'st discourse. Else how com'st thou to see these truths so clear, Which so obscure to heathens did appear ? Not Plato these, nor Aristotle found : Nor he whose wisdom oracles renown 'd. Hast thou a wit so deep, or so sublime, Or canst thou lower dive, or higher climb ? Canst thou by reason more of godhead know Than Plutarch, Seneca, or Cicero ? Those giant wits in happier ages born, When arms and arts did Greece and Rome adorn, Knew no such system : no such piles could raise Of natural worship, built on prayer and praise To one sole God. Nor did remorse to expiate sin prescribe : But slew their fellow-creatures for a bribe : The guiltless victim groan'd for their offence: And cruelty and blood was penitence. If sheep and oxen could atone for men, Ah ! at how cheap a rate the rich might sin ! And great oppressors might Heaven's wrath beguile, By offering his own creatures for a spoil ! Dar'st thou, poor worm, offend Infinity ? And must the terms of peace be given by thee ? Then thou art Justice in the last appeal ; Thy easy God instructs thee to rebel : And, like a king remote and weak, must take What satisfaction thou art pleas'd to make. But if there be a power too just and strong, To wink at crimes, and bear unpunish'd wrong ; Look humbly upward, see his will disclose The forfeit first, and then the fine impose : A mulct thy poverty could never pay, Had not Eternal Wisdom found the way : And with celestial wealth supply'd thy store : His justice makes the fine, his mercy quits the score, See God descending in thy human frame ; Th' offended suffering in th' offender's name : All thy misdeeds to him imputed see, And all his righteousness devolv'd on thee. For, granting we have sinn'd, and that th' offenct Of man is made against Omnipotence, Some price that bears proportion must be paid; And infinite with infinite be weigh'd. See then the deist lost : remorse for vice, Not paid ; or, paid, inadequate in price : What farther means can reason now direct, Or what relief from human wit expect? That shows us sick ; and sadly are we sure Still to be sick, till Heaven reveal the cure : If then Heaven's will must needs be understood, Which must, if we want cure, and Heaven be good Let all records of will reveal'd be shown ; With Scripture all in equal balance thrown, And our one sacred book will be that one. Proof needs not here ; for whether we compare That impious, idle, superstitious ware Of rites, lustrations, offerings, which before, In various ages, various countries bore, With Christian faith and virtues, we shall find None answering the great ends of human kind . But this one rule of life, that shows us best How God may be appeas'd, and mortals blest. Whether from length of time its worth we draw, The word is scarce more ancient than the law : Heaven's early care prescrib'd for every age ; First, in the soul, and after, in the page. Or, whether more abstractedly we look, Or on the writers, or the written book, Whence, but from Heaven, could men unskill'd ii arts, In several ages born, in several parts, Weave such agreeing truths ? or how, or why, Should all conspire to cheat us with a lie ? Unask'd their pains, ungrateful their advice, Starving their gain, and martyrdom their price. Ilf on the book itself we cast our view, Concurrent heathens prove the story true ; RELIGIO LAICI. 189 e doctrine, miracles ; which must convince, r Heaven in them appeals to human sense : d though they prove not, they confirm the cau: icn what is taught agrees with Nature's laws. Fhen for the style, majestic and divine, speaks no less than God in every line : nmanding words ; whose force is still the same the first fiat that produc'd our frame, faiths beside, or did by arms ascend j sense indulg'd has made mankind their friend : s only doctrine does our lusts oppose : fed by Nature's soil, in which it grows ; >ss to our interests, curbing sense and sin ; Dress'd without, and undennin'd within, hrives through pain ; its own tormentors tires ; i with a stubborn patience still aspires, what can reason such effects assign nscending nature, but to laws divine ; ich in that sacred volume are contain'd ; icient, clear, and for that use ordain'd ? 5tit stay : the deist here will urge anew, supernatural worship can be true : ause a general law is that alone ich must to all, and every where, be known : :yle so large as not this book can claim, ought that bears reveal'd religion's name, said the sound of a Messiah's birth one through all the habitable Earth : still that text must be confin'd alone \vhat was then inhabited and known : I what provision could from thence accrue [ndian souls, and worlds discover'd new? ther parts it helps, that, ages past, Scriptures there were known, and were embrac'd, sin spread once again the shades of night : it's that to these, who never saw the light ? f all objections this indeed is chief tartle reason, stagger frail belief : grant, 'tis true, that Heaven from human sense hid the secret paths of providence : boundless wisdom, boundless mercy, may 1 ev'n for those bewilder'd souls, a way : om his nature foes may pity claim, h more may strangers who ne'er heard his name, though no name be for salvation known, tliat of his eternal Son's alone ; knows how far transcending goodness can :nd the merits of that Son to man ? knows what reasons may his mercy lead ; sjnorance invincible may plead ? only charity bids hope the best, more the great apostle has exprest : lat if the Gentiles, whom no law inspir'd , lature did what was by law requir'd ; ', who the written rule had never known, 2 to themselves both rule and law alone : ature's plain indictment they shall plead ; by their conscience be condemn'd or freed." : righteous doom ! because a rule reveal'd >ne to those from whom it was conceal'd. i those who follow'd reason's dictates right ; 1 up, and lifted high their natural light ; Socrates may see their Maker's face, .e thousand rubric-martyrs want a place. 3r does it baulk my charity, to find Egyptian bishop of another mind : ".hough his creed eternal truth contains, hard for man to doom to endless pains vho believ'd not all his zeal requir'd ; ss he first could prove he was inspir'd. Then let us either think he meant to say This faith, where publish'd, was the only way ; Or else conclude, that, Arius to confute, The good old man, too eager in dispute, Flew high ; and as his Christian fury rose, Damn'd all for heretics who durst oppose. Thus far my charity this path has try'd ; A much unskilful, but well-meaning guide : [bred Yet what they are, ev'n these crude thoughts were By reading that which better thou hast read. Thy matchless author's work : which thou, my friend, By well translating better dost commend : Those youthful hours which, of thy equals most In toys have squander'd, or in vice have lost, Those hours hast thou to nobler use employ'd ; And the severe delights of truth enjoy'd. Witness this weighty book, in which appears The crabbed toil of many thoughtful years, Spent by the author, in the sifting care Of rabbins old sophisticated ware From gold divine ; which he who well can sort May afterwards make algebra a sport. A treasure, which if country-curates buy, They Junius and Tremellius may defy : Save pains in various readings, and translations ; And without Hebrew make most learn'd quotations. A work so full with various learning fraught, So nicely ponder'd, yet so strongly wrought, As Nature's height and Art's last hand requir'd : As much as man could compass, uninspir'd. Where we may see what errours have been made Both in the copier's and translator's trade : How Jewish, popish, interests have prevail'd, And where infallibility has fail'd. For some, who have his secret meaning guess'd, Have found our author not too much a priest : For fashion-sake he seems to have recourse To pope, and councils, and tradition's force : But he that old traditions could subdue, Could not but find the weakness of the new : If Scripture, though deriv'd from heavenly birth, Has been but carelessly preserv'd on Earth ; If God's own people, who of God before Knew what we know, and had been promis'd more, In fuller terms, of Heaven's assisting care, And who did neither time nor study spare To keep this book untainted, unperplext, Let in gross errors to corrupt the text, Omitted paragraphs, embroil'd the sense, With vain traditions stopt the gaping fence, Wliich every common hand pull'd up with ease : What safety from such brushwood-helps as these? If written words from time are not secur'd, How can we think have oral sounds endur'd ? Which thus transmitted, if one mouth has fail'd, Immortal lies on ages are intail'd : And that some such have been, is prov'd too plain ; If we consider interest, church, and gain. O but, says one, tradition set aside, Where can we hope for an unerring guide ? For since th' original Scripture has been lost, All copies disagreeing, maim'd the most, Or Christian faith can have no certain ground, Or truth in church-tradition must be found. Such an omniscient church we wish indeed ; 'Twere worth both Testaments ; cast in the creed : But if this mother be a guide so sure, As can all doubts resolve, all truth secure, Then her infallibility, as well Where conies are corrupt or lame, can tell : 190 DRYDEN. Restore lost canon with as little pains, As truly explicate what still remains : Which yet no council dare pretend to do ; Unless like Esdras they could write it new : Strange confidence still to interpret true, Yet not be sure that all they have explain 'd Is ir. the blest original contain'd. More safe, and much more modest 'tis, to say God would not leave mankind without a way : And that the Scriptures, though not every where Free from corruption, or entire, or clear, Are uncorrupt, sufficient, clear, entire, In all tilings which our needful faith require. If others in the same glass better see, 'Tis for themselves they look, but not for me : For my salvation must its doom receive, Not from what others, but what I believe. Must all tradition then be set aside ? This to affirm, were ignorance or pride. Are there not many points, some needful sure To saving faith, that Scripture leaves obscure ? Which every sect will wrest a several way, For what one sect interprets, all sects may : We hold, and say we prove from Scripture plain, That Christ is God; the bold Socinian From the same Scripture urges he's but man. Now what appeal can end th' important suit ? Both parts talk loudly, but the rule is mute. Shall I speak plain, and in a nation free Assume an honest layman's liberty ? I think, according to my little skill, To my own mother-church submitting still, That many have been sav'd, and many may, Who never heard this question brought in play Th' unletter'd Christian, who believes in gross, Plods on to Heaven ; and ne'er is at a loss : For the strajghUgate would be made straighter yet, Were none admitted there but men of wit. The few by Nature form'd, with learning fraught, Born to instruct, as others to be taught, Must study well the sacred page ; and see Which doctrine, this, or that, does best agree With the whole tenour of the work divine : And plainliest points to Heaven's reveal'd design ; Which exposition flows from genuine sense, And which is fore'd by wit and eloquence. Not that tradition's parts are useless here : When general, old, disinterested, clear : That ancient fathers thus expound the page, Gives truth the reverend majesty of age : Confirms its force by biding every test ; For best authorities, next rules, are best. And still the nearer to the spring we go More limpid, more unsoil'd, the waters flow, Thus first traditions were a proof alone ; Could we be certain such they were, so known ; But since some flaws in long descent may be, They make not truth, but probability. Ev'n Arius and Pelagius durst provoke To what the centuries preceding spoke. Such difference is there in an oft-told talc : But truth by its own sinews will prevail. Tradition written therefore more commends Authority, than what from voice descends : And this, as perfect as its kind can be, Rolls down to us the sacred history : Which, from the universal church receiv'd, Is try'd, and after, for itself believ'd. The partial papists would infer from hence Their church, in last resort, should judge the sense. But first they would assume, with wondrous art, Themselves to be the whole, who are but part Of that vast frame the church ; yet grant they wen The handers-down, can they from thence infer A right t' interpret ? or would they alone, Who brought the present, claim it for their own? The book's a common largess to mankind ; Not more for them than every man design'd : The welcome news is in the letter found ; The carrier's not commission'd to expound. It speaks itself, and what it does contain, | In all tilings needful to be known is plain. In times o'ergrown with rust and ignorance, ! A gainful trade their clergy did advance : ; When want of learning kept the laymen low, i And none but priests were authoris'd to know : j When what small knowledge was, in them did dwell: I And he a god who could but read and spell ; Then mother-church did mightily prevail : She parcel 'd out the Bible by retail : But still expounded what she sold or gave ; To keep it in her power to damn and save : Scripture was scarce, and, as the market went, Poor laymen took salvation on content ; As needy men take money good or bad : God's word they had not, but the priest's they had. Yet whate'er false conveyances they made, The lawyer still was certain to be paid. In those dark times they learn'd their knack so well. That by long use they grew infallible : At last a knowing age began t' inquire If they the book, or that did them inspire . And, making narrower search, they found, though late, That what they thought the priest's, was their estate : Taught by the will produc'd, the written word, How long they had been cheated on record. Then every man who saw the title fair, Claim 1 d a child's part, and put in for a share : Consulted soberly his private good ; And sav'd himself as cheap as e'er he could. 'Tis true, my friend, and far be flattery hence, This good had full as bad a consequence : The book thus put in every vulgar hand, Which each presum'd he best could understand, The common rule was made the common prey ; And at the mercy of the rabble lay. The tender page with horny fists was gall'd ; And he was gifted most that loudest bawl'd : The spirit gave the doctoral degree : And every member of a company Was of his trade, and of the Bible free. Plain truths enough for needful use they found ; But men would still be itching to expound : j Each was ambitious of th' obscurest place, j No measure ta'en from knowledge, all from grace. ' Study and pains were now no more their care ; Texts were explain 'd by fasting and by prayer : This was the fruit the private spirit brought ; Occasion' d by great zeal and little thought. While crowds unlearn'd, with rude devotion warm, About the sacred viands buz and swarm. The fly-blown text creates a crawling brood ; And turns to maggots what was meant for food. A thousand daily sects rise up and die ; A thousand more the perish'd race supply : So all we make of Heaven's discover'd will, Is, not to have it, or to use it ill. The danger's much the same ; on several shelves If others wreck us, or we wreck ourselves. TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER. 191 rhat then remains, but, waving each extreme, tides of ignorance and pride to stem ? ther so rich a treasure to forego ; proudly seek beyond our power to know : h is not built on disquisitions vain ; things we must believe are few and plain : , since men will believe more than they need, I every man will make himself a creed, loubtful questions 'tis the safest way earn what unsuspected ancients say : 'tis not likely we should higher soar earch of Heaven, than all the church before : can we be deceiv'd, unless we see Scripture and the fathers disagree, 'ter all they stand suspected still, no man's faith depends upon his will ; some relief, that points not clearly known lout much hazard may be let alone , after hearing what our church can say, ill our reason runs another way, private reason 'tis more just to curb, i by disputes, the public peace disturb, points obscure are of small use to learn : common quiet is mankind's concern, ms have I made my own opinions clear : neither praise expect, nor censure fear : this unpolish'd rugged verse I chose; ttest for discourse, and nearest prose : while from sacred truth I do not swerve, Sternhold's or Tom Shadwell's rhymes will serve. TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER, PRINCIPAL PAINTER TO HIS MAJESTY. I beheld the fairest of her kind, still the sweet idea charms my mind : , she was dumb ; for Nature gaz' J so long, >'d with her work, that she forgot her tongue ; smiling, said, " She still shall gain the prize ; y have transferr'd it to her eyes." are thy pictures, Kneller : such thy skill, Nature seems obedient to thy will ; es out, and meets thy pencil in the draught ; * there, and wants but words to speak her thought. :ast thy pictures look a voice ; and we ;ine sounds, deceiv'd to that degree, hink 'tis somewhat more than just to see. adows are but privations of the light ; when we walk, they shoot before the sight ; us approach, retire, arise, and fall ; ing themselves, and yet expressing all. are thy pieces, imitating life iar, they almost conquer in the strife ; from their animated canvass came, anding souls, and loosen'd from the frame, ometheus, were he here, would cast away Adam, and refuse a soul to clay ; either would thy noble work inspire, link it warm enough without his fire, at vulgar hands may vulgar likeness raise ; is the least attendant on thy praise : i hence the rudiments of art began ; al, or chalk, first imitated man : aps the shadow, taken on a wall, ; outlines to the rude original ; Ere canvass yet was strain'd, before the grace Of blended colours found their use and place, Or cypress tablets first receiv'd a face. By slow degrees the godlike art advanc'd ; As man grew polish'd, picture was enhanc'd : Greece added posture, shade, and perspective ; And then the mimic piece began to live. Yet perspective was lame, no distance true, But all came forward in one common view ; No point of light was known, no bounds of art ; When light was there, it knew not to depart, But glaring on remoter objects play'd ; Not languish'd, and insensibly decay'd. Rome rais'd not art, but barely kept alive, And with old Greece unequally did strive : Till Goths and Vandals, a rude northern race, Did all the matchless monuments deface. Then all the Muses in one ruin lie, And rhyme began t' enervate poetry Thus, in a stupid military state, The pen and pencil find an equal fate. Flat faces, such as would disgrace a screen, Such as in Bantam's embassy were seen. Unrais'd, unrounded, were the rude delight Of brutal nations, only born to fight. Long time the sister arts, in iron sleep, A heavy sabbath did supinely keep : At length, in Raphael's age, at once they rise, Stretch all their limbs, and open all their eyes. Thence rose the Roman, and the Lombard line : One colour'd best, and one did best design. Raphael's, like Homer's, was the nobler part, But Titian's painting look'd like Virgil's art. Thy genius gives thee both ; where true design, Postures unforc'd, and lively colours join. Likeness is ever there ; but still the best, Like proper thoughts in lofty language drest ; Where light, to shades descending, plays, not strives, Dies by degrees, and by degrees revives. Of various parts a perfect whole is wrought : Thy pictures think, and we divine their thought. Shakspeare, thy gift, I place before my sight : With awe, I ask his blessing ere I write ; With reverence look on his majestic face ; Proud to be less, but of his godlike race, His soul inspires me, while thy praise I write, And I, like Teucer, under Ajax fight. [breast Bids thee, through me, be bold ; with dauntless Contemn the bad, and emulate the best. Like his, thy critics, in th' attempt are lost : When most they rail, know then, they envy most. In vain they snarl aloof ; a noisy crowd, Like women's anger, impotent and loud. While they their barren industry deplore Pass on secure, and mind the goal before. Old as she is, my Muse shall march behind Bear off' the blast, and intercept the wind. Our arts are sisters, though not twins in birth : For hymns were sung in Eden's happy earth : But oh, the painter Muse, though last in place, Has seiz'd the blessing first, like Jacob's race. Apelles' art an Alexander found ; And Raphael did with Leo's gold abound ; But Homer was with barren laurel crown'd. Thou hadst thy Charles a while, and so had I ; But pass we that unpleasing image by. Rich in thyself, and of thyself divine ; All pilgrims come and offer at thy shrine. A graceful truth thy pencil can command ; The fair themselves go mended from thy hand. 192 DRYDEN. Likeness appears in every lineament ; But likeness in thy work is eloquent. Though Nature there her true resemblance bears, A nobler beauty in thy piece appears. So warm thy work, so glows the generous frame, Flesh looks less living in the lovely dame. Thou paint'st as we describe, improving still, When on wild Nature we ingraft our skill ; But not creating beauties at our will. But poets are confin'd in narrower space, To speak the language of their native place : The painter widely stretches his command ; Thy pencil speaks the tongue of every land. From hence, my friend, all climates are your own, Nor can you forfeit, for you hold of none. All nations all immunities will give To make you theirs, where'er you please to live ; And not seven cities, but the world would strive. Sure some propitious planet then did smile, When first you were conducted to this isle : Our genius brought you here, t' enlarge our fame j For your good stars are every where the same. Thy matchless hand, of every region free, Adopts our climate, not our climate thee. Great Rome and Venice early did impart To thee th' examples of their wondrous art. Those masters then, but seen, not understood, With generous emulation fir'd thy blood : For what in Nature's dawn the child admir'd, The youth endeavour'd, and the man acquir'd. If yet thou hast not reach'd their high degree, 'Tis only wanting to this age, not thee. Thy genius, bounded by the times, like mine, Drudges on petty draughts, nor dare design A more exalted work, and more divine. For what a song, or senseless opera, Is to the living labour of a play ; Or what a play to Virgil's work would be, Such is a single piece to history. But we, who life bestow, ourselves must live : Kings cannot reign, unless their subjects give : And they, who pay the taxes, bear the rule : Thus, thou, sometimes, art forc'd to draw a fool : But so his follies in thy posture sink, The senseless ideot seems at last to think. [vain, Good Heaven ! that sots and knaves should be so To wish their vile resemblance may remain ! And stand recorded, at their own request To future days, a libel or a jest ! Else should we see your noble pencil trace Our unities of action, time, and place : A whole compos'd of parts, and those the best, With every various character exprest ; Heroes at large, and at a nearer view : Less, and at distance, an ignobler crew. While all the figures in one action join, As tending to complete the main design. More cannot be by mortal art exprest ; But venerable age shall add the rest, For Time shall with his ready pencil stand ; Retouch your figures with his ripening hand ; Mellow your colours, and imbrown the teint ; Add every grace, which Time alone can grant ; To future ages shall your fame convey, And give more beauties than he takes away. THE COCK AND THE FOX: OR THE TALE OF THE NUN'S PRIEST. THERE liv'd, as authors tell, in days of yore, A widow, somewhat old, and very poor : Deep in her cell her cottage lonely stood, Well thatch'd, and under covert of a wood. This dowager, on whom my tale I found, Since last she laid her husband in the ground, A simple sober life, in patience, led, And had but just enough to buy her bread : But huswifing the little Heaven had lent, She duly paid a groat for quarter rent ; And pinch'd her belly, with her daughters two, To bring the year about with much ado. The cattle in her homestead were three sows, An ewe call'd Mallie, and three brinded cows. Her parlour- window stuck with herbs around, Of savoury smell ; and rushes strew'd the ground A maple-dresser in her hall she had, On which full many a slender meal she made ; For no delicious morsel pass'd her throat ; According to her cloth she cut her coat : No poignant sauce she knew, nor costly treat, Her hunger gave a relish to her meat : A sparing diet did her health assure ; Or, sick, a pepper posset was her cure. Before the day was done, her work she sped, And never went by candle-light to bed : With exercise she sweat ill humours out, Her dancing was not hinder'd by the gout. Her poverty was glad ; her heart content ; Nor knew she what the spleen or vapours meant. Of wine she never tasted through the year> But white and black was all her homely cheer : Brown bread, and milk, (but first she skimm'd h bowls) And rashers of sing'd bacon on the coals. On holy days an egg, or two at most ; But her ambition never reach'd to roast. A yard she had with pales enclos'd about, Some high, some low and a dry ditch without. Within this homestead, liv'd, without a peer, For crowing loud, the noble Chanticleer ; So hight her cock, whose singing did surpass The merry notes of organs at the mass. More certain was the crowing of the cock To number hours, than is an abbey-clock ; And sooner than the matin-bell was rung, He clapp'd his wings upon his roost, and sung ; For when degrees fifteen ascended right, By sure instinct he knew 'twas one at night. High was his comb, and coral-red withal, In dents embattled like a castle wall ; His bill was raven-black, and shone like jet ; Blue were his legs, and orient were his feet : White were his nails, like silver to behold, His body glittering like the burnish'd gold. This gentle cock, for solace of his life, Six misses had, besides his lawful wife ; Scandal, that spares no king, though ne'er so goo( Says, they were all of his own flesh and blood, His sisters both by sire and mother's side ; And sure their likeness show'd them near ally'd. But make the worst, the monarch did no more, Than all the Ptolemys had done before : When incest is for interest of a nation, 'Tis made no sin by holy dispensation. Some lines have been maintain'd by this alone, Which by their common ugliness arc known. THE COCK AND THE FOX. 193 But passing this, as from our tale apart, 'ame Partlet was the sovereign of his heart : rdent in love, outrageous in his play, e feather'd her a hundred times a day : nd she, that was not only passing fair, it was withal discreet, and debonair, isolv'd the passive doctrine to fulfil, lough loth ; and let him work his wicked will : board and bed was affable and kind, cording as their marriage vow did bind, d as the church's precept had enjoin'd : 'n since she was a se'nnight old, they say, is chaste and humble to her dying day, r chick nor hen was known to disobey. By this her husband's heart she did obtain ; mt cannot beauty, join'd with virtue, gain ! was his only joy, and he her pride, , when he walk'd, went pecking by his side ; spurning up the ground, he sprung a corn, ; tribute in his bill to her was borne. :, oh ! what joy it was to hear him sing ;ummer, when the day began to spring, tching his neck, and warbling in his throat, )lus cum sola," then was all his note. in the days of yore, the birds of parts [arts. e bred to speak, and sing, and learn the liberal ; happ'd, that, perching on the parlour-beam dst his wives, he had a deadly dream, at the dawn ; and sigh'd, and groan'd so fast, very breath he drew would be his last. ic Partlet, ever nearest to his side, rd all his piteous moan, and how he cry'd help from gods and men : and sore aghast >eck'd and pull'd, and waken'd him at last, ar heart," said she, " for love of Heaven, declare pain, and make me partner of your care, groan, sir, ever since the morning-light, >mething had disturb'd your noble spright." \nd, madam, well I might," said Chanticleer, ver was shrovetide cock in such a fear ; still I run all over in a sweat, rincely senses not recover'd yet. uch a dream I had of dire portent, much I fear my body will be shent : i les I shall have wars and woeful strife, a loathsome dungeon end my life. I ', dame, I dreamt within my troubled breast, in our yard I saw a murderous beast, 3n my body would have made arrest. i waking eyes I ne'er beheld his fellow ; )lour was betwixt a red and yellow : 1 was his tail, and both his pricking ears black, and much unlike his other hairs : ;st, in shape a beagle's whelp throughout, broader forehead, and a sharper snout : in his front were sunk his glowing eyes, et methinks I see him with surprise, out your hand, I drop with clammy sweat, ly it to my heart, and feel it beat." ow'fy for shame," quoth she, " by Heaven above, last for ever lost thy lady's love ; man can endure a recreant knight, ist !>e bold by day, and free by night : x desires a husband or a friend, our honour and his own defend ; rdy, secret, liberal of his purse : is nauseous, but a coward worse : gging coxcomb, yet no baffled knight, ar'st thou talk of love, and dar'st not fight ? J How dar'st thou tell thy dame thou art aflear'd ? Hast thou no manly heart, and hast a beard ? " If aught from fearful dreams inav be divin'cl, They signify a cock of dunghill kind. All dreams, as in old Galen I have read, Are from repletion and complexion bred; From rising fumes of indigested food, And noxious humours that infect the blood : And sure, my lord, if I can read aright, These foolish fancies you have had to-night Are certain symptoms (in the canting style) Of boiling choler, and abounding bile ; This yellow gall, that in your stomach floats, Engenders all these visionary thoughts. When choler overflows, then dreams are bred Of flames, and all the family of red ; Red dragons, and red beasts in sleep we view, For humours are distinguish'd by their hue. From hence we dream of wars and warlike things, And wasps and hornets with their double win^s. Choler adust congeals our blood with fear, Then black bulls toss us, and black devils tear. I In sanguine airy dreams aloft we bound, j With rheums oppress'd we sink, in rivers drown 'd. " More I could say, but thus conclude my theme, The dominating humour makes the dream. Cato was in his time accounted wise, And he condemns them all for empty lies. Take my advice, and when we fly to ground, - With laxatives preserve your body sound, And purge the peccant humours that abound. I should be loth to lay you on a bier ; And though there lives no 'pothecary near, I dare for once prescribe for your disease, And save long bills, and a damn'd doctor's fees. " Two sovereign herbs, which I by practice know, And both at hand (for in our yard they grow) ; On peril of my soul shall rid you wholly Of yellow choler, and of melancholy : You must both purge and vomit ; but obey, And for the love of Heaven make no delay. Since hot and dry in your complexion join, Beware the Sun when in a vernal sign ; For when he mounts exalted in the Ram, If then he finds your body in a flame, Replete with choler, I dare lay a groat, A tertian ague is at least your lot. Perhaps a fever (which the gods forefend) May bring your youth to some untimely end : And therefore, sir, as you desire to live, A day or two before your laxative, Take just three worms, nor under nor above, Because the gods unequal numbers love. These digestives prepare you for your purge ; Of fumetery, centaury, and spurge, And of ground-ivy add a leaf or two, All which within our yard or garden grow. Eat these, and be, my lord, of better cheer ; Your father's son was never born to fear." " Madam," quoth he, " grammercy for your care, But Cato, whom you quoted, you may spare : 'Tis true, a wise and worthy man he seems, And (as you say) gave no belief to dreams : But other men of more authority, And, by th' immortal powers, as wise as he, Maintain, with sounder sense, that dreams forebode ; For Homer plainly says they come from God. Nor Cato said it : but some modern fool Impos'd in Cato's name on boys at school. n 194 DRYDEN. " Believe me, madam, morning dreams foreshow Th' event of things, and future weal or woe : Some truths are not by reason to be try'd, But we have sure experience for our guide. An ancient author, equal with the best, Relates this tale of dreams among the rest. " Two friends or brothers, with devout intent, On some far pilgrimage together went. It happen'd so, that, when the Sun was down, They just arriv'd by twilight at a town : That day had been the baiting of a bull, 'Twas at a feast, and every inn so full, That no void room in chamber, or on ground, And but one sorry bed was to be found : And that so little it would hold but one, Though till this hour they never lay alone. " So were they forc'd to part ; one stay'd behind, His fellow sought what lodging he could find : At last he found a stall where oxen stood, And that he rather chose than lie abroad. ' Twas in a farther yard without a door ; But, for his ease, well litter'd was the floor. " His fellow, who the narrow bed had kept, Was weary, and without a rocker slept : Supine he snor'd ; but in the dead of night, He dreamt his friend appear'd before his sight, Who, with a ghastly look and doleful cry, Said, ' Help me, brother, or this night I die : Arise, and help, before all help be vain, Or in an ox's stall I shall be slain.' " Rous'd from his rest, he waken'd in a start, Shivering with horrour, and with aching heart, At length to cure himself by reason tries ; 'Tis but a dream, and what are dreams but lies? So thinking, chang'd his side, and clos'd his eyes. His dream returns ; his friend appears again : * The murderers come, now help, or I am slain :' 'Twas but a vision still, and visions are but vain. He dreamt the third : but now his friend appear'd Pale, naked, pierc'd with wounds, witli blood be- smear'd : Thrice warn'd, ' Awake,' said he ; < relief is late, The deed is done ; but thou revenge my fate : Tardy of aid, unseal thy heavy eyes, Awake, and with the dawning day arise : Take to the western gate thy ready way, For by that passage they my corpse convey : My corpse is in a tumbril laid, among The filth and ordure, and enclos'd with dung : That cart arrest, and raise a common cry ; For sacred hunger of my gold, I die : Then show 'd his grisly wound : and last he drew A piteous sigh, and took a long adieu. ' " The frighted friend arose by break of day, And found the stall where late his fellow lay. Then of his impious host inquiring more, Was answer'd that his guest was gone before : ' Muttering, he went,' said he, ' by morning light, And much complain'd of his ill rest by night.' This rais'd suspicion in the pilgrim's mind ; Because all hosts are of an evil kind, And oft to share the spoils with robbers join'd. " His dream confirm'd his thought : with troubled look Straight to the western gate his way he took ; There, as his dream foretold, a cart he found, That carry'd compost forth to dung the ground. This when the pilgrim saw, he stretch'd his throat, And cry'd out murder with a yelling note. * My murder'd fellow in this cart lies dead, Vengeance and justice on the villain's head. Ye magistrates, who sacred laws dispense, On you I call, to punish this offence. ' " The word thus given, within a little space, The mob came roaring out, and throng'd the place, All in a tiice they cast the cart to the ground, And in tin-, dung the murder'd body found ; Though breathless, warm, and reeking from tin wound. Good Heaven, whose darling attribute we find Is boundless grace, and mercy to mankind, I Abhors the cruel ; and the deeds of night By wondrous ways reveals in open light : Murder may pass unpunish'd for a time, But tardy Justice will o'ertake the crime. And oft a speedier pain the guilty feels : The hue and cry of Heaven pursues him at the heels; Fresh from the fact, as in the present case, The criminals are seiz'd upon the place : Carter and host confronted face to face. Stiff in denial, as the law appoints, On engines they distend their tortur'd joints: So was confession forc'd, th' offence was known, And public justice on th' offenders done. " Here may you see that visions are to dread ; And in the page that follows this, 1 read Of two young merchants, whom the hope of gain Induc'd in partnership to cross the main. Waiting till willing winds their sails supply'd, Within a trading town they long abide, Full fairly situate on a haven's side ; One evening it befell, that looking out, The wind they long had wish'd was come about : Well pleas'd they went to rest ; and if the gale Till morn continued, both resolv'd to sail. But as together in a bed they lay, The younger had a dream at break of day. A man he thought stood frowning at his side : Who warn'd him for his safety to provide, Nor put to sea, but safe on shore abide. ' I come, thy genius, to command thy stay ; Trust not the winds, for fatal is the day, And Death unhop'd attends the watery way. ' " The vision said : and vanish'd from his sight : The dreamer waken'd in a mortal fright : Then pull'd his drowsy neighbour, and declar'd What in his slumber he had seen and heard. His friend smil'd scornful, and with proud contemf Rejects as idle what his fellow dreamt. ' Stay, who will stay : for me no fears restrain, Who follow Mercury the god of gain ; Let each man do as to his fancy seems, I wait not, I, till you have better dreams. Dreams are but interludes which Fancy makes When monarch Reason sleeps, this mimic wakes : Compounds a medley of disjointed things, A mob of coblers, and a court of kings : Light fumes are merry, grosser fumes are sad ; Both are the reasonable soul run mad : And many monstrous forms in sleep we see, That neither were, nor are, nor e'er can be. Sometimes forgotten things long cast behind Rush forward in the brain, and come to mind. The nurse's legends are for truths receiv'd, And the man dreams but what the boy believ'd. Sometimes we but rehearse a former play, The night restores our actions done by day ; As hounds in sleep will open for their prey. In short, the farce of dreams is of a piece, Cliimeras all ; and more absurd, or less : You, who believe in tales, abide alone ; Whate'er I get this voyage is my own. ' THE COCK AND THE FOX. " Thus while he spoke, he heard the shouting crew tat call'd aboard, and took his last adieu. ie vessel went before a merry gale, id for quick passage put on every sail : t when least fear'd, and ev'n in open day, e mischief overtook her in the way : lether she sprung a leak, I cannot find, whether she was overset with wind, that some rock below her bottom rent ; t down at once with all her crew she went : r fellow sliips from far her loss descry'd : t only she was sunk, and all were safe beside. ' By this example you are taught again, it dreams and visions are not always vain : t if, dear Fartlet, you are still in doubt, 3ther tale shall make the former out. Kenelm the son of Kenulph, Mercia's king, ose holy life the legends loudly sing, rn'd in a dream, his murder did foretell m point to point as after it befell ; circumstances to his nurse he told wonder from a child of seven years old) : dream with horrour heard, the good old wife n treason counsel'd him to guard his life ; close to keep the secret in his mind, a boy's vision small belief would find, pious child, by promise bound, obey'd, was the x fatal murder long delay 'd : ^uenda slain, he fell before his time, e a young martyr by his sister's crime, tale is told by venerable Bede, :h at your better leisure you may read. Macrobius too relates the vision sent ie great Scipio, with the fam'd event : ctions makes, but after makes replies, adds, that dreams are often prophesies. Df Daniel you may read in holy writ, , when the king his vision did forget, i word for word the wondrous dream repeat, ess of patriarch Joseph understand, by a dream enslav'd th' Egyptian land, /ears of plenty and of dearth foretold, i, for their bread, their liberty they sold, nust th' exalted butler be forgot, ie whose dream presag'd his hanging lot. Vnd did not Croesus the same death foresee, 1 in his vision on a lofty tree ? rife of Hector, in his utmost pride, nt of his death the night before he dy'd ; was he warn'd from battle to refrain,' len to death decreed are warn'd in vain : j'd the dream, and by his fatal foe was slain, luch more I know, which I forbear to speak, e the ruddy day begins to break ; is suffice, that plainly I foresee earn was bad, and bodes adversity .- either pills nor laxatives I like, only serve to make the well-man sick : se his gain the sharp physician makes, ftcm gives a purge, but seldom takes : lot correct, but poison all the blood, e'er did any but the doctors good : tribe, trade, trinkets, I defy them all, ;very work of 'pothecary's hall, melancholy matters I forbear : t me tell thee, Partlet mine, and swear, .'hen I view the beauties of thy face, not death, nor dangers, nor disgrace : f my soul have bliss, as, when I spy arlct red about thy partridge eye, While thou art constant to thy own true knight, While thou art mine, and I am thy delight, All sorrows at thy presence take their flight. For true it is, as in principio, Mulier est hominis confusio. Madam, the meaning of this Latin is, That woman is to man his sovereign bliss. For when by night I feel your tender side, Though for the narrow perch I cannot ride, Yet I have such a solace in my mind, That all my boding cares are cast behind ; And ev'n already I forget my dream :" He said, and downward flew from off' the beam. For day-light now began apace to spring, The thrush to whistle, and the lark to sing. Then crowing clapp'd his wings, th' appointed call, To chuck his wives together in the hall. By this the widow had unbarr'd the door, And Chanticleer went strutting out before, With royal courage, and with heart so light, As show'd he scorn'd the visions of the night. Now roaming in the yard he spurn'd the ground, And gave to Partlet the first grain he found. Then often feather'd her with wanton play, And trod her twenty times ere prime of day : And took by turns and gave so much delight, Her sisters pin'd with envy at the sight. He chuck 'd again, when other corns he found, And scarcely deign'd to set a foot to ground ; But swagger 'd like a lord about his hall, And his seven wives came running at his call. 'Twas now the month in which the world began (If March beheld the first created man) : And since the vernal equinox, the Sun, In Aries, twelve degrees, or more, had run ; When casting up his eyes against the light, Both month, and day, and hour, he measur'd right, And told more truly than th' Ephemeris : For Art may err, but Nature cannot miss. Thus numbering times and seasons in his breast, His second crowing the third hour confess'd. Then turning, said to Partlet, " See, my dear, How lavish Nature has adorn'd the year ; How the pale primrose and blue violet spring, And birds essay their throats, disus'd to sing : All these are ours ; and I with pleasure see Man strutting on two legs, and aping me : An unfledg'd creature, of a lumpish frame, Endow'd with fewer particles of flame : Our dames sit scouring o'er a kitchen fire, I draw fresh air, and Nature's works admire : And ev'n this day in more delight abound, Than, since I was an egg, I ever found." The time shall come when Chanticleer shall wish His words unsaid, and hate his boasted bliss ; The crested bird shall by experience know, Jove made not him his master-piece below ; And learn the latter end of joy is woe. The vessel of his bliss to dregs is run, And Heaven will have him taste his other tun. Ye wise, draw near, and hearken to my tale, Which proves that oft the proud by flattery fall : The legend is as true, I undertake, As Tristran is, and Launcelot of the lake : Which all our ladies in such reverence hold, As if in book of martyrs it were told. A fox, full-fraught with seeming sanctity, That fear'd an oath, but, like the Devil, would he , Who look'd like Lent, and had the holy leer, And durst not sin before he said his prayer ; 196 DRYDEN. This pious cheat, that never suck'd the blood, Nor chew'd the flesh of lambs, but when he cou'd ; Had pass'd three summers in the neighbouring wood: And musing long whom next to circumvent, On Chanticleer his wicked fancy bent : And in his high imagination cast, By stratagem to gratify his taste. The plot contriv'd, before the break of day, Saint Reynard through the hedge had made his way ; The pale was next, but proudly with a bound He leapt the fence of the forbidden ground : Yet, fearing to be seen, within a bed Of coleworts he conceal'd his wily head ; Then sculk'd till afternoon, and watch'd his time, ( As murderers use) to perpetrate his crime. hypocrite, ingenious to destroy, O traitor, worse than Sinon was to Troy ! O vile subverter of the Gallic reign, More false than Gano was to Charlemaign ! Chanticleer, in an unhappy hour Didst thou forsake the safety of thy bower : Better for thee thou hadst believ'd thy dream, And not that day descended from the beam ! But here the doctors eagerly dispute : Some hold predestination absolute : Some clerks maintain, that Heaven at first foresees, And in the virtue of foresight decrees. If this be so, then prescience binds the will, And mortals are not free to good or ill : For what he first foresaw, he must ordain, Or its eternal prescience may be vain : As bad for us as prescience had not been, For first, or last, he's author of the sin. And who says that, let the blaspheming man Say worse ev'n of the Devil, if he can. For how can that eternal Power be just To punish man, who sins because he must ? Or, how can he reward a virtuous deed, Which is not done by us ; but first decreed? 1 cannot bolt this matter to the bran, As Bradwardin and holy Austin can ; If prescience can determine actions so That we must do, because he did foreknow, Or that, foreknowing, yet our choice is free, Not forc'd to sin by strict necessity ; This strict necessity they simple call, Another sort there is conditional. The first so binds the will, that things foreknown By spontaneity, not choice, are done. Thus galley-slaves tug willing at their oar, Content to work, in prospect of the shore ; But would not work at all if not constrain'd before. That other does not liberty constrain, But man may either act, or may refrain. Heaven made us agents free to good or ill, And forc'd it not, though he foresaw the will. Freedom was first bestow'd on human race, And prescience only held the second place. If he could make such agents wholly free, 1 not dispute, the point's too high for me ; [sound, For Heaven's unfathom'd power what man can Or put to his Omnipotence a bound ? He made us to his image, all agree ; That image is the soul, and that must be, Or not the Maker's image, or be free. But whether it were better man had been By nature bound to good, not free to sin, I wave, for fear of splitting on a rock. The tale I tell is only of a cock, Who had not run the hazard of his life, Had he believ'd his dream, and not his wife : For women, with a mischief to their kind, Pervert, with bad advice, our better mind. A woman's counsel brought us first to woe, And made her man his Paradise forego, Where at heart's ease he lived ; and might have beei As free from sorrow as he was from sin. For what the devil had their sex to do, That, born to folly, they presum'd to know, And could not see the serpent in the grass ? But I myself presume, and let it pass. Silence in times of suffering is the best, 'Tis dangerous to disturb an hornet's nest. In other authors you may find enough, But all they say of dames is idle stuff. Legends of lying wits together bound, The Wife of Bath would throw them to the ground These are the words of Chanticleer, not mine, I honour dames, and think their sex divine. Now to continue what my tale begun ; Lay madam Partlet basking in the Sun, Breast-high in sand : her sisters, in a row, Enjoy'd the beams above, the warmth below. The cock, that of his flesh was ever free, Sung merrier than the mermaid in the sea : And so befell, that as he cast his eye, Among the coleworts, on a butterfly, He saw false Reynard where he lay full low . I need not swear he had no list to crow : But cry'd, " Cock, cock!" and gave a sudden star As sore dismay'd and frighted at his heart ; For birds and beasts, inform'd by Nature, know Kinds opposite to theirs, and fly their foe. So Chanticleer, who never saw a fox, Yet shunn'd him as a sailor shuns the rocks. But the false loon, who could not work his will By open force, employ'd his flattering skill ; " I hope, my lord," said he, " I not offend ; Are you afraid of me, that am your friend? I were a beast indeed to do you wrong, I, who have lov'd and honour'd you so long ; Stay, gentle sir, nor take a false alarm, For, on my soul, I never meant you harm. I come no spy, nor as a traitor press, To learn the secrets of your soft recess : Far be from Reynard so profane a thought, But by the sweetness of your voice was brought : For, as I bid my beads, by chance I heard, The song as of an angel in the yard ; A song that would have charm 'd th' infernal god And banish'd horrour from the dark abodes ; Had Orpheus sung it in the nether sphere, So much the hymn had pleas'd the tyrant's ear, The wife had been detained, to keep the husbar there. " My lord, your sire familiarly I knew, A peer deserving such a son as you : He, with your lady-mother (whom Heaven rest) Has often grac'd my house, and been my guest : To view his living features, does me good ; For I am your poor neighbour in the wood ; And in my cottage should be pi-oud to see The worthy heir of my friend's family. " But since I speak of singing, let me say, As with an upright heart I safely may, [grour That, save yourself, there breathes not on tl One like your father for a silver sound. So sweetly would he wake the winter-day, That matrons to the church mistook their way, And thought they heard the merry organ play. THE COCK AND THE FOX 197 \.nd he, to raise his voice with artful care, What will not beaux attempt to please the fair ?) )n tiptoe stood to sing with greater strength, Ind stretch'd his comely neck at all the length : uid while he strain'd his voice to pierce the skies, Is saints in raptures use, would shut his eyes, Tiat the sound striving through the narrow throat, lis winking might avail to mend the note. >y this, in song, he never had his peer, rom sweet Cecilia down to Chanticleer ; 'ot Maro's Muse, who sung the mighty man, 'or Pindar's heavenly lyre, nor Horace when a swan, our ancestors proceed from race divine : rom Brennus and Belinus is your line ; r ho gave to sovereign Rome such loud alarms, hat ev'n the priests were not excus'd from arms. " Besides, a famous monk of modern times as left of cocks recorded in his rhymes, lat of a parish-priest the son and heir, VTien sons of priests were from the proverb clear,) Tronted once a cock of noble kind, id either lam'd liis legs, or struck him blind ; >r which the clerk his father was disgrac'd, id in his benefice another plac'd. >w sing, my lord, if not for love of me, t for the sake of sweet saint Charity ; ike hills and dales, and Earth and Heaven rejoice, id emulate your father's angel voice." Die cock was pleas'd to hear him speak so fair, d proud beside, as solar people are ; r could the treason from the truth descry, was he ravish'd with this flattery : much the more, as, from a little elf, had a high opinion of himself; )ugh sickly, slender, and not large of limb, icluding all the world was made for him. i r e princes, rais'd by poets to the gods, d Alexander'd up in lying odes, ieve not every flattering knave's report, :re's many a Reynard lurking in the court ; 1 he shall be receiv'd with more regard I listen 'd to, than modest Truth is heard. Tiis Chanticleer, of whom the story sings, )d high upon his toes, and clapp'd his vvings ; n stretch'd his neck, and wink'd with both his eyes, bilious, as he sought th' Olympic prize. , while he pain'd himself to raise his note, e Reynard rush'd, and caught him by the throat, n on his back he laid the precious load, I sought his wonted shelter of the wood ; 'tly he made his way, the mischief done, ill unheeded, and pursu'd by none. ;, what stay is there in human state, vho can shun inevitable fate ? doom was written, the decree was past, the foundations of the world were cast ! .ries though the Sun exalted stood, patron-planet to procure his good ; Saturn was. his mortal foe, and he, ibra rais'd, oppos'd the same degree : rays both good and bad, of equal power, thwarting other made a mingled hour. .1 Friday morn he dreamt this direful dream, s to the worthy native, in his scheme ! blissful Venus, goddess of delight, could'st thou sutler thy devoted knight, hy own day to fall by foe oppress'd, wight of all the world who serv'd thee best ? Who, true to love, was all for recreation, And minded not the work of propagation. Gaufride, who could'st so well in rhyme complain The death of Richard with an arrow slain, Why had not I thy Muse, or thou my heart, To sing this heavy dirge with equal art! That I like thee on Friday might complain ; For on that day was Coeur de Lion slain. Not louder cries, when Ilium was in flames, Were sent to Heaven by woeful Trojan dames, When Pyrrhus toss'd on high his burnish'd blade, And offer'd Priam to his father's shade, Thau for the cock the widow'd poultry made. Fair Partlet first, when he was borne from sight, With sovereign shrieks bewail'd her captive knight: Far louder tlian the Carthaginian wife, When Asdrubal, her husband, lost his life, When she beheld the smouldering flames ascend, And all the Punic glories at an end : Willing into the fires she plung'd her head, With greater ease than others seek their bed ; Not more aghast the matrons of renown, When tyrant Nero burn'd th' imperial town, Shriek'd for the downfall in a doleful cry, For which their guiltless lords were doom'd to die. Now to my story I return again : The trembling widow, and her daughters twain, This woeful cackling cry with horrour heard, Of those distracted damsels in the yard ; And, starting up, beheld the heavy sight, How Reynard to the forest took his flight, And cross his back, as in triumphant scorn, The hope and pillar of the house was borne. " The fox, the wicked fox !" was all the cry ; Out from his house ran every neighbour nigh : The vicar first, and after him the crew With forks and staves, the felon to pursue. Ran Coll our dog, and Talbot with the band ; And Malkin, with her distaff in her hand ; Ran cow and calf, and family of hogs, In panic horrour of pursuing dogs ; With many a deadly grunt and doleful squeak, Poor swine, as if their pretty hearts would break. The shouts of men, the women in dismay, With shrieks augment the terror of the day ; The ducks, that heard the proclamation cry'd, And fear'tl a persecution might betide, Full twenty miles from town their voyage take, Obscure in rushes of the liquid lake. The geese fly o'er the barn ; the bees in arms Drive headlong from their waxen cells in swarms. Jack Straw at London-stone, with all his rout, Struck not the citv with so loud a shout ; Not when with English hate they did pursue A Frenchman, or an unbelieving Jew ; Not when the welkin rung with one and all ; And echoes bounded back from Fox's hall : [fall. Earth seem'd to sink beneath, and Heaven above to With might and main they chac'd the murderous fox, With brazen trumpets, and inflated box, To kindle Mars with military sounds, Nor wanted horns t' inspire sagacious hounds. But see, how Fortune can confound the wise, And, when they least expect it, turn the dice. The captive cock, who scarce could draw his breath, And lay within the very jaws of Death ; Yet in this agony his fancy wrought, And Fear supply'd him with this happy thought : O 3 198 DRYDEN. " Your's is the prize, victorious prince," said he, " The vicar my defeat, and all the village see. Enjoy your friendly fortune while you may, And bid the churls that envy you the prey Call back their mungril curs, and cease their cry, See, fools, the shelter of the wood is nigh, And Chanticleer in your despite shall die, He shall be pluck'd and eaten to the bone." " "Tis well advis'd, in faith it shall be done ;" This Reynard said : but, as the word he spoke, The prisoner with a spring from prison broke : Then stretch'd his feather'd fans with all his might, And to the neighbouring maple wing'd his flight ; Whom when the traitor safe on tree beheld, He curs'd the gods, with shame and sorrow fill'd ; Shame for his folly, sorrow out of time, For plotting an unprofitable crime ; Yet, mastering both, th' artificer of lies Renews th' assault, and his last battery tries, [fend, " Though I," said he, " did ne'er in thought of- How justly may my lord suspect his friend ! Th' appearance is against me, I confess, Who seemingly have put you in distress : You, if your goodness does not plead my cause, May think I broke all hospitable laws, To bear you from your palace-yard by might, And put your noble person in a fright : This, since you take it ill, I must repent, Though, Heaven can witness, with no bad intent : I practis'd it, to make you taste your cheer With double pleasure, first prepar'd by fear. So loyal subjects often seize their prince, Forc'd (for his good) to seeming violence, Yet mean his sacred person not the least offence. Descend ; so help me Jove as you shall find That Reynard comes of no dissembling kind.' " Nay, "quoth the cock; "but I beshrew us both, If I believe a saint upon his oath : An honest man may take a knave's advice, But idiots only may be cozen'd twice : Once warn'd is well bewar'd ; not flattering lies Shall sooth me more to sing with winking eyes And open mouth, for fear of catching flies. Who blindfold walks upon a river's brim, When he should see, has he deserv'd to swim?" " Better, sir cock, let all contention cease, [peace." " Come down," said Reynard, " let us treat of " A peace with all my soul," said Chanticleer; " But, with your favour, I will treat it here : And, lest the truce with treason should be mixt, 'Tis my concern to have the tree betwixt." THE MORAL. In this plain fable you th' effect may see Of negligence, and fond credulity : And learn beside of flatterers to beware, Then most pernicious when they speak too fair. The cock and fox, the fool and knave imply ; The truth is moral, though the tale a lie. Who spoke in parables, I dare not say ; But sure he knew it was a pleasing way, Sound sense, by plain example, to convey ; And in a heathen author we may find, That pleasure with instruction should be join'd : So take the corn, and leave the chaff behind. THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF . OR THE LADY IN THE ARBOUR. A Vision. Now, turning from the wintery signs, the Sun j His course exalted through the Ram had run, I And, whirling up the skies, his chariot drove | Through Taurus and the lightsome realms of Love Where Venus from her orb descends in showers, To glad the ground, and paint the fields wil flowers : When first the tender blades of grass appear, And buds, that yet the blast of Eurus fear, [year I Stand at the door of life, and doubt to clothe th Till gentle heat, and soft repeated rains, Make the green blood to dance within their veins Then, at their call embolden'd, out they come, And swell the germs, and burst the narrow room ; | Broader and broader yet, their blooms display, I Salute the welcome Sun, and entertain the day. Then from their breathing souls the sweets repair, j To scent the skies, and purge th' unwholesome air : - Joy spreads the heart, and, with a general song, Spring issues out, and leads the jolly months along. In that sweet season, as in bed I lay, And sought in sleep to pass the night away, I turn'd my weary'd side, but still in vain, Though full of youthful health, and void of pain : Cares I had none, to keep me from my rest, For Love had never enter'd in my breast ; I wanted nothing Fortune could supply, Nor did she slumber till that hour deny. I wonder'd then, but after found it true, Much joy had dry'd away the balmy dew : Seas would be pools, without the brushing air, To curl the waves : and sure some little care Should weary Nature so, to make her want repair. When Chanticleer the second watch had sung, Scorning the scorner Sleep, from bed I sprung ; And, dressing by the Moon, in loose array, Pass'd out in open air, preventing day, And sought a goodly grove, as fancy led my way. Straight as a line in beauteous order stood Of oaks unshorn a venerable wood ; Fresh was the grass beneath, and every tree At distance planted in a due degree, Their branching arms in air with equal space Stretch'd to their neighbours with a long embrace, And the new leaves on every bough were seen, Some ruddy colour 'd, some of lighter green. The painted birds, companions of the Spring, Hopping from spray to spray, were heard to sing. Both eyes and ears receiv'd a like delight, Enchanting music, and a charming sight. On Philomel I fix'd my whole desire ; And listen'd for the queen of all the quire ; Fain would I hear her heavenly voice to sing ; And wanted yet an omen to the spring. Attending long in vain, I took the way, Which through a path but scarcely printed lay ; In narrow mazes oft it seem'd to meet, And look'd as lightly press'd by fairy feet. Wandering I walk'd alone, for still methought To some strange end so strange a path was wrought At last it led me where an arbour stood, The sacred receptacle of the wood -. [& rcer This place unmark'd, though oft I walk'd th In all my progress I had never seen : THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF 199 And, seiz'dat once with wonder and delight, Gaz'd all around me, new to the transporting sight. 'Twos bench'd with turf, and goodly to be seen, The thick young grass arose in fresher green : The mound was newly made, no sight could pass Betwixt the nice partitions of the grass ; The well-united sods so closely lay ; And all around the shades defended it from day : For sycamores with eglantine were spread, \ hedge about the sides, a covering over head. \nd so the fragrant brier was wove between, [Tie sycamore and flowers were mix'd with green, Phat Nature seem'd to vary the delight ; Vnd satisfy'd at once the smell and sight. The master workman of the bower was known Through fairy lands, and built for Oberon ; Vho twining leaves with such proportion drew, liey rose by measure, and by rule they grew ; Jo mortal tongue can half the beauty tell : 'or none but hands divine could work so well. >oth roof and sides were like a parlour made, i soft recess, and a cool summer shade ; 'he hedge was set so thick, no foreign eye he persons plac'd within it could espy : ut all that pass'd without with ease was seen, s if nor fence nor tree was plac'd between. Twas border 'd with a field ; and some was plain ^ith grass, and some was sow'd with rising grain, hat (now the dew with spangles deck'd the ground) sweeter spot of earth was never found, look'd and look'd, and still with new delight ; ich joy my soul, such pleasures fill'd my sight : nd the fresh eglantine exhal'd a breath, "hose odours were of power to raise from death, or sullen discontent, nor anxious care, y'n though brought thither, could inhabit there : it thence they fled as from their mortal foe ; >r this sweet place could only pleasure know. Thus as I mus'd, I cast aside my eye, id saw a medlar-tree was planted nigh. ic spreading branches made a goodly show, id full of opening blooms was every bough : goldfinch there I saw with gawdy pride ' painted plumes, that hopp'd from side to side, 11 pecking as she pass'd ; and still she drew ie sweets from every flower, and suck'd the dew : ffic'd at length, she warbled in her throat, id tun'd her voice to many a merry note, it indistinct, and neither sweet nor clear, t suoh as sooth'd my soul and pleas d my ear. Her short performance was no sooner try'd, ten she I sought, the nightingale reply'd : sweet, so shrill, so variously she sung, at the grove echoed, and the valleys rung : d I so ravish'd with her heavenly note, tood entranc'd, and had no room for thought, t, all o'erpower'd with ecstasy of bliss, is in a pleasing dream of Paradise ; length I wak'd, and looking round the bower, rch'd every tree, and pry'cl on every flower, my where by chance I might espy, 3 rural poet of the melody ; still methought she sung not far away : last I found her on a laurel spray, se by my side she sat, and fair in sight, 11 in a line against her opposite ; icre stood with eglantine the laurel twin'd ; i both their native sweets were well conjoin'd. >n the green bank I sat, and listen'd long ttaig was more convenient for the song) : Nor till her lay was ended could I move, But wish'd to dwell for ever in the grove. Only methought the time too swiftly pass'd, And every note I fear'd would be the last. My sight, and smell, and hearing were employ'd, And all three senses in full gust enjoy'd. A nd what alone did all the rest surpass, The sweet possession of the fairy place ; Single, and conscious to myself alone Of pleasures to th' excluded world unknown : Pleasures which no where else were to be found, And all Elysium in a spot of ground, i Thus while I sat intent to see and hear, And drew perfumes of more than vital air, All suddenly I heard th' approaching sound Of vocal music, on th* enchanted ground : An host of saints it seem'd, so full the quire ; As if the bless'd above did all conspire To join their voices, and neglect the lyre. At length there issued from the grove behind A fair assembly of the female kind : A train less fair, as ancient fathers tell, Seduc'd the sons of Heaven to rebel. I pass their form, and every charming grace, Less than an angel would their worth debase : But their attire, like liveries of a kind All rich and rare, is fresh within my mind. In velvet white as snow the troop was gown'd. The seams with sparkling emeralds set around : Their hoods and sleeves the same ; and purfled o'er With diamonds, pearls, and all the shining store Of eastern pomp : their long descending train, With rubies edg'd, and sapphires, swept the plain : High on their heads, with jewels richly set, Each lady wore a radiant coronet. Beneath the circles, all the quire was grac'd With chaplets green, on their fair foreheads plac'd. Of laurel some, of woodbine many more ; And wreaths of agnus-castus others bore : These last, who with those virgin crowns were dress'd, Appear' d in higher honour than the rest. They danc'd around : but in the midst was seen A lady of a more majestic mien ; By stature and by beauty mark'd their sovereign queen. She in the midst began with sober grace ; Her servant's eyes were fixed upon her face, And, as she mov'd or turn'd, her motions view'd, Her measures kept, and step by step pursued. Methought she trod the ground with greater grace, With more of godhead shining in her face ; And as in beauty she surpass'd the quire, So, nobler than the rest, was her attire. A crown of ruddy gold enclosed her brow, Plain without pomp, and rich without a show . A branch of agnus-castus in her hand She bore aloft (her sceptre of command) ; Admir'd, ador'd by all the circling crowd, For wheresoe'er she turn'd her face, they bow'd : And as she danc'd, a roundelay she sung, In honour of the laurel, ever young : She rais'd her voice on high, and sung so clear, The fawns came scudding from the groves to hear ; And all the bending forest lent an ear. At every close she made, th' attending throng Reply'd, and bore the burthen of the song: So just, so small, yet in so sweet a note, It seem'd the music melted in the throat. Thus dancing on, and singing as they danc'd, They to the middle of the mead advanc'd, 200 DRYDEN. Till round my arbour a new ring they made, And footed it about the secret shade. O'erjoy'd to see the jolly troop so near, But somewhat aw'd, I shook with holy fear ; Yet not so much, but that I noted well Who did the most in song or dance excel. Not long I had observ'd, when from afar I heard a sudden symphony of war ; The neighing coursers, and the soldiers' cry, And sounding trumps that seem'd to tear the sky : I saw soon after this, behind the grove From whence the ladies did in order move, Come issuing out in arms a warrior train, Xhat like a deluge pour'd upon the plain : On barbed steeds they rode in proud array, Thick as the college of the bees in May, When swarming o'er the dusky fields they fly, New to the flowers, and intercept the sky. So fierce they drove, their coursers were so fleet, That the turf trembled underneath their feet. To tell their costly furniture were long, The summer's day would end before the song : To purchase but the tenth of all their store, Would make the mighty Persian monarch poor. Yet what I can, I will ; before the rest The trumpets issued, in white mantles dress'd : A numerous troop, and all their heads around With chaplets green of cerrial-oak were crown'd ; And at each trumpet was a banner bound, Which, waving in the wind, display'd at large Their master's coat of arms, and knightly charge. Broad were the banners, and of snowy hue, A purer web the silk- worm never drew. The chief about their necks the scutcheons wore, With orient pearls and jewels powder'd o'er : Broad were their collars too, and every one Was set about with many a costly stone. Next these of kings-at-arms a godly train In proud array came prancing o'er the plain: Their cloaks were cloth of silver mix'd with gold, And garlands green around their temples roll'd ; Rich crowns were on their royal scutcheons plac'd, With sapphires, diamonds, and with rubies grac'd : And as the trumpets their appearance made, So these in habits were alike array'd ; But with a pace more sober, and more slow ; And twenty, rank in rank, they rode a row. The pursuivants came next, in number more ; And like the heralds each his scutcheon bore : Clad in white velvet all their troop they led, With each an oaken chaplet on his head. Nine royal knights in equal rank succeed, Each warrior mounted on a fiery steed : In golden armour glorious to behold ; The rivets of their arms were nail'd with gold. Their surcoats of white ermin fur were made, With cloth of 1 gold between, that cast a glittering shade ; The trappings of their steeds were of the same ; The golden fringe ev'n set the ground on flame, And drew a precious trail : a crown divine Of laurel did about their temples twine. Three henchmen were for every knight assign'd, All in rich livery clad, and of a kind : White velvet, but unshorn, for cloaks they wore, And each within his hand a truncheon bore : The foremost held a helm of rare device ; A prince's ransom would not pay the price. The second bore the buckler of his knight, The third of cornel-wood a spear upright, Headed with piercing steel, and polish'd bright. Like to their lords their equipage was seen, And all their foreheads crown'd with garlands grecr And after these came, arm'd with spear and silicic An host so great, as cover'd all the field, And all their foreheads, like the knights before, With laurels ever green were shaded o'er, Or oak, or other leaves of lasting kind, Tenacious of the stem, and firm against the wind. Some in their hands, beside the lance and shield, The boughs of woodbine or of hawthorn held, Or branches for their mystic emblems took, Of palm, of laurel, or of cerrial-oak. Thus marching to the trumpet's lofty sound, Drawn in two lines adverse they wheel' d around, And in the middle meadow took their ground. Among themselves the turney they divide, In equal squadrons rang'd on either side. Then turn'd their horses' heads, and man to man, And steed to steed oppos'd, the justs began. Then lightly set their lances in the rest, And, at the sign, against each other press'd : They met. I, sitting at my ease, beheld The mix'd events, and fortunes of the field. Some broke their spears, some tumbled horse an man, And round the field the lighten'd coursers ran. An hour and more, like tides, in equal sway They rush'd, and won by turns, and lost the day : At length the nine (who still together held) Their fainting foes to shameful fight compell'd, And with resistless force o'erran the field. Thus, to their fame, when finish'd was the fight, The victors from their lofty steeds alight : Like them dismounted all the warlike train, And two by two proceeded o'er the plain : Till to the fair assembly they advanc'd, Who near the secret harbour sung and danc'd. The ladies left their measures at the sight, To meet the chiefs returning from the fight, And each with open arms embrac'd her chosen knighl Amid the plain a spreading laurel stood, The grace and ornament of all the wood : That pleasing shade they sought, a soft retreat From sudden April showers, a shelter from the heat Her leafy amis with such extent were spread, So near the clouds was her aspiring head, That hosts of birds, that wing the liquid air, Perch'd in the boughs, had nightly lodging there And flocks of sheep beneath the shade from far Might hear the rattling hail, and wintery war, From Heaven's inclemency here found retreat, Enjoy'd the cool, and shunn'd the scorching heat : A hundred knights might there at ease abide ; And every knight a lady by his side : The trunk itself such odours did bequeath, That a Moluccan breeze to these was commoi breath. The lords and ladies here, approaching, paid Their homage, with a low obeisance made : And seem'd to venerate the sacred shade. These rites perform'd, their pleasures they pursue, With song of love, and mix with pleasures new ; Around the holy tree their dance they frame, And every champion leads his chosen dame. I cast my sight upon the farther field, And a fresh object of delight beheld : For from the region of the west I heard Now music sound, and a new troop appear'd ; Of knights, and ladies mix'd, a jolly band, But all on foot they march 'd, and hand in hand. THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF. 201 The ladies dress'd in rich cymarr were seen p Florence satin, flower'd with white and green, id for a shade betwixt the bloomy gridelin. ie borders of their petticoats below are guarded thick with rubies on a row ; id every damsel wore upon her head flowers a garland blended white and red. tir'd in mantles all the knights were seen, at gratify'd the view with cheerful green : ar chaplets of their ladies colours were, [hair, npos'd of white and red, to shade their shining 'ore the merry troop the minstrels play'd j in their master's liveries were array'd, i clad in green, and on their temples wore ; chaplets white and red their ladies bore, ir instruments were various in their kind, ie for the bow, and some for breathing wind : sawtry, pipe, and hautboy's noisy band, [hand. I the soft lute trembling beneath the touching ift of daisies on a flowery lay y saw, and thitherward they bent their way; his both knights and dames their homage made, due obeisance to the daisy paid, then the band of flutes began to play, vhich a lady sung a virelay : stL'l at every close she would repeat burthen of the song, " The daisy is so sweet." ie daisy is so sweet," when she begun, troop of knights and dames continued on. concert and the voice so charm'd my ear, sooth'd my soul, that it was Heaven to hear tt soon their pleasure pass'd : at noon of day, Sun with sultry beams began to play : Sirius shoots a fiercer flame from high, i with his poisonous breath he blasts the sky : droop'd the fading flowers (their beauty fled) clos'd their sickly eyes, and hung the head ; rivel'd up with heat, lay dying in their bed. idies gasp'd, and scarcely could respire : >reath they drew, no longer air, but fire ; ainty knights were scorch'd ; and knew not where n for shelter, for no shade was near ; fter this the gathering clouds amain 1 down a storm of rattling hail and rain : ightningflash'd betwixt : the field, and flowers, up before, were buried in the showers, dies and the knights, no shelter nigh, 3 the weather, and the wintery sky, dropping wet, disconsolate, and wan, irough their thin array receiv'd the rain ; those in white, protected by the tree, [free. iss in vain th' assault, and stood from danger compassion mov'd their gentle minds, ceas'd the storm, and silent were the winds, is'd at what, not suffering, they had seen, ^ent to cheer the faction of the green : een in white array, before her band, g, took her rival by the hand : the knights and dames, with courtly grace, ith behaviour sweet, their foes embrace ; ms the queen with laurel on her brow, uster, I have suffer'd in your woe ; JU be wanting aught within my power ir relief in my refreshing bower." her answer'd with a lowly look, >n the gracious invitation took : it ease both she and all her train rching Sun had borne, and beating rain, urtesy was us'd by all in white, [knight. ^ 1 ; i j 1*1*. The laurel champions with their swords invade The neighbouring forests, where the justs were made, And serewood from the rotten hedges took, And seeds of latent fire from flints provoke : A cheerful blaze arose, and by the fire [attire. They warm'd their frozen feet, and dry'd their wet Refresh'd with heat, the ladies sought around For virtuous herbs, which gather'd from the ground They squeez'd the juice, and cooling ointment made, Which on their sun-burnt cheeks and their chapt skins they laid : Then sought green salads, which they bade them eat, A sovereign remedy for inward heat. The lady of the leaf ordain'd a feast, And made the lady of the flower her guest: When lo, a bower ascended on the plain, With sudden seats ordain'd, and large for either train. This bower was near my pleasant arbour plac'd, That I could hear and see whatever pass'd : The ladies sat with each a knight between, Distinguish'd by their colours, white and green ; The vanquish'd party with the victors join'd, [mind. Nor wanted sweet discourse, the banquet of the Meantime the minstrels play'd on either side, Vain of their art, and for the mastery vy'd : The sweet contention lasted for an hour, And reach'd my secret arbour from the bower. The Sun was set ; and Vesper, to supply His absent beams, had lighted up the sky : When Philomel, officious all the day To sing the service of th' ensuing May, Fled from her laurel shade, and wing'd her flight Directly to the queen array'd in white ; And, hopping, sat familiar on her hand, A new musician, and increas'd the band. The goldfinch, who, to shun the scalding heaK Had chang'd the medlar for a safer seat, And, hid in bushes, 'scap'd the bitter shower, Now perch'd upon the lady of the flower ; And either songster holding out their throats, And folding up their wings, renew'd their notes : As if all day, preluding to the fight, They only had rehears'd, to sing by night : The banquet ended, and the battle done, They danc'd by star-light and the friendly Moon : And when they were to part, the laureat queen Supply'd with steeds the lady of the green, Her and her train conducting on the way, The Moon to follow, and avoid the day. This when I saw, inquisitive to know The secret moral of the mystic show, I started from my shade, in hopes to find Some nymph to satisfy my longing mind : And, as my fair adventure fell, I found A lady all in white, with laurel crown'd, Who clos'd the rear, and softly pac'd along, Repeating to herself the former song. With due respect my body I inclin'd, As to some being of superior kind, And made my court according to the day, Wishing her queen and her a happy May. " Great thanks, my daughter," with a gracious bow She said ; and I, who much desir'd to know Of whence she was, yet fearful how to break My mind, adventur'd humbly thus to speak : " Madam, might I presume and not offend, So may the stars and shining Moon attend Your nightly sports, as you vouchsafe to tell What nymphs they were who mortal forms excel, And what the knights who fought in listed fields so 202 DRYDEN. To this the dame reply'd : " Fair daughter, know, That what you saw was all a fairy show : And all those airy shapes you now behold, [mold, Were human bodies once, and cloth'd with earthly Our souls, not yet prepar'd for upper light, Till doomsday wander in the shades of night ; This only holiday of all the year, We privileg'd in sunshine may appear : With songs and dance we celebrate the day, And with due honours usher in the May. At other times we reign by night alone, And posting through the skies pursue the Moon : But when the morn arises, none are found j For cruel Demogorgon walks the round, And if he finds a fairy lag in light, He drives the wretch before, and lashes into night. " All courteous are by kind ; and ever proud With friendly offices to help the good. In every land we have a larger space Than what is known to you of mortal race : Where we with green adorn our fairy bowers, And ev'n this grove, unseen before, is ours. Know farther : every lady cloth'd in white, And, crown'd with oak and laurel every knight, Are servants to the Leaf, by liveries known Of innocence ; and I myself am one. Saw you not her so graceful to behold In white attire, and crown'd with radiant gold ? The sovereign lady of our land is she, Diana call'd, the queen of chastity : And, for the spotless name of maid she bears, That agnus-castus in her hand appears ; And all her train, with leafy chaplets crown'd, Were for unblam'd virginity renown'd ; But those the chief and highest in command Who bear those holy branches in their hand : The knights adorn 'd with laurel crowns are they, Whom death nor danger never could dismay, Victorious names, who made the world obey : Who, while they liv'd, in deeds of arms excell'd, And after death for deities were held. But those, who wear the woodbine on their brow, Were knights of love, who never broke their vow ; Firm to their plighted faith, and ever free From fears, and fickle chance, and jealousy. The lords and ladies, who the woodbine bear, As true as Tristram and Isotta were." [nine, " But what are those," said I, " th' unconquer'd Who crown'd with laurel-wreaths in golden armour shine ? And who the knights in green, and what the train Of ladies dress'd with daisies on the plain ? Why both the bands in worship disagree, And some adorn the flower, and some the tree ?" " Just is your suit, fair daughter," said the dame : " Those laurel'd chiefs were men of mighty fame ; Nine worthies were they call'd of different rites, Three Jews, three Pagans, and three Cliristian knights. These, as you see, ride foremost in the field, As they the foremost rank of honour held, And all in deeds of chivalry excell'd : Their temples wreath'd with leaves, that still renew ; For deathless laurel is the victor's due : Who bear the bows were knights in Arthur's reirn, Twelve they, and twelve the peers of Charlemain ; For bows the strength of brawny arms imply, Emblems of valour and of victory. Behold an order yet of newer date Doubling their number, erjual in their state ; Our England's ornament, the crown's defence, In battle brave, protectors of their prince : Unchang'd by fortune, to their sovereign true, For which their manly legs are bound with blue. These, of the garter call'd, of faith unstain'd, In fighting fields the laurel have obtain'd, And well repaid the honours which they gain'd. The laurel wreaths were first by Caesar worn, And still they Caesar's successors adorn : One leaf of this is immortality, And more of worth than all the world can buy." " One doubt remains," said I, " the dames green, What were their qualities, and who their queen ?' " Flora commands," said she, " those nymphs a knights, Who liv'd in slothful ease and loose delights ; Who never acts of honour durst pursue, The men inglorious knights, the ladies all untru Who, nurs'd in idleness, and train'd in courts, Pass'd all their precious hours in plays and sport: Till Death behind came stalking on, unseen, [grei And wither'd (like the storm) the freshness of tli These, and their mates, enjoy their present hour. And therefore pay their homage to the Flower. But knights in knightly deeds should persevere, And still continue what at first they were ; Continue, and proceed in honour's fair career. No room for cowardice, or dull delay ; From good to better they should urge their way. For this with golden spurs the chiefs are grac'd, With pointed rowels arm'd to mend their haste ; For this with lasting leaves their brows are boun For laurel is the sign of labour crown'd, [groun Which bears the bitter blast, nor shaken falls From winter winds it suffers no decay, For ever fresh and fair, and every month is May. Ev'n when the vital sap retreats below, Ev'n when the hoary head is hid in snow ; The life is in the leaf, and still between The fits of falling snow appears the streaky grcci Not so the flower, which lasts for little space, A short-liv'd good, and an uncertain grace j This way and that the feeble stem is driven, Weak to sustain the storms and injuries of Heav< Propp'd by the spring, it lifts aloft the head, But of a sickly beauty, soon to shed : In summer living, and in winter dead. For things of tender kind, for pleasure made, Shoot up with swift increase, and sudden i decay 'd." With humble words, the wisest I could frame, And proferr'd service, I repaid the dame ; That, of her grace, she gave her maid to know The secret meaning of this moral show. And she, to prove what profit I had made Of mystic truth, in fables first convey 'd, Demanded, till the next returning May, Whether the Leaf or Flower I would obey? I chose the leaf ; she srnil'd with sober chear, And wish'd me fair adventure for the year, And gave me charms and sigils, for defence Against ill tongues that scandal innocence : " But I," said she, "my fellows must pursue. Already past the plain, and out of view." We parted thus ; I homeward sped my way, Bewilder'd in the wood till dawn of day : And met the merry crew who danc'd about the M Then, late refresh'd with sleep, I rose to write The visionary vigils of the night : CYMON AND IPHIGENIA. 20? lush, as thou may'st, my Little Book, with shame, or hope with homely verse to purchase fame ; or such thy Maker chose : and so design'd hy simple style to suit thy lowly kind. CYMON AND IPHIGENIA. POETA LOQUITUR. :D as I am, for ladies' love unfit, le power of beauty I remember yet. [wit hich once inflam'd my soul, and still inspires my love be folly, the severe divine is felt that folly, though he censures mine; llutes the pleasures of a chaste embrace, ts what I write, and propagates in grace, th riotous excess, a priestly race, ipose him free, and that I forge th' offence, show'd the way, perverting first my sense : malice witty, and with venom fraught, makes me speak the things I never thought, npute the gains of his ungovern'd zeal ; suits his cloth the praise of railing well. ; world will think, that what we loosely write, ugh now arraign'd, he read with some delight ; ause he seems to chew the cud again, en his broad comment makes the text too plain ; I teaches more in one explaining page, n all the double-meanings of the stage, /hat needs he paraphrase on what we mean ? were at worst but wanton ; he's obscene. >t my fellows nor myself excuse ; love's the subject of the comic Muse ; can we write without it, nor would you le of only dry instruction view ; love is always of a vicious kind, oft to virtuous acts inflames the mind, kes the sleepy vigour of the soul, , brushing o'er, adds motion to the pool. , studious how to please, improves our parts polish'd manners, and adorns with arts, first invented verse, and form'd the rhyme, notion measur'd, harmoniz'd the chime ; beral acts enlarg'd the narrow-soul'd, n'd the fierce, and made the coward bold : vorld, when waste, he peopled with increase, warring nations reconcil'd in peace. >nd, the first, and all the fair may find, s one legend, to their fame design'd, i Beauty fires the blood, how love exalts the mind. it sweet isle where Venus keeps her court, ;very Grace, and all the Loves, resort; 3 either sex is form'd of softer earth, akes the bent of pleasure from their birth ; liv'd a Cyprian lord above the rest wealthy, with a numerous issue bless'd. as no gift of Fortune is sincere, nly wanting in a worthy heir ; lest born, a goodly youth to view, 'd the rest in shape, and outward show, all, his limbs with due proportion join'd, ' a heavy, dull, degenerate mind, ul bely'd the features of his face ; r was there, but beauty in disgrace. /nish mien, a voice with rustic sound, upid eyes that ever lov'd the cround. He look'd like Nature's errour, as the mind And body were not of a piece design'd, But made for two, and by mistake in one were join'd. The ruling rod, the father's forming care, Were exercis'd in vain on Wit's despair ; The more inform'd, the less he understood, And deeper sunk by floundering in the mud. Now scorn'd of all, and grown the public shame, The people from Galesus chang'd his name, And Cymon call'd, which signifies a brute ; So well his name did with his nature suit. His father, when he found his labour lost, And care employ'd that answer'd not the cost, Chose an ungrateful object to remove, And loath'd to see what Nature made him love ; So to his country farm the fool confin'd ; Rude work well suited with a rustic mind. Thus to the wilds the sturdy Cymon went, [ment. A squire among the swains, and pleas'd with banish- His corn and cattle were his only care, And his supreme delight, a country fair It happen'd on a summer's holiday, That to the green- wood shade he took his way ; For Cymon shunn'd the church, and us'd not much to pray. His quarter-staff, which he could ne'er forsake, Hung half before, and half behind his back. He trudg'd along, unknowing what he sought, And whistled as he went for want of thought. By Chance conducted, or by thirst constrain'd, The deep recesses of the grove he gain'd ; Where, in a plain defended by the wood, Crept through the matted grass a crystal flood, By which an alabaster fountain stood : And on the margin of the fount was laid (Attended by her slaves) a sleeping maid. Like Dian and her nymphs, when, tir'd with sport, To rest by cool Eurotas they resort : The dame herself the goddess well express'd, Not more distinguish'd by her purple vest, Than by the charming features of her face, And ev'n in slumber a superior grace : Her comely limbs compos'd with decent care, Her body shaded with a slight cymarr ; Her bosom to the view was only bare : Where two beginning paps were scarcely spy'd, For yet their places were but signify'd : The fanning wind upon her bosom blows, To meet the fanning wind the bosom rose ; The fanning wind, and purling streams, continue her repose. The fool of Nature stood with stupid eyes, And gaping mouth that testify' d surprise, Fix'd on her face, nor could remove his sight, New as he was to love, and novice to delight : Long mute he stood, and leaning on his staff, His wonder witness'd with an idiot laugh ; Then would have spoke, but by his glimmering sense First found his want of words, and fear'd offence : Doubted for what he was he should be known, By his clown accent, and his country tone. Through the rude chaos thus the running light Shot the first ray that pierc'd the native night: Then day and darkness in the mass were mix'd, Till gather'd in a globe the beams were fix'd : Last shone the Sun, who, radiant in his sphere, Illumin'd Heaven and Earth, and roll'd around the year. So reason in this brutal soul began, Love made him first suspect he was a man : 204- DRYDEN. Love made him doubt his broad barbarian sound ; By love his want of words and wit he found ; That sense of want prepar'd the future way To knowledge, and disclos'd the promise of a day. What not his father's care, nor tutor's art, Could plant with pains in his unpolish'd heart, The best instructor, Love, at once inspir'd, As barren grounds to fruitfulness are fir'd : Love taught him shame ; and Shame, with Love at strife, Soon taught the sweet civilities of life ; His gross material soul at once could find Somewhat in her excelling all her kind : Exciting a desire till then unknown, Somewhat unfound, or found in her alone. This made the first impression on his mind, Above, but just above, the brutal kind. For beasts can like, but not distinguish too, Nor their own liking by reflection know ; Nor why they like or this or t'other face, Or judge of this or that peculiar grace ; But love in gross, and stupidly admire : A.s flies, allur'd by light, approach the fire. Thus our man-beaot, advancing by degrees, First likes the whole, then separates what he sees ; On several parts a several praise bestows, The ruby lips, the well-proportion'd nose, The snowy skin, and raven-glossy hair, The dimpled cheek, and forehead rising fair, And, ev'n in sleep itself, a smiling air. From thence his eyes descending view'd the rest, Her plump round arms, white hands, and heaving breast. Long on the last he dwelt, though every part A pointed arrow sped to pierce his heart. Thus in a trice a judge of beauty grown, (A judge erected from a country clown) lie long'd to see her eyes, in slumber hid, And wish'd his own could pierce within the lid : He would have wak'd her, but restrain'd his thought, And Love, new-born, the first good-manners taught. And awful Fear his ardent wish withstood, Nor durst disturb the goddess of the wood. For such she seem'd by her celestial face, Excelling all the rest of human race. And things divine, by common sense he knew, Must be devoutly seen, at distant view : So checking his desire, with trembling heart Gazing he stood, nor would nor could depart ; Fix'd as a pilgrim wilder'd in his way, Who dares not stir by night, for fear to stray, But stands with awful eyes to watch the dawn of day. At length awaking, Iphigene the fair (So was the beauty call'd who caus'd his care) Unclos'd her eyes, and double day reveal'd, While those of all her slaves in sleep were seal'd. The slavering cudden, propp'd upon his staff, Stood ready gaping with a grinning laugh, To welcome her awake ; nor durst begin To speak, but wisely kept the fool within. Then she : " What makes you, Cymon, here alone?" ( For Cymon's name was round the country known Because descended of a noble race, And for a soul ill sorted with his face). But still the sot stood silent with surprise, With fix'd regard on her new-open'd eyes, And in his breast receiv'd th' envenom'd dart, A tickling pain that pleas'd amid the smart. But, conscious of her form, with quick distrust She saw his sparkling eyes, and fcar'd his brutal lust ; This to prevent, she wak'd her sleepy crew, And, rising hasty, took a short adieu. Then Cymon first his rustic voice essay 'd, With proffer'd service to the parting maid To see her safe ; his hand she long deny'd, But took at length, asham'd of such a guide. So -Cymon led her home, and leaving there, No more would to his country clowns repair, But sought his father's house, with better mind, Refusing in the farm to be confin'd. The father wonder'd at the son's return, And knew not whether to rejoice or mourn ; But doubtfully receiv'd, expecting still To learn the secret causes of his alter'd will. Nor was he long delay'd : the first request He made, was like his brothers to be dress'd, And, as his birth requir'd, above the rest. With ease his suit was granted by his sire, Distinguishing his heir by rich attire : His body thus adorn'd, he next design'd With liberal arts to cultivate his mind : He sought a tutor of his own accord, And study'd lessons he before abhorr'd. Thus the man-child advanc'd, and learn'd so fi That in short time his equals he surpass'd : His brutal manners from his breast exil'd, His mien he fashioned, and his tongue he fil'd ; In every exercise of all admir'd, He seem'd, nor only seem'd, but was inspir'd : Inspir'd by Love, whose business is to please ; He rode, he fenc'd, he mov'd with graceful ease More fam'd for sense, for courtly carriage more, Than for his brutal folly known before. What then of altor'd Cymon shall we say, But that the fire which choak'd in ashes lay, A load too heavy for his soul to move, [Lo Was upward blown below, and brush'd away Love made an active progress through his mind, The dusky parts he clear'd, the gross refin'd, The drowsy wak'd ; and as he went impress'd The Maker's image on the human breast. Thus was the man amended by desire, And though he lov'd perhaps with too much fire His father all his faults with reason scann'd, And lik'd an errour of the better hand ; Excus'd th' excess of passion in his mind, By flames too fierce, perhaps too much refin'd : So Cymon, since his sire indulg'd his will, Impetuous lov'd, and would be Cymon still ; Galesus he disown'd, and chose to bear The name of fool confirm'd and bishop'd by the fi To Cipseus by his friends his suit he mov'd, Cipseus the father of the fair he lov'd : But he was pre-engag'd by former ties, While Cymon was endeavouring to be wise : And Iphigene, oblig'd by former vows, Had given her faith to wed a foreign spouse : Her sire and she to Rhodian Pasimond, Though both repenting, were by promise bound. Nor could retract ; and thus, as Fate decreed, Though better lov'd, he spoke too late to speed. The doom was past, the ship, already sent, Did all his tardy diligence prevent : Sigh'd to herself the fair unhappy maid, While stormy Cymon thus in secret said : " The time is come for Iphigene to find The' miracle she wrought upon my mind : Her charms have made me man, her ravish'd lov In rank shall place me with the blc-ss'd above. For mine by love, by force she shall be mine, Or death, if force should fail, shall finish my r long expected, for the following tide it out the hostile ship and beauteous bride. To Rhodes the rival bark directly steer'd, len Cymon sudden at her back appear'd, d stopp'd her flight : then, standing on his prow, haughty terms he thus defy'd the foe : )r strike your sails at summons, or prepare prove the last extremities of war." js warn'd, the Rhodians for the fight provide ; eady were the vessels side by side, ;se obstinate to save, and those to seize the bride. t Cymon soon his crooked grapples cast, ich with tenacious hold his foes embrac'd, i, arm'd with sword and shield, amid the press he pass'd. -ce was the fight, but, hastening to his prey, force the furious lover freed his way : nself alone dispers'd the Rhodian crew, weak disdain'd, the valiant overthrew ; ap conquest for his following friends remain'd, reap'd the field, and they but only glean'd. [is victory confess'd, the foes retreat, i cast the weapons at the victor's feet. [fought >m thus he cheer'd : " O Rhodian youth, I love alone, nor other booty sought . r lives are safe ; your vessel I resign ; rs be your own, restoring what is mine ; phigene I claim my rightful due, b'd by my rival, and detain'd by you : r Pasimond a lawless bargain drove, parent could not sell the daughter's love ; if he could, my Love disdains the laws, like a king by conquest gains his cause : re arms take place, all other pleas are vain, : taught me force, and Force shall love maintain, what by strength you could not keep, release, at an easy ransom buy your peace." ar on the conquer'd side soon sign'd th' accord, Iphigene to Cymon was restor'd : e to his arms the blushing bride he took, eeming sadness she compos'd her look ; 1 by force subjected to his will, igh pleas'd, dissembling, and a woman still, for she wept, he wip'd her falling tears, pray'd her to dismiss her empty fears; r yours I am," he said, " and have deserv'd love much better whom so long I serv'd, he to whom your formal father ty'd vows, and sold a slave, not sent a bride." while he spoke, he seiz'd the willing prey, aris bore the Spartan spouse away, ly she scream'd, and ev'n her eyes confess'd ather would be thought, than was distress'd. now exults but Cymoa in his mind ? hopes and empty joys of human kind, 1 of the present, to the future blind ! e of Fate, while Cymon plows the sea, iteers to Candy with his conquer'd prey, e the third glass of measur'd hours was run, i, like a fiery meteor, sunk the Sun ; >romise of a storm ; the shifting gales Le by fits, and fill the flagging sails ; ?e murmurs of the main from far were heard, night came on, not by degrees prcpar'd, But all at once ; at once the winds arise, The thunders roll, the forky lightning flies. In vain the master issues out commands, In vain the trembling sailors ply their hands : The tempest unforeseen prevents their care, And from the first they labour in despair. The giddy ship betwixt the winds and tides, Forc'd back, and forwards, in a circle rides, Stunn'd with the different blows; then shoots amain, Till, counterbuffd, she stops, and sleeps again. Not more aghast the proud archangel fell, Plung'd from the height of Heaven to deepest Hell, Than stood the lover of his love possess'd, Now curs'd the more, the more he had been bless'd ; More anxious for her danger than his own, Death he defies ; but would be lost alone. Sad Iphigene to womanish complaints Adds pious prayers, and wearies all the saints ; Ev'n if she could, her love she would repent, But, since she cannot, dreads the punishment : Her forfeit faith, and Pasimond betray'd, Are ever present, and her crime upbraid. She blames herself, nor blames her lover less, Augments her anger, as her fears increase : From her own back the burthen would remove, And lays the load on his ungovern'd love, Which, interposing, durst, in Heaven's despite, Invade, and violate another's right : The powers incens'd awhile deferr'd his pain, And made him master of his vows in vain : But soon they punish'd his presumptuous pride ; That for his daring enterprize she dy'd ; Who rather not resisted, than comply'd. Then, impotent of mind, with alter'd sense, She hugg'd th' offender, and forgave th' offence, Sex to the last : meantime with sails declin'd The wandering vessel drove before the wind ; Toss'd and retoss'd, aloft, and then below, Nor port they seek, nor certain course they know, But every moment wait the coming blow. Thus blindly driven, by breaking day they view'd The land before them, and their fears renew'd ; The land was welcome, but the tempest bore The threaten'd ship against a rocky shore. A winding bay was near ; to this they bent, And just escap'd ; their force already spent : Secure from storms, and panting from the sea, The land unknown at leisure they survey ; And saw (but soon their sickly sight withdrew) The rising towers of Rhodes at distant view ; And curs'd the hostile shore of Pasimond, Sav'd from the seas, and shipwreck'd on the ground. The frighted sailors try'd their strength in vain To turn the stern, and tempt the stormy main ; But the stiff wind withstood the labouring oar, And forc'd them forward on the fatal shore ! The crooked keel now bites the Rhodian strand, And the ship moor'd constrains the crew to land ; Yet still they might be safe, because unknown, But, as ill fortune seldom comes alone, The vessel they dismiss'd was driven before, Already shelter'd on their native shore ; [cheer ; Known each, they know; but each with change of The vanquish'd side exults ; the victors fear ; Not them, but theirs, made prisoners ere they fight, Despairing conquest, and depriv'd of flight. The country rings around with loud alarms. And raw in fields the rude militia swarms ; Mouths without hands ; maintain'd at vast expense, In peace a charge, in war a weak defence : 206 DRYDEN. Stout once a month they march, a blustering band, And ever, but in times of need, at hand ; This was the morn when, issuing on the guard, Drawn up in rank and file they stood prepar'd Of seeming arms to make a short essay, Then hasten to be drunk, the business of the day. The cowards would have fled, but that they knew Themselves so many, and their foes so few : But, crowding on, the last the first impel : Till overborn with weight the Cyprians fell. Cymon enslav'd, who first the war begun, And Iphigene once more is lost and won. Deep in a dungeon was the captive cast, Depriv'd of day, and held in fetters fast : His life was only spar'd at their request, Whom taken he so nobly had releas'd : But Iphigenia was the ladies' care, Each in their turn address'd to treat the fair ; While Pasimond and his the nuptial feast prepare. Her secret soul to Cymon was inclin'd, But she must suffer what her Fates assign'd ; So passive is the church of woman-kind. What worse to Cymon could his fortune deal, Roll'd to the lowest spoke of all her wheel ? It rested to dismiss the downward weight, Or raise him upward to his former height ; The latter pleas'd ; and Love (concern'd the most) Prepar'd th' amends, for what by love he lost. The sire of Pasimond had left a son, Though younger, yet for courage early known, Ormisda call'd, to whom, by promise ty'd, A Rhodian beauty was the destin'd bride ; Cassandra was her name, above the rest llenown'd for birth, with fortune amply bless' d. Lysimachus, who rul'd the Rhodian state, Was then by choice their annual magistrate : He lov'd Cassandra too with equal fire, But Fortune had not favour'd his desire ; Cross' d by her friends, by her not disapprov'd, Nor yet preferr'd, or like Ormisda lov'd : So stood th' affair : some little hope remain'd, That, should his rival chance to lose, he gain'd. Meantime young Pasimond his marriage press'd, Ordain'd the nuptial day, prepar'd the feast ; And frugally resolv'd (the charge to shun, Which would be double should he wed alone) To join his brother's bridal with his own. Lysimachus, oppress'd with mortal grief, Receiv'd the news, and study'd quick relief: The fatal day approach'd ; if force were us'd, The magistrate his public trust abus'd ; To justice liable, as law requir'd ; For, when his office ceas'd, his power expir'd : While power remain'd the means were in his hand By force to seize, and then forsake the land : Betwixt extremes he knew not how to move, A slave to fame, but, more a slave to love : Restraining others, yet himself not free, Made impotent by power, debas'd by dignity. Both sides he weigh'd : but, after much debate, The man prevail'd above the magistrate. Love never fails to master what he finds, But works a different way in different minds, The fool enlightens, and the wise he blinds. This youth, proposing to possess and 'scape, Began in murder, to conclude in rape : Unprais'd by me, though Heaven sometimes may An impious act with undeserv'd success : The great it seems are privileg'd alone To punish all injustice but their own. But here I stop, not daring to proceed, Yet blush to flatter an unrighteous deed : For crimes are but permitted, not decreed. Resolv'd on force, his wit the pretor bent, To find the means that might secure th' event : Nor long he labour' d, for his lucky thought In captive Cymon found the friend he sought ; Th' example pleas'd: the cause and crime the same An injur'd lover, and a ravish'd dame. How much he durst he knew by what he dar'd, The less he had to lose, the less he car'd To manage loathsome life, when love was the rewarc Tin's ponder'd well, and fix'd on his intent, In depth of night he for the prisoner sent ; In secret sent, the public view to shun, Then with a sober smile he thus begun. " The powers above, who bounteously bestow Their gifts and graces on mankind below, Yet prove our merit first, nor blindly give To such as are not worthy to receive. For valour and for virtue they provide Their due reward, but first they must be try'd : These fruitful seeds within your mind they sow'd: 'Twas yours t* improve the talent they bestow'd : They gave you to be born of noble kind, They gave you love to lighten up your mind, And purge the grosser parts ; they gave you care To please, and courage to deserve the fair. " Thus far they try'd you, and by proof the found The grain intrusted in a grateful ground : But still the great experiment remain'd, They suffer'd you to lose the prize you gain'd, That you might learn the gift was theirs alone, And when restor'd, to them the blessing own. Restor'd it soon will be ; the means prepar'd. The difficulty smooth'd, the danger shar'd : Be but yourself, the care to me resign, Then Iphigene is yours, Cassandra mine. Your rival Pasimond pursues your life, Impatient to revenge his ravish'd wife, But yet not his ; to-morrow is behind, And Love our fortunes in one band has join'd : Two brothers are our foes, Ormisda mine, As much declar'd as Pasimond is thine : To-morrow must their common vows be ty'd : With Love to friend, and Fortune for our guide, Let both resolve to die, or each redeem a bride. " Right I have none, nor hast thou much to plead 'Tis force, when done, must justify the deed : Our task perform'd, we next prepare for flight : And let the losers talk in vain of right : We with the fair will sail before the wind, If they are griev'd, I leave the laws behind. Speak thy resolves : if now thy courage droop, Despair in prison, and abandon hope : But if thou dar'st in arms thy love regain, (For liberty without thy love were vain,) j Then second my design to seize the prey, [way. i Or lead to second rape, for well thou know'st th Said Cymon overjoy'd, " Do thou propose The means to fight, and only show the foes : For from the first, when love had fir'd my mind, Resolv'd I left the care of life behind." To this the bold Lysimachus reply'd, " Let Heaven be neuter, and the sword decide ; The spousals are prepar'd, already play The minstrels, and provoke the tardy day : I?y this the brides are wak'd, their grooms are dress'c All Rhodes is summon'd to the nuptial feast, All but myself, the sole unbidden guest. CYMON AND IPHIGENIA. 207 bidden though I am, I will be there, d, join'd by thee, intend to joy the fair. ' Now hear the rest; when Day resigns the light, d cheerful torches gild the jolly Night, ready at my call ; my chosen few th arms administer'd shall aid thy crew, jn, entering unexpected, will we seize r destin'd prey, from men dissolv'd in ease, wine disabled, unprepar'd for fight, d hastening to the seas, suborn our flight : seas are ours, for I command the fort, hip well-mann'd expects us in the port : hey, or if their friends, the prize contest, ith shall attend the man who dares resist." t pleas'd ! the prisoner to his hold retir'd, troop with equal emulation fir'd, fix'd to fight, and all their wonted work requir'd. Sun arose ; the streets were throng'cl around, palace open'd, and the posts were crown'd. double bridegroom at the door attends expected spouse, and entertains the friends : y meet, they lead to church, the priests invoke powers, and feed the flames with fragrant smoke, done, they feast, and at the close of night tindled torches vary their delight, se lead the lively dance, and those the brimming bowls invite. ow at th' appointed place and hour assign'd, i souls resolv'd the ravishers were join'd : e bands are form'd ; the first is sent before airour the retreat, and guard the shore ; second at the palace gate is plac'd, up the lofty stairs ascend the last : aceful troop they seem with shining vests, coats of mail beneath secure their breasts, mntless they enter, Cymon at their head, find the feast renew'd, the table spread : t voices, rnix'd with instrumental sounds, nd the vaulted roof, the vaulted roof rebounds, i like the harpies rushing through the hall mdden troop appears, the tables fall, smoaking load is on the pavement thrown ; ravisher prepares to seize his own ; mdes, invaded with a rude embrace, k out for aid, confusion fills the place. c to redeem the prey their plighted lords nee, the palace gleams with shining swords, t late is all defence, and succour vain ; ape is made, the ravishers remain : sturdy slaves were only sent before ar the purchas'd prize in safety to the shore. The troop retires, the lovers close the rear, With forward faces not confessing fear : Backward they move, but scorn their pace to mend, Then seek the stairs, and with slow haste descend. Fierce Pasimond, their passage to prevent, Thrust full on Cymon's back in his descent ; The blade return'd unbath'd, and to the handle bent. Stout Cymon soon remounts, and cleft in two His rival's head with one descending blow : And as the next in rank Ormisda stood, He turn'd the point ; the sword, inur'd to blood, Bor'd his unguarded breast, which pour'd a purple flood. With vow'd revenge the gathering crowd pursues, The ravishers turn head, the fight renews; The hall is heap'd with corps ; the sprinkled gore Besmears the walls, and floats the marble floor. Dispers'd at length the drunken squadron flies, The victors to their vessel bear the prize ; And hear behind loud groans, and lamentable cries. The crew with merry shouts their anchors weigh, Then ply their oars, and brush the buxom sea, While troops of gather'd Rhodians crowd the key. What should the people do when left alone ? The governor and government are gone. The public wealth to foreign parts convey'd ; Some troops disbanded, and the rest unpaid. Rhodes is the sovereign of the sea no more ; Their ships unrigg'd, and spent their naval store, They neither could defend, nor can pursue, But grinn'd their teeth, and cast a helpless view ; In vain with darts a distant war they try, Short, and more short, the missive weapons fly. Meanwhile the ravishers their crimes enjoy, And flying sails and sweeping oars employ : The cliffs of Rhodes in little space are lost, Jove's isle they seek ; nor Jove denies his coast. In safety landed on the Candian shore, With generous wines their spirits they restore : There Cymon with his Rhodian friend resides, Both court, and wed at once the willing brides. A war ensues, the Cretans own their cause, Stiff to defend their hospitable laws : Both parties lose by turns ; and neither wins, Till peace propounded by a truce begins. The kindred of the slain forgive the deed, But a short exile must for show precede : The term expir'd, from Candia they remove ; And happy each, at home, enjoys his love. 208 JOHN PHILIPS. JOHN PHILIPS, an English poet, was the son of Dr. Stephen Philips, archdeacon of Salop. He was born at Bampton, in Oxfordshire, in 1676, and received his classical education at Winchester school. He was removed to Christ- Church col- lege, in Oxford, in 1694, where he fully maintained the distinction he had already acquired at school, and obtained the esteem of several eminent literary characters. In 1703 he made himself known by his poem of " The Splendid Shilling," a pleasant burlesque, in which he happily imitated the style of Milton. The reputation he acquired by this piece caused him to be selected by the leaders of the Tory party to celebrate the victory of Blenheim, in competition with Addison, an attempt which, however, seems to have added little to his fame. His didactic poem on Cyder, published in 1 706, considered as his principal performance, and is th with which his name is chiefly associated. It b came popular, and raised him to eminence amor the poets of his age and class. This, and li " Splendid Shilling," are the pieces oy which 1 will chiefly deserve to be remembered. Phili died of a pulmonary affection, in February 1 70 at his mother's house in Hereford, gMs&tly regrett< by his friends, to whom he was endeared by tl modesty, kindness, and blamelessness of his ch racter. Besides a tablet, with a Latin inscriptio: in Hereford cathedral, he was honoured with monument in Westminster Abbey, erected I Lord Chancellor Harcourt, with a leng and cla sical epitaph, composed by Atterbury. THE SPLENDID SHILLING. " .................. Sing, heavenly Muse ! Things unattempted yet, in prose or rhyme," A shilling, breeches, and chimeras dire. the man, who, void of cares and strife, In silken or in leathern purse retains A Splendid Shilling : he nor hears with pain New oysters cry'd, nor sighs for cheerful ale ; But with his friends, when nightly mists arise, To Juniper's Magpie, or Town-hall * repairs : Where, mindful of the nymph, whose wanton eye Transfix'd his soul, and kindled amorou? flame*, Chloe, or Phillis, he each circling glass Wisheth her health, and joy, and equal love. Meanwhile, he smokes, and laughs at merry tale, Or pun ambiguous, or conundrum quaint. But I, whom griping Penury surrounds, And Hunger, sure attendant upon Want, With scanty offals, and small acid tiff, (Wretched repast !) my meagre corpse sustain : Then solitary walk, or doze at home In garret vile, and with a warming puff Two noted alehouses in Oxford, 1700. Regale chill'd fingers : or from tube as black As winter-chimney, or well-polished jet, Exhale mundungus, ill-perfuming scent : Not blacker tube, nor of a shorter size, Smokes Cambro- Briton (vers'd in pedigree, ; Sprung from Cadwallador and Arthur, kings j Full famous in romantic tale) when he O'er many a craggy hill and barren cliff, Upon a cargo of fam'd Cestrian cheese, High over-shadowing rides, with a design To vend his wares, or at th' Arvonian mart, Or Maridunum, or the antient town Yclep'd Brechinia, or where Vaga's stream Encircles Ariconium, fruitful soil ! Whence flow nectareous wines, that well may vie With Massic, Setin, or renown'd Falern. Thus while my joyless minutes tedious flow, With looks demure, and silent pace, a Dun, Horrible monster ! hated by gods and men, To my aerial citadel ascends, With vocal heel thrice thundering at my gate, With hideous accent thrice he calls ; I know The voice ill-boding, and the solemn sound. What should I do? or whither turn ? Amaz'd, Confounded, to the dark recess I fly Of wood-hole ; straight my bristling hairs erect [ Through sudden fear; a chilly sweat bedews CIDER. 209 My shuddering limbs, and (wonderful to tell !) My tongue forgets her faculty of speech ; So horrible he seems ! His faded brow, Entrench'd with many a frown, and conic beard, And spreading band, admir'd by modern saints, Disastrous actsforbode /"in his right hand Long scrolls of paper solemnly he waves, With characters and figures dire inscrib'd, Grievous to mortal eyes ; (ye gods, avert [stalks Such plagues from righteous men!) Behind him Another monster, not unlike himself, Sullen of aspect, by the vulgar call'd A. catchpole, whose polluted hands the gods, With force incredible, and magic charms, First have endued : if he his ample palm >hould haply on ill-fated shoulder lay )f debtor, straight his body, to the touch )bsequious (as whilom knights were wont), \j some enchanted castle is convey'd, Vhere gates impregnable, and coercive chains, n durance strict detain liim, till, in form >f money, Pallas sets the captive free. Beware, ye debtors ! when ye walk, beware, e circumspect ; oft with insidious ken he caitiff eyes your steps aloof, and oft ies perdue in a nook or gloomy cave, 'ompt to enchant some inadvertent wretch 'ith his unhallow'd touch. So (poets sing) ;imalkin, to domestic vermin sworn i everlasting foe, with watchful eye es nightly brooding o'er a chinky gap, otending her fell claws, to thoughtless mice re ruin. So her disembowell'd web achne, in a hall or kitchen, spreads vious to vagrant flies : sho secret stands thin her woven cell : the humming prey, gardless of their fate, rush on the toils 'Xtricable, nor will aught avail air arts, or arms, or shapes of lovely hue ; 3 wasp insidious, and the buz/.ing drone, d butterfly, proud of expanded wings {inct with gold, entangled in ner snares, less resistance make ; with eager strides, towering flies to her expected spoils ; n, with envenom'd jaws, the vital blood nks of reluctant foes, and to her cave ir bulky carcasses triumphant drags. D pass my days. But when nocturnal shades ; world envelop, and th' inclement air mades men to repel benumbing frosts i pleasant wines, and crackling blaze of wood ; lonely sitting, nor the glimmering light lake- weight candle, nor the joyous talk >ving friend, delights : distress'd, forlorn, dst the horrours of the tedious night, :ling I sigh, and feed with dismal thoughts inxious mind : or sometimes mournful verse e, and sing of groves and myrtle shades, esperate lady near a purling-stream, >ver pendant on a willow-tree, iwhile I labour with eternal drought, restless wish, and rave ; my parched throat ^ no relief, nor heavy eyes repose : f a slumber haply does invade reary limbs, my fancy 's still awake, ghtful of drink, and eager, in a dream, es imaginary pots of ale, in ; awake I find the settled thirst jnawing, and the pleasant phantom curse, us do I live, from pleasure quite debarr'd, Nor taste the fruits that the Sun's genial rays Mature, John-apple, nor the downy peach, Nor walnut in rough-furrow'd coat secure, Nor medlar, fruit delicious in decay ; Afflictions great ! yet greater still remain : My galligaskins, that have long withstood The winter's fury, and encroaching frosts, By time subdued (what will not time subdue !) An horrid chasm disclos'd with orifice Wide, discontinuous ; at which the winds Eurus and Auster, and the dreadful force Of Boreas, that congeals the Cronian waves, Tumultuous enter with dire chilling blasts, Portending agues. Thus a well-fraught ship, Long sail'd secure, or through th' JEgean deep, Or the Ionian, till cruising near The Lilybean shore, with hideous crush On Scylla, or Charybdis (dangerous rocks !) She strikes rebounding ; whence the shatter'd oak, So fierce a shock unable to withstand, Admits the sea : in at the gaping side The crowding waves gush with impetuous rage, Resistless, overwhelming ; horrors seize The mariners ; Death in their eyes appears, [pray : They stare, they lave, they pump, they swear, they (Vain efforts !) still the battering waves rush in, Implacable, till, delug'd by the foam, The ship sinks foundering in the vast abyss. CIDER, A POEM, IN TWO BOOKS. Honos erit huic quoque Porno? VIRG. BOOK I. WHAT soil the apple loves, what care is due To orchats, timeliest when to press the fruits, Thy gift, Pomona, in Miltonian verse Adventurous I presume to sing; of verse Nor skill'd, nor studious : but my native soil Invites me, and the theme as yet unsung. Ye Ariconian knights, and fairest dames, To whom propitious Heaven these blessings grants, Attend my lays, nor hence disdain to learn, How Nature's gifts may be improv'd by art. And thou, O Mostyn, whose benevolence, And candour, oft experienc'd, me vouchsaf d To knit in friendship, growing still with years, Accept this pledge of gratitude and love. May it a lasting monument remain Of dear respect ; that when this body frail Is moulder 'd into dust, and I become As I had never been, late times may know I once was bless'd in such a matchless friend ! Whoe'er expects his labouring trees should bend With fruitage, and a kindly harvest yield, Be this his first concern, to find a tract Impervious to the winds, begirt with hills That intercept the Hyperborean blasts Tempestuous, and cold Eurus' nipping force, Noxious to feeble buds : but to the west Let him free entrance grant, let Zephyrs bland Administer their tepid genial airs ; Nought fear he from the west, whose gentle warmth Discloses well the Earth's all-teeming womb, Invigorating tender seeds ; whose breath Nurtures the orange, and the citron groves. P 210 PHILIPS. BOOK Hesperian fruits, and wafts their odours sweet Wide through the air, and distant shores perfumes. Nor only do the hills exclude the winds : But when the blackening clouds in sprinkling showers Distil, from the high summits down the rain Runs trickling; with the fertile moisture cheer'd, The orchats smile ; joyous the farmers see Their thriving plants, and bless the heavenly dew. Next let the planter, with discretion meet, The force and genius of each soil explore ; To what adapted, what it shuns averse : Without this necessary care, in vain He hopes an apple-vintage, and invokes Pomona's aid in vain. The miry fields, Rejoicing in rich mould, most ample fruit Of beauteous form produce ; pleasing to sight, But to the tongue inelegant and flat. So Nature has decreed : so oft we see Men passing fair, in outward lineaments Elaborate ; less, inwaruly, exact. Nor from the sable ground expect success, Nor from cretaceous, stubborn and jejune : The Must, of pallid hue, declares the soil Devoid of spirit ; wretched he, that quaffs Such wheyish liquors ; oft with colic pangs, With pungent colic pangs distress'd he'll roar, And toss, and turn, and curse th' unwholesome draught. But, farmer, look where full-ear'd sheaves of rye Grow wavy on the tilth, that soil select For apples : thence thy industry shall gain Ten-fold reward : thy garners, thence with store Surcharg'- shall burst; thy press with purest juice Shall flow, which, in revolving years, may try Thy feeble feet, and bind thy faltering tongue. Such is the Kentchurch, such Dantzeyan ground, Such thine, O learned Brome, and Capel such, Willisian Burlton, much-lov'd Geers his Marsh, And Sutton-at.*es. drench'd with regal blood Of Ethelbert, when to th' unhallow'd feast Of Mercian Offa he invited came, To treat of spousals : long connubial joys He promis'd to liimself, allur'd by fair Elfrida's beauty : but, deluded, dy'd In height of hopes oh ! hardest fate, to fall By show of friendship, and pretended love ! I nor advise, nor reprehend the choice Of Marcley-hill ; the apple no where finds A kinder mould : yet 'tis unsafe to trust Deceitful ground : who knows but that, once more, This mount may journey, and, his present site Forsaking, to thy neighbour's bounds transfer The goodly plants, affording matter strange For law-debates * ? If therefore thou incline * February the seventh, 1571, at six o'clock in the evening, this hill roused itself with a roaring noise, and by seven the next morning had moved forty paces ; it kept moving for three days to- gether, carrying with it sheep in their cotes, hedge- rows and trees, and in its passage overthrew Kin- naston Chappie, and turned two highways near an hundred yards from tlieir former position. The ground thus moved was about twenty-six acres, which opened itself, and carried the earth before it for four hundred yards space, leaving that which was pasture in the place of the tillage, and the til- lage overspread with pasture. See Speed's Account of Herefordshire, page 49, and Camden's Britannia. To deck this rise with fruits of various ta?tes, Fail not by frequent vows t' implore success ; Thus piteous Heaven may fix the wandering glebi But if (for Nature doth not share alike Her gifts) an happy soil should be withheld ; If a penurious clay should be thy lot, Or rough unwieldy earth, nor to the plough, Nor to the cattle kind, with sandy stones And gravel o'er-abounding, think it not Beneath thy toil ; the sturdy pear-tree here Will rise luxuriant, and with toughest root Pierce the obstructing grit, and restive marie. Thus nought is useless made ; nor is there land, But what, or of itself, or else compell'd, Affords advantage. On the barren heath The shepherd tends his flock, that daily crop Their verdant dinner from the mossy turf, Sufficient ; after them the cackling goose, Close-grazer, finds wherewith to ease her want. What should I more? Ev'n on the cliffy height Of Penmenmaur, and that cloud-piercing hill, Plinlimmon, from afar the traveller kens Astonish'd, how the goats their shrubby browze Gnaw pendent ; nor untrembling canst thou see, How from a scraggy rock, whose prominence Half overshades the ocean, hardy men, Fearless of rending winds, and dashing waves, Cut samphire, to excite the squeamish gust Of pamper'd luxury. Then, let thy ground Not lie unlabor'd ; if the richest stem Refuse to thrive, yet who would doubt to plant Somewhat, that may to human use redound, And penury, the worst of ills, remove? There are, who, fondly studious of increase, Rich foreign mould on their ill-natur'd land Induce laborious, and with fattening muck Besmear the roots; in vain ! the nursling grove Seems fair a while, cherish' d with foster earth : But when the alien compost is exhaust, Its native poverty again prevails. Though this art fails, despond not ; little pains In a due hour employ'd, great profit yield. Th' industrious, when the Sun in Leo rides, And darts his sultriest beams, portending drougl Forgets not at the foot of every plant To sink a circling trench, and daily pour A just supply of alimental streams, Exhausted sap recruiting ; else false hopes He cherishes, nor will his fruit expect Th' autumnal season, but, in summer's pride, When other orchats smile, abortive fail. Tims the great light of Heaven, that in his cour Surveys and quickens all tilings, often proves Noxious to planted fields, and often men Perceive his influence dire ; sweltering they run To grots, and caves, and the cool umbrage seek Of woven arborets, and oft the rills Still streaming fresh revisit, to allay Thirst inextinguishable : but if the spring Preceding should be destitute of rain, Or blast septentrional with brushing wings Sweep up Uie smoky mists, and vapours damp, j Then woe to mortals ! Titan then exerts His heat intense, and on our vitals preys ; Tli en maladies of various kinds, and names Unknown, malignant fevers, and that foe To blooming beauty, which imprints the face Of fairest nymph, and checks our growing love, Reign far and near ; grim Death in different bliap Depopulates the nations ; thousands fall BOOK I. CIDER. 211 lis victims ; youths, and virgins, in their flower, leluctant die, and sighing leave their Joves mfinish'd, by infectious heaven destroy'd. Such heats prevail'd, when fair Eliza, last >f Winchcomb's name (next thee in blood and worth, ' fairest St. John !) left this toilsome world i beauty's prime, and sadden'd all the year : or could her virtues, nor repeated vows f thousand lovers, the relentless hand f Death arrest : she with the vulgar fell, aly distinguish'd by this humble verse. But if it please the Sun's intemperate force > know, attend ; whilst I of ancient fame ic annals trace, and image to thy mind, )w our forefathers, (luckless men '. ) ingulft the wide-yawning Earth, to Stygian shades 3nt quick, in one sad sepulchre enclos'd. tn elder days, ere yet the Roman bands :torious, this our other world subdued, spacious city stood, with firmest walls e mounded, and with numerous turrets crown'd, ial spires, and citadels, the seat kings, and heroes resolute in war, I'd Ariconium : uncontroll'd and free, all-subduing Latian arms prevail'd. n also, though to foreign yoke submiss, undemolish'd stood, and ev'n till now haps had stood, of ancient British art leasing monument, not less admir'd n what from Attic, or Etruscan hands ie ; had not the heavenly Powers averse r eed her final doom : for now the fields mr'd with thirst ; Aquarius had not shed wonted showers, and Sirius parch 'd with heat itial the green herb : hence 'gan relax ground's contexture, hence Tartarian dregs, lur, and nitrous spume, enkindling fierce, w'd within their darksome caves, by far ; dismal than the loud disploded roar azen enginry, that ceaseless storm >astion of a well-built city, deem'd egnable : th' infernal winds, till now ly imprison'd, by Titanian warmth ng, and with unctuous vapours fed, in'd their narrow cells ; and, their full strength ting, from beneath the solid mass iv'd, and all her castles rooted deep from their lowest seat : old Vaga's stream, 1 by the sudden shock, her wonted track )k, and drew her humid train aslope, ling her banks : and now the lowering sky, aleful lightning, and the thunder, voice yry gods, that rattled solemn, dismay'd iking hearts of men. Where should they turn >s'd ? whence seek for aid ? when from below ireatens, and ev'n Fate supreme gives signs ith and desolation : vain were vows, aints, and suppliant hands to Heaven erect ! ne to fanes repair'd, and humble rites n'd to Thor, and Woden, fabled gods, ith their votaries in one ruin shar'd, 1, and o'erwhelm'd. Others in frantic mood >wling through the streets ; their hideous yells he dark welkin ; Horror stalks around, aring, and, his sad concomitant, ', of abject look : at every gate onging populace with hasty strides arious, and, too eager of escape, -'t the easy way ; the rocking town Supplants their footsteps : to, and fro, they reel Astonish'd, as o'ercharg'd with wine ; when lo ! The ground adust her riven mouth disparts, Horrible cliasm ; profound ! with swift descent Old Ariconium sinks, and all her tribes, Heroes, and senators, down to the realms Of endless night. Meanwhile, the loosen'd winds, Infuriate, molten rocks and flaming globes Hurl'd high above the clouds ; till all their force Consum'd, her ravenous jawsth' Earth satiate clos'd. Thus this fair city fell, of which the name Survives alone ; nor is there found a mark, Whereby the curious passenger may learn Her ample site, save coins, and mouldering urns, And huge unwieldy bones, lasting remains Of that gigantic race ; which, as he breaks The clotted glebe, the ploughman haply finds, Appall'd. Upon that treacherous tract of land, She whilome stood ; now Ceres, in her prime, Smiles fertile, and with ruddiest freight bedeck 'd, The apple-tree, by our forefathers blood Improv'd, that now recalls the devious Muse, Urging her destin'd labours to pursue. The prudent will observe, what passions reign In various plants (for not to man alone, But all the wide creation, Nature gave Love, and aversion :) everlasting hate The Vine to Ivy bears, nor less abhors The Colewort's rankness ; but with amorous twine Clasps the tall Elm : the Paestan Rose unfolds Her bud more lovely, near the fetid Leek, (Crest of stout Britons,) and enhances thence The price of her celestial scent : the Gourd, And thirsty Cucumber, when they perceive Th' approaching Olive, with resentment fly Her fatty fibres, and with tendrils creep Diverse, detesting contact ; whilst the Fig Contemns not Rue, nor Sage's humble leaf, Close-neighbouring: th' Herefordian plant Caresses freely the contiguous Peach, Hazel, and weight-resisting Palm, and likes T' approach the Quince, and the Elder's pithy stem ; Uneasy, seated by funereal Yew, Or Walnut, (whose malignant touch impairs All generous fruits,) or near the bitter dews Of Cherries. Therefore weigh the habits well Of plants, how they associate best, nor let 111 neighbourhood corrupt thy hopeful grafFs. Would'st thou thy vats with gen'rous juice should froth? Respect thy orchats ; think not, that the trees Spontaneous will produce an wholesome draught. Let Art correct thy breed : from parent bough A cion meetly sever : after, force A way into the crabstock's close-wrought grain By wedges, and within the living wound Enclose the foster twig ; nor over-nice Refuse with thy own hands around to spread The binding clay : ere-long their differing veins Unite, and kindly nourishment convey To the new pupil ; now he shoots his arms With quickest growth ; now shake the teeming trunk, Down fain th' empurpled balls, ambrosial fruit. Whether the Wilding's fibres are contriv'd To draw th' earth's purest spirit, and resist It's feculence, which in more porous stocks Of cider-plants finds passage free, or else The native verjuice of the Crab, deriv'd Through th' infix'd gratf', a grateful mixture forms Of tart and sweet ; whatever be the cause, 212 PHILIPS. BOOK ] This doubtful progeny by nicest tastes Expected best acceptance finds, and pays Largest revenues to the orchat-lord. Some think the Quince and Apple would combine In happy union ; others fitter deem The Sloe-stem bearing Sylvan Plums austere. Who knows but both may thrive? howe'er, what loss To try the powers of both, and search how far Two different natures may concur to mix In close embraces, and strange offspring bear? Thou'lt find that plants will frequent changes try, Undamag'd, and their marriageable arms Conjoin with others. So Silurian plants Admit the Peach's odoriferous globe, And Pears of sundry forms ; at different times Adopted Plums will alien branches grace ; And men have gather'dfrom the Hawthorn's branch I Large Medlars, imitating regal crowns. Nor is it hard to beautify each month With files of parti-colour'd fruits, that please The tongue, and view, at once. So Maro's Muse, j Thrice sacred Muse ! commodious precepts gives Instructive to the swains, not wholly bent On what is gainful : sometimes she diverts From solid counsels, shows the force of love In savage beasts ; how virgin face divine Attracts the helpless youth through storms and waves, j Alone, in deep of night : then she describes j The Scythian winter, nor disdains to sing How under ground the rude Riphaian race Mimic brisk Cider with the brakes product wild ; Sloes pounded, Hips, and Servis' harshest j nice. Let sage Experience teach thee all the arts Of grafting and in-eyeing ; when to lop The flowing branches ; what trees answer best From root, or kernel : she will best the hours Of harvest, and seed-time declare ; by her The different qualities of things were found, And secret motions ; how with heavy bulk Volatile Hermes, fluid and unmoist, Mounts on the wings of air ; to her we owe The Indian weed*, unknown to ancient times, Nature's choice gift, whose acrimonious fume Extracts superfluous juices, and refines The blood distemper'd from its noxious salts ; Friend to the spirits, which with vapours bland It gently mitigates, companion fit Of pleasantry, and wine ; nor to the bards Unfriendly, when they to the vocal shell Warble melodious their well-labour'd songs. She found the polish* d glass, whose small convex Enlarges to ten millions of degrees The mite, invisible else, of Nature's hand Least animal ; and shows, what laws of life The cheese-inhabitants observe, and how Fabric their mansions in the harden 'd milk, Wonderful artists ! But the hidden ways Of Nature would* st thou know? how first she frames All things in miniature ? Thy specular orb Apply to well-dissected kernels ; lo ! Strange forms arise, in each a little plant Unfolds its boughs : observe the slender threads Of first beginning trees, their roots, their leaves, In narrow seeds describ'd ; thou'lt wondering say, An inmate orchat every apple boasts. Thus all things by experience are display'd, And most improv'd. Then sedulously think To meliorate thy stock ; no way, or rule, * Tobacco. Be unassay'd ; prevent the morning star Assiduous, nor with the western Sun Surcease to work ; lo ! thoughtful of thy gain, Not of my own, I all the live-long day Consume in meditation deep, recluse From human converse, nor, at shut of eve, Enjoy repose ; but oft at midnight lamp Ply my brain-racking studies, if by chance Thee I may counsel right ; and oft this care Disturbs me slumbering. Wilt thou then repine To labour for thyself? and rather choose To lie supinely, hoping Heaven will bless Thy slighted fruits, and give thee bread unearn'd : 'Twill profit, when the stork, sworn foe of snake Returns, to show compassion to thy plants, Fatigu'd with breeding. Let the arched knife Well sharpen'd now assail the spreading shades Of vegetables, and their thirsty limbs Dissever : for the genial moisture, due To apples, otherwise mis-spends itself In barren twigs, and for th* expected crop, Nought but vain shoots, and empty leaves abound When swelling buds their odorous foliage shed, And gently harden into fruit, the wise Spare not the little offsprings, if they grow Redundant ; but the thronging clusters thin By kind avulsion : else the starveling brood, Void of sufficient sustenance, will yield A slender autumn ; which the niggard soul Too late shall weep, and curse his thrifty hand, That would not timely ease the ponderous bough It much conduces, all the cares to know Of gardening, how to scare nocturnal thieves, And how the little race of birds that hop From spray to spray, scooping the costliest fruit Insatiate, undisturb d. Priapus' form Avails but little ; rather guard each row With the false terrours of a breathless kite. This done, the timorous flock with swiftest wing Scud through the air ; their fancy represents His mortal talons, and his ravenous beak Destructive ; glad to shun his hostile gripe, They quit their thefts, and unfrequent the fields. Besides, the filthy swine will oft invade Thy firm enclosure, and with delving snout The rooted forest undermine : forthwith Halloo thy furious mastiff, bid him vex The noxious herd, and print upon their ears A sad memorial of their past offence. The flagrant Procyon will not fail to bring Large shoals of slow house-bearing snails, thai ere O'er the ripe fruitage, paring slimy tracts In the sleek rinds, and unprest Cider drink. No art averts this pest ; on thee it lies, With morning and with evening hand to rid The preying reptiles ; nor, if wise, wilt thou Decline this labour, which itself rewards With pleasing gain, whilst the warm limbec draw Salubrious waters from the nocent brood. Myriads of wasps now also clustering hang, And drain a spurious honey from thy groves, Their winter food ; though oft repuls'd, again They rally, undismay'd ; but fraud with ease Ensnares the noisome swarms ; let every bough Bear frequent vials, pregnant with the dregs Of Moyle, or Mum, or Treacle's viscous juice ; They, by th' alluring odour drawn, in haste Fly to the dulcet cates, and crowding sip Their palatable bane ; joyful thou'lt see The clammy surface all o'erstrown with tribes 3()OK I. CIDEH. 213 If greedy insects, that with fruitless toil 7 lap filmy pennons oft, to extricate Pheir feet, in liquid shackles bound, till death bereave them of their worthless souls: such doom Vaits luxury, and lawless love of gain ! Howe'er thou may'st forbid external force, ntestine evils will prevail ; damp airs, ind rainy winters, to the centre pierce Tie firmest fruits, and by unseen decay 'he proper relish vitiate : then the grub >ft unobserv'd invades the vital core, 'ernicious tenant, and her secret cave nlarges hourly, preying on the pulp easeless ; meanwhile the apple's outward form 'electable the witless swain beguiles, ill, with a writhen mouth, and spattering noise, e tastes the bitter morsel, and rejects isrelish'd ; not with less surprise, than when nbattled troops with flowing banners pass trough flowery meads delighted, nor distrust le smiling surface ; whilst the cavern'd ground, ith grain incentive stor'd, by sudden blaze irsts fatal, and involves the hopes of war, fiery whirls ; full of victorious thoughts, rn and dismember'd, they aloft expire. Now turn thine eye to view Alcinous' groves, e pride of the Phneacian isle, from whence, ling the spaces of the boundless deep, Ariconium precious fruits arriv'd : e Pippin burnish'd o'er with gold, the Moyle sweetest honied taste, the fair Permain nper'd, like comliest nymph, with red and white, apian acres flourish with a growth .uliar, styl'd the Ottley : be thou first s apple to transplant ; if to the name merit answers, no where shalt thou find vine more priz'd, or laudable of taste. does the Eliot least deserve thy care, John- Apple, whose wither'd rind, intrencht h many a furrow, aptly represents rrepid age, nor that from Harvey nam'd, ck-relishing : why should we sing the Thrift, ling, or Pomroy, or of pimpled coat Russet, or the Cat's-Head's weighty orb, >rmous in its growth, for various use ugh these are meet, though after full lepast oft requir'd, and crown the rich dessert ? ' r hat, though the Pear-tree rival not the worth \riconian products ? yet her freight 3t contemn'd, yet her wide-branching arms screen thy mansion from the fervent Dog, erse to life ; the wintry hurricanes ain employ their roar, her trunk unmov'd .ks the strong onset, and controls their rage, fly the Bosbury, whose large increase, ual, in sumptuous banquets claims applause. :e acceptable beverage ! could but Art iue the floating lee, Pomona's self Id dread thy praise, and shun the dubious strife, thy choice, when summer-heats annoy, t beneath her leafy canopy, fing rich liquids ! oh ! how sweet t' enjoy, ice her fruits, and hospitable shade ! it how with equal numbers shall we match Musk's surpassing worth ; that earliest gives hopes of racy wine, and in its youth, nder nonage, loads the spreading boughs large and juicy offspring, that defies /ernal nippings, and cold sideral blasts ! (>t her tn thp RpH_;trpak viplrl. that nnrp Was of the sylvan kind, uncivilised, Of no regard, till Scudamore's skilful hand Improv'd her, and by courtly discipline Taught her the savage nature to forget: Hence styl'd the Scudamorean plant ; whose wine Whoever tastes, let him with grateful heart Respect that ancient loyal house, and wish The nobler peer, that now transcends our hopes In early worth, his country's justest pride, Uninterrupted joy, and health entire. Let every tree in every garden own The Red-streak as supreme, whose pulpous fruit With gold irradiate, and vermilion shines, Tempting, not fatal, as the birth of that Primeval interdicted plant that won Fond Eve in hapless hour to taste, and die. This, of more bounteous influence, inspires Poetic raptures, and the lowly Muse Kindles to loftier strains ; even I perceive Her sacred virtue. See ! the numbers flow Easy, whilst, cheer'd with her nectareous juice. Hers, and my country's praises I exalt. Hail Herefordian plant, that dost disdain All other fields ! Heaven's sweetest blessing, hail ! Be thou the copious matter of my song, And thy choice nectar ; on which always waits Laughter, and sport, and care-beguiling wit, And friendship, chief delight of human life. What should we wish for more ? or why, in quest Of foreign vintage, insincere, and mixt, Traverse th' extremest world ? why tempt the rage Of the rough ocean ? when our native glebe Imparts, from bounteous womb, annual recruits Of wine delectable, tliat far surmounts Gallic, or Latin grapes, or those that see The setting sun near Calpe'? towering height. Nor let the Rhodian, nor the Lesbian vines Vaunt their rich Must, nor let Tokay contend For sovereignty; Phananis' self must bow To th' Ariconian vales : and shall we doubt T' improve our vegetable wealth, or let The soil lie idle, which, with fit manure, With largest usury repay, alone Empowered to supply what Nature asks Frugal, or what nice appetite requires ? The meadows here, with battening ooze enrich'd, Give spirit to the grass ; three cubits high The jointed herbage shoots ; th' unfallow'd glebe Yearly o'ercomes the granaries with store Of golden wheat, the strength of human life. Lo, on auxiliary poles, the hops Ascending spiral, rang'd in meet array ! Lo, how the arable with barley-grain Stands thick, o'ershadow'd, to the thirsty hind Transporting prospect ! these, as modern use Ordains, infus'd, an auburn drink compose, Wholesome, of deathless fame. Here, to the sight, Apples of price, and plenteous sheaves of corn, Oft interlac'd occur, and both imbibe Fitting congenial juice; so rich the soil, So much does fructuous moisture o'er-abound ! Nor are the hills unamiable, whose tops To Heaven aspire, affording prospect sweet To human ken ; nor at their feet the vales Descending gently, where the lowing herd Chew verdurous pasture ; nor the yellow fields Gaily' interchang'd, with rich variety Pleasing ; as when an emerald green, enchas'd In flamy gold, from the bright mass acquires 4 nnhlpr hup mnrp HpliratR tn sirrht. 21* PHILIPS. BOOK I. Next add the sylvan shades, and silent groves, (Haunt of the Druids) whence the Earth is fed With copious fuel ; whence the sturdy oak, A prince's refuge once, th' eternal guard Of England's throne, by sweating peasants fell'd, Stems the vast main, and bears tremendous war To distant nations, or with sov'reign sway Awes the divided world to peace and love. Why should the Chalybes, or Bilboa boast Their harden'd iron ; when our mines produce As perfect martial ore ? Can Tmolus' head Vie with our saffron odours ? or the fleece Ba?tic, or finest Tarentine, compare With Lemster's silken wool ? Where shall we find Men more undaunted, for their country's weal More prodigal of life ? In ancient days The Roman legions, and great Csesar, found Our fathers no mean foes : and Cressy's plains, And Agincourt, deep-ting'd with blood, confess What the Silures' vigour unwithstood Could do in rigid fight ; and chiefly what Brydges' wide-wasting hand, first garter'd knight, Puissant author of great Chandos' stem, High Chandos, that transmits paternal worth, Prudence, and ancient prowess, and renown, T' his noble offspring. O thrice happy peer ! That, blest with hoary vigour, view'st thyself Fresh blooming in thy generous son ; whose lips, Flowing with nervous eloquence exact, Charm the wise senate, and attention win In deepest councils : Ariconium pleas'd, Him, as her chosen worthy, first salutes. Him on th' Iberian, on the Gallic shore, Him hardy Britons bless ; his faithful hand Conveys new courage from afar, nor more The general's conduct, than his care avails. Thee also, glorious branch of Cecil's line, This country claims ; with pride and joy to thee Thy Alterennis calls : yet she endures Patient thy absence, since thy prudent choice Has fix'd thee in the Muses' fairest seat *, Where Aldrich j- reigns, and from his endless store Of universal knowledge still supplies His noble care : he generous thoughts instils Of true nobility, their country's love, (Chief end of life,) and fqrms their ductile minds To human virtues : by his genius led, Thou soon in every art pre-eminent Shalt grace this isle, and rise to Burleigh's fame. Hail, high-born peer ! and thou, great nurse of arts, And men, from whence conspicuous patriots spring, Hanmer, and Bromley ; thou, to whom with due Respect Wintonia bows, and joyful owns Thy mitred offspring ; be for ever blest With like examples, and to future times Proficuous, such a race of men produce, As, in the cause of virtue firm, may fix Her throne inviolate. Hear, ye gods, this vow From one, the meanest in her numerous train ; Though meanest, not least studious of her praise. Muse, raise thy voice to Beaufort's spotless fame, To Beaufort, in a long descent deriv'd From royal ancestry, of kingly rights Faithful assertors, in him centering meet Their glorious virtues, high desert from pride Disjoin'd, unshaken honour, and contempt Of strong allurements. O illustrious prince ! * Oxford. f Dr. Aldrich, dean of Christ Church. O thou of ancient faith ! exulting, thee, In her fair list this happy land enrolls. Who can refuse a tributary verse To Weymouth, firmest friend of slighted worth In evil days ? whose hospitable gate, Unbarr'd to all, invites a numerous train Of daily guests ; whose board, with plenty crown'd, Revives the feast-rites old : meanwlu'le his care Forgets not the afflicted, but content In acts of secret goodness, shuns the praise, That sure attends. Permit me, bounteous lord, To blazon what, though hid, will beauteous shine, And with thy name to dignify my song. But who is he, that on the winding stream Of Vaga first drew vital breath, and now Approv'd in Anna's secret councils sits, Weighing the sum of things, with wise forecast Solicitous of public good ? How large His mind, that comprehends whate'er was known To old, or present time ; yet not elate, Not conscious of its skill ? What praise deserves His liberal hand, that gathers but to give, Preventing suit ? O not unthankful Muse, Him lowly reverence, that first deign'd to hear Thy pipe, and screen'd thee from opprobrious tongues, Acknowledge thy own Harley, and his name Inscribe on every bark ; the wounded plants Will fast increase, faster thy just respect. Such are our heroes, by their virtues known, Or skill in peace, and war: of softer mould The female sex, with sweet attractive airs Subdue obdurate hearts. The travellers oft, That view their matchless forms with transient glance, Catch sudden love, and sigh for nymphs unknown, Smit with the magic of their eyes : nor hath The daedal hand of Nature only pour'd Her gifts of outward grace ; their innocence Unfeign'd, and virtue most engaging, free From pride, or artifice, long joys afford To th' honest nuptial bed, and in the wane Of life, rebate the miseries of age. And is there found a wretch so base of mind, That woman's powerful beauty dares condemn, Exactest work of Heaven ? He ill deserves Or love, or pity ; friendless let him see Uneasy, tedious day, despis'd, forlorn, As stain of human race : but may the man, That cheerfully recounts the female's praise, Find equal love, and love's untainted sweets Enjoy with honour ! O, ye gods ! might I Elect my fate, my happiest choice should be A fair and modest virgin, that invites With aspect chaste, forbidding loose desire, Tenderly smiling ; in whose heavenly eye Sits purest love enthron'd : but if the stars Malignant these my better hopes oppose, May I, at least, the sacred pleasures know Of strictest amity ; nor ever want A friend, with whom I mutually may share Gladness and anguish, by kind intercourse Of speech and offices. May in my mind, Indelible a grateful sense remain Of favours undeserv'd ! O thou ! from whom Gladly both rich and low seek aid ; most wise Interpreter of right, whose gracious voice Breathes equity, and curbs too rigid law With mild, impartial reason ; what returns Of thanks are due to thy beneficence Freely vouchsaf'd, when to the gates of Death CIDER. I tended prone ? if thy indulgent care Had not preven'd, among unbody'd shades I now had wander'd ; and these empty thoughts Of apples perish'd ; but, uprais'd by thee, I tune my pipe afresh, each night and day, Thy unexampled goodness to extol Desirous ; but nor night, nor day, suffice For that great task ; the highlv-honour'd name Of Trevor must employ my willing thoughts Incessant, dwell for ever on my tongue. Let me be grateful ; but let far from me Be fawning cringe, and false dissembling look, And servile flattery, that harbours oft In courts and gilded roofs. Some loose the bands Of ancient friendship, cancel Nature's laws For pageantry, and tawdry gewgaws. Some Renounce their sires, oppose paternal right For rule and power ; and others realms invade With specious shows of love. This traitorous wretch Betrays his sovereign. Others, destitute Of real zeal, to every altar bend By lucre sway'd, and act the basest things To be styl'd honourable : the honest man, Simple of heart, prefers inglorious want To ill-got wealth rather from door to door, \ jocund pilgrim, though distress'd, he'll rove, Phan break his plighted faith ; nor fear, nor hope, Vill shock his stedfast soul ; rather debarr'd 5ach common privilege, cut off from hopes )f meanest gain, of present goods despoiPd, le'll bear the marks of infamy contemn'd, Jnpity'd ; yet his mind, of evil pure, upports him, and intention free from fraud, f no retinue with observant eyes Attend him, if he can't with purple stain f cumbrous vestments, labour'd o'er with gold, lazzle the crowd, and set them all agape ; et clad in homely weeds, from Envy's darts .emote he lives, nor knows the nightly pangs f conscience, nor with spectres' grisly forms, emons, and injur'd souls, at close of day nnoy'd, sad interrupted slumbers finds ; ut (as a child, whose inexperienc'd age or evil purpose fears, nor knows) enjoys ight's sweet refreshment, humid sleep sincere, 'hen Chanticleer, with clarion shrill, recalls le tardy day, he to his labours hies ladsome, intent on somewhat that may ease nhealthy mortals, and with curious search tamines all the properties of herbs, >ssils, and minerals, that th' embowell'd Earth splays, if by his industry he can :nefit human race : or else his thoughts e exercis'd with speculations deep * good, and just, and meet, andth'wholesome rules ' temperance, and aught that may improve e moral life ; not sedulous to rail, >r with envenom'd tongue to blast the fame harmless men, or secret whispers spread ong faithful friends, to breed distrust and hate, idious of virtue, he no life observes, cept his own ; his own employs his cares, ge subject ! that he labours to refine ily, nor of his little stock denies alms to lazers, merciful and meek. Fhus sacred Virgil liv'd from courtly vice, d bates of pompous Rome secure ; at court, 1 thoughtful of the rural honest life, d how t' improve his grounds, and how himself: ;t poet ! fit exemplar for the tribe Of Phoebus, nor less fit Mtconides, Poor eyeless pilgrim ! and, if after these, If after these another I may name, Thus tender Spenser liv'd, with mean repast Content, depress'd by penury, and pin'd In foreign realm ; yet not debas'd his verse By Fortune's frowns. And had that other bard *, Oh, had but he, that first ennobled song With holy rapture, like his Abdiel been ; 'Mong many faithless, strictly faithful found ; Unpity'd, he should not have wail'd his orbs, That roll'd in vain to find the piercing ray, And found no dawn, by dim diffusion veil'd ! But he however, let the Muse abstain, Nor blast his fame, from whom she learnt to sing In much inferior strains, grovelling beneath Th' Olympian hill, on plains, and vales intent, Mean follower. There let her rest a while, Pleas'd with the fragrant walks, and cool retreat. BOOK II. O HARCOURT, whom th' ingenuous love of arts Has carry'd from thy native soil, beyond Th' eternal Alpine snows, and now detains In Italy's waste realms, how long must we Lament thy absence? whilst in sweet sojourn Thou view'st the relics of old Rome ; or, what Unrivall'd authors by their presence made For ever venerable, rural seats, Tibur, and Tusculum, or Virgil's urn, Green with immortal bays, which haply thou, Respecting his great name, dost now approach With bended knee, and strow with purple flowers j Unmindful of thy friends, that ill can brook This long delay. At length, dear youth, return, Of wit and judgment ripe in blooming years, And Britain's isle with Latian knowledge grace. Return, and let thy father's worth excite Thirst of pre-eminence ; see ! how the cause Of widows, and of orphans, he asserts With winning rhetoric, and well-argu'd law ! Mark well his footsteps, and, like him, deserve Thy prince's favour, and thy country's love. Meanwhile (although the Massic grape delights, Pregnant of racy juice, and Formian hills Temper thy cups, yet) wilt not thou reject Thy native liquors : lo ! for thee my mill Now grinds choice apples, and the British vats O'erflow with generous Cider ; far remote Accept this labour, nor despise the Muse, That, passing lands and seas, on thee attends. Thus far of trees : the pleasing task remains, To sing of wines, and Autumn's blest increase. Th' effect of art are shown, yet what avails 'Gainst Heaven? oft, notwithstanding all thy care To help thy plants, when the small fruitery seems Exempt from ills, an oriental blast Disastrous flies, soon as the hind fatigued Unyokes his team ; the tender freight, unskill'd To bear the hot disease, distemper'd pines In the year's prime : the deadly plague annoys The wide enclosure : think not vainly now To treat thy neighbours with mellifluous cups, Thus disappointed. If the former years Exhibit no supplies, alas ! thou must W T ith tasteless water wash thy droughty throat. * Milton. PHILIPS. BOOK A thousand accidents the farmer's hopes Subvert, or check ; uncertain all his toil, Till lusty Autumn's lukewarm days, allay'd With gentle colds, insensibly confirm His ripening labours : Autumn, to the fruits Earth's various lap produces, vigour gives Equal, intenerating milky grain, Berries, and sky-dy'd Plums, and what in coat Rough, or soft-rin'd, or bearded husk, or shell ; Fat Olives, and Pistacio's fragrant nut, And the Pine's tasteful apple : Autumn paints Ausonian hills with Grapes ; whilst English plains Blush with pomaceous harvests, breathing sweets. O let me now, when the kind early dew Unlocks th' embosom'd odours, walk among The well-rang'd files of trees, whose full-ag'd store Diffuse ambrosial steams, than Myrrh, or Nard, More grateful, or perfuming flowery Bean ! Soft whispering airs, and the lark's mattin song Then woo to musing, and becalm the mind Perplex'd with irksome thoughts. Thrice happy time, Best portion of the various year, in which Nature rejoiceth, smiling on her works Lovely, to full perfection wrought ! but ah ! Short are our joys, and neighbouring griefs disturb Our pleasant hours ! inclement Winter dwells Contiguous ; forthwith frosty blasts deface The blithsome year : trees of their shrivelled fruits Are widow'd, dreary storms o'er all prevail ! Now, now 's the time, ere hasty suns forbid To work, disburthen thou thy sapless wood Of its rich progeny ; the turgid fruit Abounds with mellow liquor: now exhort Thy hinds to exercise the pointed steel On the hard rock, and give a wheely form To the expected grinder : now prepare Materials for thy mill ; a sturdy post Cylindric, to support the grinder's weight Excessive ; and a flexile sallow, intrench'd, Rounding, capacious of the juicy hord. Nor must thou not be mindful of thy press, Long ere the vintage ; but with timely care Shave the goat's shaggy beard, lest thou too late In vain should' st seek a strainer to dispart The husky, terrene dregs, from purer Must. Be cautious next a proper steed to find, Whose prime is past ; the vigorous horse disdains Such servile labours, or, if forc'd, forgets His past achievements, and victorious palms. Blind Bayard rather, worn with work, and years. Shall roll th' unwieldy stone ; with sober pace He'll tread the circling path till dewy eve, From early day-spring, pleas'd to find his age Declining not unuseful to his lord. Some, when the press, by utmost vigour screw'd, Has drain' d the pulpous mass, regale their swine With the dry refuse ; thou, more wise, shall steep Thy husks in water, and again employ The ponderous engine. Water will imbibe The small remains of spirit, and acquire A vinous flavour ; this the peasants blithe Will quaff, and whistle, as thy tinkling team They drive, and sing of Fusca's radiant eyes, Pleas'd with the medley draught. Nor shall thou now Reject the apple-cheese, though quite exhaust : Even now 'twill cherish, and improve the roots Of sickly plants ; new vigour hence convey'd Will yield an harvest of unusual growth. Such profit springs from husks discreetly us'd ! The tender apples, from their parents rent I By stormy shocks, must not neglected lie, The prey of worms: a frugal man I knew, \ Rich in one barren acre, which, subdued By endless culture, with sufficient Must His casks replenish'd yearly : he no more Desir'd, nor wanted ; diligent to learn The various seasons, and by skill repel Invading pests, successful in his cares, Till the damp Libyan wind, with tempests arm'd Outrageous, bluster'd horrible amidst His Cider-grove : o'erturn'd by furious blasts, The sightly ranks fall prostrate, and around Their fruitage scatter'd, from the genial boughs Stript immature : yet did he not repine, Nor curse his stars : but prudent, his fallen heaps Collecting, cherish'd with the tepid wreaths Of tedded grass, and the Sun's mellowing beam: Rivall'd with artful heats, and thence procur'd A costly liquor, by improving time, Equall'd with what the happiest vintage bears. But this I warn thee, and shall always warn, No heterogeneous mixtures use, as some With wat'ry turnips have debas'd their wines, Too frugal ; nor let the crude humours dance In heated brass, steaming with fire intense; Although Devonia much commends the use Of strengthening Vulcan : with their native strcnj Thy wines sufficient, other aid refuse ; And, when th' allotted orb of time's complete, Are more commended than the labour'd drinks. Nor let thy avarice tempt thee to withdraw The priest's appointed share ; with cheerful heart The tenth of thy increase bestow, and own Heaven's bounteous goodness, that will sure rcpa Thy grateful duty : this neglected, fear Signal avengeance, such as overtook A miser, that unjustly once withheld The clergy's due : relying on himself, His fields he tended, with successless care, Early and late, when or unwish'd-for rain Descended, or unseasonable frosts Curb'd his increasing hopes ; or, when around The clouds dropt fatness, in the middle sky The dew suspended staid, and left unmoist His execrable glebe : recording this, Be just, and wise, and tremble to transgress. Learn now the promise of the coming year, To know, that by no flattering signs abus'd, Thou wisely may'st provide : the various Moon Prophetic, and attendant stars, explain Each rising dawn ; ere icy crusts surmount The current stream, the heavenly orbs serene Twinkle with trembling rays, and Cynthia glows With light unsully'd : now the fowler, warn'd By these good omens, with swift early steps [glad Treads the crimp earth, ranging through fields ar Offensive to the birds ; sulphureous death Checks their mid flight, and heedless while they stra Their tuneful throats, the towering, heavy lead O'ertakes their speed ; they leave their little lives Above the clouds, precipitant to Earth. The woodcock's early visit, and abode Of long continuance in our temperate clime, Foretell a liberal harvest ; he of times Intelligent, the harsh Hyperborean ice Shuns for our equal winters ; when our suns Cleave the chill'd soil, he backward wings his way To Scandinavian frozen summers, meet For his numb'd blood. But nothing profits more Than frequent snows : O, may'st thou often see OK II. CIDER. 217 furrows whiten'd by the woolly rain ritious ! secret nitre lurks within porous wet, quickening the languid glebe, onetimes thou shalt with fervent vows implore loderate wind : the orchat loves to wave fi winter winds, before the gems exert ir feeble heads ; the loosen'd roots then drink re increment, earnest of happy years, or will it nothing profit to observe monthly stars, their powerful influence planted fields, what vegetables reign ar each sign. On our account has Jove Igent, to all moons some succulent plant ,ted, that poor helpless man might slack present thirst, and matter find for toil, will the Corinths, now the Rasps, supply ious draughts ; the Quinces now, or Plums, 'herries, or the fair Thisbeian fruit )rest to wines ; the Britons squeeze the works dulous bees, and mixing odorous herbs ire balsamic cups, to wheezing lungs :inal, and short-breath' d, ancient sires, t, if thou 'rt indefatigably bent il, and omnifarious drinks would'st brew ; es the orchat, every hedge and bush Is assistance ; ev'n afflictive Birch, i by unletter'd, idle youth, distils pid current from her wounded bark, se of nursing sap. When solar beams tliirsty human veins, the damask'd meads, c'd, display ten thousand painted flowers I in potables. Thy little sons t to range the pastures : gladly they low the Cowslip-posies, faintly sweet, whence thou artificial wines shalt drain taste, that, in mid fervours, best craving thirst, and mitigate the day. tpy I'e'rne *, whose most wholesome air is envenom'd spiders, and forbids ileful toad, and viper, from her shore ! lappy in her balmy draughts, enrich'd niscellaneous spices, and the root, lirst-abating sweetness prais'd) which wide I her fame, and to each drooping heart t redress, and lively health convey, how the Belgae, sedulous and stout, owls of fattening Mum, or blissful cups icl-relish'd fluids, the fair star V y Phosphorus salute, at noon with frequent-rising fumes ! by use ted, thus to quell their native phlegm ing, and engender wayward mirth. t need to treat of distant climes, remov'd m the sloping journey of the year, I Petsora, and Islandic coasts ? ever-during snows, perpetual shades :ness, would congeal their livid blood, t the Arctic tract spontaneous yield ing purple berry, big with wine, ly fervent, which each hour they crave, round a flaming pile of pines, and oft terlard their native drinks with choice igest Brandy, yet scarce with these aids I to prevent the sudden rot ing nose, and quick-decaying feet ess the sable borderers of Nile, y who Taprobane manure, nor they, ninny Bornio bears, are stor'd with streams * Trr-lnnrl Egregious, Rum, and Rice's spirit extract. For here, expos'd to perpendicular rays, In vain they covet shades, and Thracia's gales, Pining with equinoctial heat, unless The cordial glass perpetual motion keep, Quick circuiting ; nor dare they close their eyes, Void of a bulky charger near their lips, With which, in often interrupted sleep, Their frying blood compels to irrigate Their dry-furr'd tongues, else minutely to death Obnoxious, dismal death, th' effect of drought ! More happy they, born in Columbus' world, Carybbes, and they, whom the Cotton plant With downy-sprouting vests arrays ! their woods Bow with prodigious nuts, that give at once Celestial food, and nectar ; then, at hand The Lemon, uncorrupt with voyage long, To vinous spirits added (heavenly drimVi)~ ~ They with pneumatic engine ceaseless draw, Intent on laughter; a continual tide Flows from th' exhilarating fount. As, when Against a secret clift', with sudden shock A ship is dasli'd, and leaking drinks the sea, Th' astonish'd mariners aye ply the pump, Nor stay, nor rest, till the wide breach is clos'd : So they (but cheerful) unfatigued, still move The draining sucker, then alone concern'd When the dry bowl forbids their pleasing work. But if to hoarding thou art bent, thy hopes Are frustrate, should' st thou think thy pipes will flow With early limpid wine. The hoarded store, And the harsh draught, must twice endure the Sun's Kind strengthening heat, twice Winter's purging cold. There are, that a compounded fluid drain From different mixtures, Woodcock, Pippin, Moyle, Rough Eliot, sweet Permain : the blended streams (Each mutually correcting each) create A pleasurable medley, of what taste Hardly distinguish'd ; as the showery arch, With listed colours gay, ore, azure, gules, Delights and puzzles the beholder's eye, That views the wat'ry brede, with thousand shows Of painture vary'd, yet 's unskill'd to tell Or where one colour rises, or one faints. Some Ciders have by art, or age, unlearn 'd Their genuine relish, and of sundry vines Assum'd the flavour ; one sort counterfeits The Spanish product; this, to Gauls has seem'd The sparkling Nectar of Champaigne ; with that, A Gentian oft has swill'd his throat, and sworn, Deluded, that imperial Rhine bestow'd The generous rummer, whilst the owner, pleas 'd, Laughs inly at his guests, thus entertain'd With foreign vintage from his cider cask. Soon as thy liquor from the narrow cells Of close-prest husks is freed, thou must refrain Thy thirsty soul ; let none persuade to broach Thy thick, unwholesome, undigested cades : The hoary frosts, and northern blasts, take care Thy muddy beverage to serene, and drive Precipitant the baser, ropy lees. And now thy wine's transpicuous, purg'd from all Its earthy gross, yet let it feed awhile On the fat refuse, lest, too soon disjoin'd, From sprightly, it to sharp or vapid change. When to convenient vigour it attains, Suffice it to provide a brazen tube Inflext ; self-taught, and voluntary, flies Tlio /I,.*',.,- ,.,.) li'rM.,11- liriirrh t)ll< wont 218 PHILIPS. BOOK Ascending, then by downward tract convey'd, Spouts into subject vessels, lovely clear. As when a noontide sun, with summer beams, Darts through a cloud, her wat'ry skirts are edg'd With lucid amber, or undrossy gold : So, and so richly, the purg'd liquid shines. Now also, when the colds abate, nor yet Full summer shines, a dubious season, close In glass thy purer streams, and let them gain, From due confinement, spirit, and flavour new. For this intent, the subtle chymist feeds Perpetual flames, whose unresisted force, O'er sand, and ashes, and the stubborn flint Prevailing, turns into a fusil sea, That in his furnace bubbles sunny-red : From hence a glowing drop with hollow'd steel He takes, and by one efficacious breath Dilates to a surprising cube, or sphere, Or oval, and fit receptacles forms For every liquid, with his plastic lungs, To human life subservient ; by his means Ciders in metal frail improve : the Moyle, And tasteful Pippin, in a moon's short year, Acquire complete perfection : now they smoke Transparent, sparkling in each drop, delight Of curious palate, by fair virgins crav'd. But harsher fluids different lengths of time Expect : thy flask will slowly mitigate The Eliot's roughness. Stirom, firmest fruit, Embottled (long as Priaemian Troy Withstood the Greeks) endures, ere justly mild. Soften'd by age, it youthful vigour gains. Fallacious drink ! ye honest men, beware, Nor trust its smoothness ; the third circling glass Suffices virtue : but may hypocrites, (That slyly speak one thing, another think, Hateful as Hell) pleas'd with the relish weak, Drink on unwarn'd, till by enchanting cups Infatuate, they their wily thoughts disclose, And through intemperance grow awhile sincere. The farmer's toil is done ; his cades mature Now call for vent; his lands exhaust permit T' indulge awhile. Now solemn rites he pays To Bacchus, author of heart-cheering mirth. His honest friends, at thirsty hour of dusk, Come uninvited ; he with bounteous hand Imparts his smoking vintage, sweet reward Of his own industry ; the well-fraught bowl Circles incessant, whilst the humble cell With quavering laugh and rural jests resounds. Ease, and content, and undissembled love, Shine in each face ; the thoughts of labour past Increase their joy : As, from retentive cage When sullen Philomel escapes, her notes She varies, and of past imprisonment Sweetly complains ; her liberty retriev'd Cheers her sad soul, improves her pleasing song. Gladsome they quaff, yet not exceed the bounds Of healthy temperance, nor encroach on night, Season of rest, but well bedew'd repair Each to his home, with unsupplanted feet. Ere Heaven 's emblazon'd by the rosy dawn, Domestic cares awake them ; brisk they rise, Refresh'd, and lively with the joys that flow From amicable talk, and moderate cups Sweetly interchang'd. The pining lover finds Present redress, and long oblivion drinks Of coy Lucinda. Give the debtor wine ; His joys are short, and few ; yet when he drinks, His dread retires, the flowing glasses add Courage and mirth : magnificent in thought, Imaginary riches he enjoys, And in the gaol expatiates unconfin'd. Nor can the poet Bacchus' praise indite, Debarr'd his grape : the Muses still require Humid regalement, nor will aught avail Imploring Phoebus, with unmoisten'd lips. Thus to the generous bottle all incline, By parching thirst allur'd : with vehement suns When dusty Summer bakes the crumbling clod; How pleasant is 't, beneath the twisted arch Of a retreating bower, in mid-day's reign To ply the sweet carouse, remote from noise, Secur'd of feverish heats ! When th' aged year Inclines, and Boreas' spirit blusters frore, Beware th' inclement Heavens ; now let thy he; Crackle with juiceless boughs ; thy lingering blc Now instigate with th' apple's powerful streams. Perpetual showers, and stormy gusts confine The willing ploughman, and December warns To annual jollities ; now sportive youth Carol incondite rhymes, with suiting notes, And quaver unharmonious ; sturdy swains In clean array for rustic dance prepare, Mixt with the buxom damsels ; hand in hand They frisk and bound, and various mazes weave Shaking their brawny limbs, with uncouth mien ' Transported, and sometimes an oblique leer Dart on their loves, sometimes an hasty kiss Steal from unwary lasses ; they with scorn, And neck reclin'd, resent the ravish'd bliss. Meanwhile blind British bards with volant toucl Traverse loquacious strings, whose solemn notes j Provoke to harmless revels ; these among, A subtle artist stands, with wondrous bag That bears imprison 'd winds (of gentler sort Than those, which erst Laertes' son enclos'd. ) Peaceful they sleep ; but let the tuneful squeeze Of labouring elbow rouze them, out they fly Melodious, and with sprightly accents charm. 'Midst these desports, forget they not to drench Themselves with bellying goblets ; nor, when Spi Returns, can they refuse to usher in The fresh-born year with loud acclaim, and stor Of jovial draughts, now, when the sappy boughs Attire themselves with blooms, sweet rudiments Of future harvest. When the Gnossian crown Leads on expected autumn, and the trees Discharge their mellow burthens, let them than! Boon Nature, that thus annually supplies Their vaults, and with her former liquid gifts Exhilarates their languid minds, within The golden mean confin'd : beyond there's noug Of health, or pleasure. Therefore, when thy h Dilates with fervent joys, and eager soul Prompts to pursue the sparkling glass, be sure 'Tis time to shun it; if thou wilt prolong Dire compotation, forthwith Reason quits Her empire to confusion, and misrule, And vain de*bates ; then twenty tongues at once Conspire in senseless jargon, nought is heard But din, and various clamour, and mad rant : Distrust, and jealousy to these succeed, And anger-kindling taunt, the certain bane Of well-knit fellowship. Now horrid frays Commence, the brimming glasses now are hini'i With dire intent ; bottles with bottles clash In rude encounter, round their temples fly The sharp-edg'd fragments, down their batti cheeks 30K II. CIDER. 219 ix'd gore and cider flow. What shall we say ' rash Elpenor, who in evil hour y'd an immeasurable bow], and thought exhale his surfeit by irriguous sleep, .prudent? him Death's iron-sleep opprest, scending careless from his couch ; the fall xt his neck-joint, and spinal marrow bruis'd. r need we tell what anxious cares attend 3 turbulent mirth of wine ; nor all the kinds maladies, that lead to Death's grim cave, ought by intemperance, joint-racking gout, estine stone, and pining atrophy, 11 even when the Sun with July heats as the scorch'd soil, and dropsy all a-float, craving liquids : nor the Centaurs tale bere repeated ; how, with lust and wine am'd, they fought, and split their drunken souls 'easting hour. Ye heavenly Powers, that guard British isles, such dire events remove from fair Albion, nor let civil broils nent from social cups : may we, remote n the hoarse, brazen sound of war, enjoy humid products, and with seemly draughts indie mirth, and hospitable love, oft, alas ! has mutual hatred drench'd swords in native blood ; too oft has pride, hellish discord, and insatiate thirst thers rights, our quiet discompos'd. ; we forgot, how fell Destruction rag'd '-spreading, when by Eris' torch incens'd fathers warr'd ? what heroes, signalis'd oyalty and prowess, met their fate nely, undeserv'd ! how Bertie fell, )ton, and Granville, dauntless sons of Mars, icmes of endless grief, but that we view virtues yet surviving in their race ! ve forget, how the mad, headstrong rout 'd their prince to arms, nor made account ith or duty, or allegiance sworn ? tate, atheist rebels ! bent to ill, seeming sanctity, and cover'd fraud, I'd by him, who first presum'd t' oppose potence ; alike their crime, th' event lot alike ; these triumph'd, and in height rbarous malice, and insulting pride, iu'd not from imperial blood. O fact -allel r d ! O Charles, O best of kings ! stars their black disastrous influence shed y nativity, that thou should'st fall by inglorious hands, in this thy realm, -ne and innocent, adjudg'd to deatli )se thy mercy only would have sav'd ! as the Cider-land unstain'd with guilt ; ider-land, obsequious still to thrones, r'd such base disloyal deeds, and all runing-hooks extended into swords, nted, to assert the trampled rights uarchy : but, ah ! successless she, er faithful ! then was no regard lit, or wrong. And this once happy land, nebred fury rent, long groan'd beneath lie sway, till fair revolving years il'd kings and liberty restor'd. 'e exult, by mighty Anna's care at home, while she to foreign realms *orth her dreadful legions, and restrains je of kings : here, nobly she supports oppress'd ; here, her victorious arms he ambitious : from her hand alone Rejoice, O Albion ! sever'd from the world By Nature's wise indulgence, indigent Of nothing from without ; in one supreme Entirely blest ; and from beginning time Design'd thus happy ; but the fond desire Of rule and grandeur multiply'd a race Of kings, and numerous sceptres introduc'd, Destructive of the public weal. For now Each potentate, as wary fear, or strength, Or emulation urg'd, his neighbour's bounds Invades, and ampler territory seeks With ruinous assault ; on every plain Host cop'd with host, dire was the din of war, And ceaseless, or short truce haply procur'd By havoc, and dismay, till jealousy Rais'd new combustion. Thus was peace in vain Sought for by martial deeds, and conflict stern : Till Edgar grateful (as to those who pine A dismal half-year night, the orient beam Of Phoebus' lamp) arose, and into one Cemented all the long-contending powers, Pacific monarch ; then her lovely head Concord rear'd high, and all around diffus'd The spirit of love. At ease, the bards new strung Their silent harps, and taught the woods and vales, In uncouth rhymes, to echo Edgar's name. Then gladness smil'd in every eye ; the years Ran smoothly on, productive of a line Of wise, heroic kings, that by just laws Established happiness at home, or crush'd Insulting enemies in furthest climes. See lion-hearted Richard, with his force Drawn from the North, to Jewry's hallow'd plains ! Piously valiant (like a torrent swell'd With wintry tempests, that disdains all mounds, Breaking a way impetuous, and involves Within its sweep, trees, houses, men) he press'd Amidst the thickest battle, and o'erthrew Whate'er withstood his zealous rage : no pause, No stay of slaughter, found his rigorous arm, But th' unbelieving squadrons turn'd to flight, Smote in the rear, and with dishonest wounds Mangled behind. The Soldan, as he fled, Oft call'd on Alia, gnashing with despite, And shame, and murmur'd many an empty curse* Behold third Edward's streamers blazing high On Gallia's hostile ground ! his right withheld, Awakens vengeance. O imprudent Gauls, Relying on false hopes, thus to incense The warlike English ! One important day Shall teach you meaner thoughts. Eager of fight, Fierce Brutus' offspring to the adverse front Advance resistless, and their deep array With furious inroad pierce : the mighty force Of Edward twice o'erturn'd their desperate king; Twice he arose, and join'd the horrid shock : The third time, with his wide-extended wings, He fugitive declin'd superior strength, Discomfited ; pursued, in the sad chase Ten thousand ignominious fall ; with blood The vallies float. Great Edward thus aveng'd, With golden Iris his broad, shield emboss'd. Thrice glorious prince ! whom Fame with all her tongues For ever shall resound. Yet from his loins New authors of dissension spring : from him Two branches, that in hosting long contend For sov'reign sway ; and can such anger dwell In noblest minds ? But little now avail'd I The lin, in 1679, and received his school edu- m in that city. At an early age he was re- ed to the college, where he was admitted to degree of M. A. in 1 700, took deacon's orders he same year, and was ordained priest three s afterwards. In 1705 he was presented to the deaconry of Clogher, and about the same time ried a lady of great beauty and merit. He began to make those frequent excursions to ;land, in which the most desirable part of his was thenceforth spent. His first connections j principally with the Whigs, at that time in er; and Addison, Congreve, and Steele are ed among his chief companions. When, at the r part of Queen Anne's reign, the Tories were nphant, Parnell deserted his former friends, associated with Swift, Pope, Gay, and Ar- not. Swift introduced him to Lord -Treasurer ley ; and, with the dictatorial air which he was of assuming, insisted upon the Treasurer's g with his staff in his hand into the anti- iber, where Parnell was waiting to welcome It is said of this poet, that every year, as soon ; had collected the rents of his estate, and the lue of his benefices, he came over to England, spent some months, living in an elegant style, rather impairing than improving his fortune. lis time he was an assiduous preacher in the Lon- don pulpits, with the intention of rising to notice ; but the change of the ministry at Queen Anne's death put an end to his more brilliant prospects in the church. By means, however, of Swift's recom- mendation to Archbishop King, he obtained a pre- bend, and the valuable living of Finglass. His domestic happiness received a severe shock in 1712, by the death of his beloved wife; and it was the effect on his spirits of this affliction which led him into such a habit of intemperance in wine as shortened his days. This, at least, is the gloss put upon the circumstance by his historian, Gold- smith, who represents him, " as in some measure a martyr to conjugal fidelity." But it can scarcely be doubted, that this mode of life had already been formed when his very unequal spirits had required the aid of a glass for his support. He died at Chester, on his way to Ireland, in July 1717, in the thirty-eighth year of his age, and was buried in Trinity Church, in that city. Parnell was the author of several pieces, both in prose and verse; but it is only by the latter that he is now known. Of these a collection was published by Pope, with a dedication to the Earl of Oxford. Their characters are ease, sprightliness, fancy, clearness of language, and melody of versification ; and though not ranking among the most finished productions of the British muse, they claim a place among the most pleasing. A large addition to these was made in a work printed in Dublin, in 1758, of which Dr. Johnson says, " I know not 1 whence they came, nor have ever enquired whither they are going." FAIRY TALE, IN THE ANCIENT ENGLISH STYLE. N Britain's isle, and Arthur's days, Vlien midnight fairies danc'd the maze, Liv'd Edwin of the Green ; 'dwin, I wis, a gentle youth, indow'd with courage, sense, and truth, Though badly shap'd he'd been. His mountain back mote well be said, To measure height against his head, And lift itself above : Yet, spite of all that Nature did To make his uncouth form forbid, This creature dar'd to love. He felt the charms of Edith's eyes, Nor wanted hope to gain the prize, Could ladies look within ; But one sir Topaz dress'd with art, And, if a shape could win a heart, He had a shape to win. 222 PARNELL. Edwin, if right I read my song, With slighted passion pac'd along All in the moony light ; 'Twos near an old enchanted court, Where sportive fairies made resort To revel out the night. His heart was drear, his hope was cross'd, 'Twas late, 'twas far, the path was lost That reach' d the neighbour- town ; With weary steps he quits the shades, Resolv'd, the darkling dome he treads. And drops his limbs adown. But scant he lays him on the floor, When hollow winds remove the door, And trembling rocks the ground : And, well I ween to count aright, At once a hundred tapers light On all the walls around. Now sounding tongues assail his ear, Now sounding feet approached near, And now the sounds increase : And from the corner where he lay He sees a train profusely gay, Come prankling o'er the place. But (trust me, gentles ! ) never yet Was dight a masquing half so neat, Or half so rich before ; The country lent the sweet perfumes, The sea the pearl, the sky the plumes, The town its silken store. Now whilst he gaz'd, a gallant drest In flaunting robes above the rest, With awful accent cry'd ; What mortal of a wretched mind, Whose sighs infect the balmy wind, Has here presum'd to hide ? At this the swain, whose venturous soul No fears of magic art control, Advanc'd in open sight; " Nor have I cause of dreed," he said, " Who view, by no presumption led, Your revels of the night. " 'Twas grief, for scorn of faithful love, Which made my steps unweeting rove Amid the nightly dew." " 'Tis well," the gallant cries again, " We fairies never injure men Who dare to tell us true. " Exalt thy love-dejected heart, Be mine the task, or ere we part, To make thee grief resign ; Now take the pleasure of thy chaunce ; Whilst I with Mab, my partner, daunce, Be little Mable thine." He spoke, and all a sudden there Light music floats in wanton air ; The monarch leads the queen : The rest their fairy partners found : And Mable trimly tript the ground With Edwin of the Green. The dauncing past, the board was laid, And siker such a feast was made, As heart and lip desire, Withouten hands the dishes fly, The glasses with a wish come nigh. And with a wish retire. But, now to please the fairy king, Full every deal they laugh and sing, And antic feats devise ; Some wind and tumble like an ape, And other some transmute their shape In Edwin's wondering eyes. Till one at last, that Robin hight, Renown'd for pinching maids by night, Has bent him up aloof: And full against the beam he flung, Where by the back the youth he hung To spraul unneath the roof. From thence, " Reverse my charm," he cr " And let it fairly now suffice The gambol has been shown." But Oberon answers with a smile, " Content thee, Edwin, for a while, The vantage is thine own." Here ended all the phantom-play ; They smelt the fresh approach of day, And heard a cock to crow ; The whirling wind that bore the crowd Has clapp'd the door, and whistled loud, To warn them all to go. Then screaming all at once they fly, And all at once the tapers dye ; Poor Edwin falls to floor ; Forlorn his state, and dark the place, Was never wight in such a case Through all the land before. But soon as Dan Apollo rose, Full jolly creature home he goes, He feels his back the less ; His honest tongue and steady mind Had rid him of the lump behind, Which made liim want success. With lusty livelyhed he talks, He seems a dauncing as he walks, His story soon took wind ; And beauteous Edith sees the youth Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth, Without a bunch behind. The story told, sir Topaz mov'd, The youth of Edith erst approv'd, To see the revel scene : At close of eve he leaves his home, And wends to find the ruin'd dome All on the gloomy plain. As there he bides, it so befell, The wind came rustling down a dell, A shaking seiz'd the wall ; Up spring the tapers as before, The fairies bragly foot the floor, And music fills the hall. A NIGHT-PIECE ON DEATH. 223 But certes sorely sunk with woe Sir Topaz sees the elphin show, His spirits in him dye : When Oberon cries, " A man is near, A mortal passion, cleeped fear, Hangs flagging in the sky." With that sir Topaz, hapless youth ! In accents faultering, ay for ruth, Entreats them pity graunt j For als he been a mister wight Betray'd by wandering in the night To tread the circled haunt ; " Ah, losel vile," at once they roar : " And little skill'd of fairie lore, Thy cause to come, we know : Now has thy kestrel courage fell ; And fairies, since a lye you tell, Are free to work thec woe." Then Will, who bears the whispy fire To trail the swains among the mire, The caitiff upward flung ; There, like a tortoise, in a shop He dangled from the chamber-top, Where whilome Edwin hung. The revel now proceeds apace, Deftly they frisk it o'er the place, They sit, they drink, and eat ; The time with frolic mirth beguile, And poor sir Topaz hangs the while Till all the rout retreat. By this the stars began to wink, They shriek, they fly, the tapers sink, And down y-drops the knight : For never spell by fairie laid With strong enchantment bound a glade, Beyond the length of night. Chill, dark, alone, adreed, he lay, Till up the welkin rose the day, Then deem'd the dole was o'er ; But wot ye well his harder lot ? His seely back the bunch had got Which Edwin lost afore. This tale a Sybil-nurse ared; Sli2 softly stroak'd my youngling head, And when the tale was done, :{ Tli us some are born, my son," she cries, ' With base impediments to rise, And some are born with none. ' But virtue can itself advance To what the favourite fools of chance By fortune seem design'd ; Virtue can gain the odds of Fate, \nd from itself shake off' the weight Upon th' unworthy mind." A NIGHT-PIECE ON DEATH. BY the blue taper's trembling light, No more I waste th<* wakeful night, Intent with endless view to pore The schoolmen and the sages o'er : Their books from wisdom widely stray, Or point at best the longest way I'll seek a readier path, and go Where wisdom 's surely taught bejow^ How deep yon azure dyes the sky! Where orbs of gold unnumber'd lie, While through their ranks in silver pride The nether crescent seems to glide. The slumbering breeze forgets to breathe, The lake is smooth and clear beneath, Where once again the spangled show Descends to meet our eyes below. The grounds, which on the right aspire, In dimness from the view retire : The left presents a place of graves, Whose wall the silent water laves. That steeple guides thy doubtful sight Among the livid gleams of night. There pass with melancholy state By all the solemn heaps of Fate, And think, as softly-sad you tread Above the venerable dead, Time was, like thee, they life possest, And time shall be, that thou shalt rest* Those with bending osier bound, That nameless heave the crumbled ground, Quick to the glancing thought disclose, Where toil and poverty repose. The flat smooth stones that bear a name, The chisel's slender help to fame, ( Which ere our set of friends decay Their frequent steps may wear away) A middle race of mortals own, Men, half ambitious, all unknown. The marble tombs that rise on high, Whose dead in vaulted arches lie, Whose pillars swell with sculptur'd stones, Arms, angels, epitaphs, and bones, These, all the poor remains of state, Adorn the rich, or praise the great ; Who, while on Earth in fame they live, Are senseless of the fame they give. Ha ! while I gaze, pale Cynthia fades, The bursting earth unveils the shades ! All slow, and wan, and wrap'd with shrouds, They rise in visionary crowds, And all with sober accent cry, " Think, mortal, what it is to die." Now from yon black and funeral yew, That bathes the charnel-house with dew, Methinks, I hear a voice begin ; (Ye ravens, cease your croaking din, Ye tolling clocks, no time resound O'er the long lake and midnight ground !) It sends a peal of hollow groans, Thus speaking from among the bones. " When men my scythe and darts supply, How great a king of fears am I ! They view me like the last of things ; They make, and then they draw, my strings. Fools ! if you less provok'd your fears, N No more my spectre-form appears. Death's but a path that must be trod, If man would ever pass to God : 224- PARNELL. A port of calms, a state to ease From the rough rage of swelling seas." Why then thy flowing sable stoles, Deep pendant cypress, mourning poles, Loose scarfs to fall athwart thy weeds, Long palls, drawn hearses, cover'd steeds, And plumes of black, that, as they tread, Nod o'er the escutcheons of the dead ? Nor can the parted body know, Nor wants the soul these forms of woe ; As men who long in prison dwell, With lamps that glimmer round the cell, Whene'er their suffering years are run, Spring forth to greet the glittering Sun -. Such joy, though far transcending sense, Have pious souls at parting hence. On Earth, and in the body plac'd, A few, and evil years, they waste : But when their chains are cast aside^ See the glad scene unfolding wide, \ Clap the glad wing, and tower away, And mingle with the blaze of day. THE HERMIT. FAR in a wild, unknown to public view, From youth to age a reverend hermit grew ; The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell, His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well : Remote from men, with God he pass'd the days, Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise. A life so sacred, such serene repose, Seem'd Heaven itself, till one suggestion rose ; That Vice should triumph, Virtue, Vice obey, This sprung some doubt of Providence's sway : His hopes no more a certain prospect boast, _lAnd all the tenour of his soul is lost : So when a smooth expanse receives imprest Calm Nature's image on its watery breast, Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow, And skies beneath with answering colours glow : But if a stone the gentle sea divide, Swift ruffling circles curl on every side, And glimmering fragments of a broken Sun, Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run^ " To clear this doubt, to know the world by sight, To find if books, or swains, report it right, ( For yet by swains alone the world he knew, Whose feet came wandering o'er the nightly dew) He quits his cell ; the pilgrim-staff he bore, And fix'd the -scallop in his hat before ; Then with the Sun a rising journey went, Sedate to think, and watching each event. The morn was wasted in the pathless grass, And long and lonesome was the wild to pass ; But when the southern Sun had warm'd the day, A youth came posting o'er a crossing way ; His raiment decent, his complexion fair, And soft in graceful ringlets wav'd his hair. Then near approaching, " Father, hail !" he cry'd, " And hail, my son," the reverend sire reply'd; Words follow'd words, from question answer flow'd, And talk of various kind deceiv'd the road ; Till each with other pleas'd, and loth to part, While in their age they differ, join in heart. Thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound, Thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around. Now sunk the Sutt ; the closing hour of day Came onward, mantled o'er with sober grey ; Nature in silence bid the world repose ; When near the road a stately palace rose : There by the Moon through ranksof trees they p Whose verdure crown'd their sloping sides of gi It chanc'd the noble master of the dome Still made his house the wandering stranger's hoi Yet still the kindness^ from a thirst of praise, Prov'd the vain flourish of expensive ease. The pair arrive : the livery'd servants wait ; Their lord receives them at the pompous gate. The table groans with costly piles of food, And all is more than* hospitably good. Then led to rest, the day's long toil they drown Deep sunk in sleep, and silk, and heaps of dowi At length 'tis morn, 5nd at the dawn of day, Along the wide canals the zephyrs play : Fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep, And shake the neighbouring wood to banish sleej Up rise the guests, obedient to the call : An early banquet deck'd the splendid hall ; Rich luscious wine a golden goblet grac'd, Which the kirfd master forced the guests to tast( Then, pleas'd and thankful, from the porch they And, but the landlord, none had cause of woe : His cup was vanish'd; for in secret guise The younger guesf purloin'd the glittering priz< As one who spies a serpent in his way, Glistening and basking in the summer- ray, Disorder'd stops to shun the danger near, Then walks with faintness on, and looks witn fca So seem'd the sire ; when far upon the road, The shining spoil his wily partner show'd. He stopp'd with silence, walk'dwith trembling ht And much hp wish'd, but durst not ask to part : 'Murmuring he lifts liis eyes, and thinks it hard, That generous actions meet a base reward. While thus they pass, the Sun his glory shrou The changing skies hang out their sable clouds : A sound in air presag'd approaching rain, And beasts to covert scud across the plain. Warn'd by the signs, the wandering pair retreai To seek for shelter at a neighbouring seat. 'Twas built with turrets on a rising ground, And strong, and large, and unimprov'd around ; Its owner's temper, timorous and severe, Unkind and griping, caus'd a desert there. As near the miser's heavy doors they drew, Fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew ; The nimble lightning mix'd with showers began And o'er their heads loud rolling thunders ran. Here long they knock, but knock or call in vain Driven by the wind, and batter'd by the rain. At length some pity warm'd the master's breast. ('Twas then his threshold first receiv'd a guest) ; Slow creeking turns the door with jealous care, And half he welcomes in the shivering pair; One frugal fagot lights the naked walls, And Nature's fervour through their limbs recall Bread of the coarsest sort, with eager wine, (Each hardly granted) serv'd them both to dine And when the tempest first appear'd to cease, A ready warning bid them part in peace. With still remark the pondering hermit view'( In one so rich, a life so poor and rude ; " And why should such" within himself he cry' " Lock the lost wealth a thousand want beside ? But what new marks of wonder soon take place, In every settling feature of his face ; THE HERMIT. Vlien from his vest the young companion bore Tiat cup, the generous landlord own'd before, ind paid profusely with the precious bowl 'he stinted kindness of this churlish soul. But now the clouds in airy tumult fly ; he Sun emerging opes an azure sky ; fresher green the smelling leaves display, nd, glittering as they tremble, cheer the day : he weather courts them from the poor retreat, nd the glad master bolts the wary gate. While hence they walk, the pilgrim's bosom wrought 'ith all the travel of uncertain thought ; is partner's acts without their cause appear, 'was there a vice, and seem'd a madness here : ^testing that, and pitying. this, 'he goes, >st and confounded with the various shows. Now Night's dim shades again involve the sky, jain the wanderers want a place to lie, ;ain they search, and find a lodging nigh, e soil improv'd around, the mansion neat, id neither poorly low, nor idly great : seem'd to speak its master's turn ef mind, ntent, and not to praise, but virtue kind. Hither the walkers turn with weary feet, ,. en bless the mansion, and the master greet : eir greeting fair, bestow'd with modest guise, ? courteous master hears, and thus replies : ' Without a vain, without a grudging heart, him who gives us all, I yield a part ; >m him you come, for him accept it hgre, rank and sober, more than costly cheer." spoke, and bid the welcome table spread, !n talk of virtue till the time of bed, en the grave household round his hall repair, rn'd by a bell, and close the hours with prayer, it length the world, renew 'd by calm repose, s strong for toil, the dappled Morn arose ; ore the pilgrims part, the younger crept, r the clos'd cradle where an infant slept, I writh'd his neck : thp landlord's little pride, range return ! grew black, and gasp'd, and dy'd. rour of horrours ! what ! his only son ! v look'd our hermit when the fact was done ; Hell, though Hell's black jaws in sunder part, . breathe blue fire, could more assault his heart, onfus'd, and struck with silence at the deed, flies, but trembling, fails to fly with speed, steps the youth pursues ; the country lay >lex'd with roads, a servant show'd the way : ver cross'd the path ; the passage o'er nice to find ; the servant trod before ; $ arms of oaks an open bridge supply'd, deep the waves beneath the bending glide, youth, who seem'd to watch a time to sin, -oached the careless guide, and thrust him in ; ging he falls, and rising lifts his head, i flashing turns, and sinks among the dead, ild, sparkling rage inflames the father's eyes, tursts the bands of fear, and madly cries, sted wretch !" But scarce his speech began, the strange partner seem'd no longer man : uthful face grew more serenely sweet ; be turn'd white, and flow'd upon his feet ; 3unds of radiant points invest his hair ; al odours breathe through purpled air ; rings, whose colours glitter'd on the day, at his back their gradual plumes display. >rm etherial burst upon his sight, noves in all the majesty of light. Though loud at first the pilgrim's passion grew, Sudden he gaz'd, and wist not what to do ; Surprise in secret chains his words suspends, And in a calm his settling temper ends. But silence here the beauteous angel broke (The voice of music ravish'd as he spoke). " Thy prayer, thy praise, thy life to vice unknown, In sweet memorial rise before the throne : These charms, success in our 'bright region find, And force an angel down, to calm thy mind; For this, commission'd, I forsook the sky, Nay, cease to kneel thy fellow-servant I. <; Then know the truth of government divine, And let these scruples be no longer thine. " The Maker justly claims that world he made, In this the right of Providence is laid ; Its sacred majesty through all depends On using second means to work his ends : 'Tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye, The power exerts his attributes on high, Your actions uses, nor controls your will, And bids the doubting sons of me^e still. " What strange events can strike with more sur- prise, Than those which lately struck thy %vondering eyes? Yet, taught by these, confess th' Almighty just, And where you can't unriddle, learn to trust ! " The great, vain man, who far'd on costly food, Whose life was too luxurious to be good ; Who made his ivory stands with goblets shine, And forc'd his guests to morning draughts of wine, Has, with the cup, the graceless custom lost, And still he welcomes, but with less of cost. " The mean, suspicious wretch, whose bolted door Ne'er mov'd in duty to the wandering poor; With him I left the cup, to teach his mind That Heaven can bless, if mortals will be kind. Conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl, And feels compassion touch Iiis grateful soul. Thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead, With heaping coals of fire upon its head ; In the kind warmth the metal learns to glow, And loose from dross the silver runs below. " Long had our pious friend in virtue trod, But now the child half-wean'd his heart from God ; (Child of his age) for him he liv'd in pain, And measur'd back his steps to Earth again. To what excesses had his dotage run ? But God, to save the father, took the son. To all but thee, in fits he seem'd to go, (And 'twas my ministry to deal the blow,) The poor fond parent, humbled in the dust, Now owns in tears the punishment was just. " But now had all his fortune felt a wrack, Had that false servant sped in safety back ; This night his treasured heaps he meant to steal, And what a fund of charity would fail ! Thus Heaven instructs thy mind : this trial o'er, Depart in peace, resign, and sin no more." On sounding pinions here the youth withdrew, The sage stood wondering as the seraph flew. Thus look'd Elisha when, to mount on high, His master took the chariot of -the sky ; The fiery pomp ascending left to view ; The prophet gaz'd, and wish'd to follow too. The bending hermit here a prayer begun, " Lord ! as in Heaven, on Earth thy will be done :" Then gladly turning sought his ancient place, And pass'd a life of piety and peace. 22G PARNELL, HESIOD -. OR, THE RISE OF WOMAN. WHAT ancient times (those times we fancy wise) Have left on long record of woman's rise, What morals teach it, and what fables hide, What author wrote it, how that author dy'd, All these I sing. In Greece they fram'd the tale (In Greece 'twas thought a woman might be frail) ; Ye modern beauties ! where the poet drew His softest pencil, think he dreamt of you ; And, warn'd by him, ye wanton pens beware How Heaven's concern'd^to vindicate the fair. The case was Hesiod's ; he the fable writ ; Some think with meaning, some with idle wit : Perhaps 'tis either, as the ladies please ; I wave the contest, and commence the lays. In days of yore (no matter where or when, 'Twas ere the low creation swarm'd with men) That one Prometheus, sprung of heavenly birth, (Our author's song can witness) liv'd on Earth : He carv'd the turf to mould a manly frame, And stole from Jove his animating flame. The sly contrivance o'er Olympus ran, When thus the monarch of the stars began : " O vers'd in arts ! whose daring thoughts aspire, To kindle clay with never-dying fire ! Enjoy thy glory past, that gift was thine ; The next thy creature meets, be fairly mine : And such a gift, a vengeance so design'd, As suits the counsel of a god to find ; A pleasing bosom-cheat, a specious ill, Which felt the curse, yet covets still to feel." He said, and Vulcan straight the sire commands, To temper mortar with ethereal hands ; In such a shape to mould a rising fair, As virgin goddesses are proud to wear ; To make her eyes with diamond- water shine, And form her organs for a voice divine. 'Twas thus the sire ordain'd : the power obey'd ; And work'd, and wonder'd at the work he made ; The fairest, softest, sweetest frame beneath, Now made to seem, now more than seem to breathe. As Vulcan ends, the cheerful queen of charms Clasp'd the new-panting creature in her arms : From that embrace a fine complexion spread, Where mingled whiteness glow'd with softer red. Then in a kiss she breath'd her various arts, Of trifling prettily with wounded hearts ; A mind for love, but still a changing mind : The lisp affected, and the glance design'd ; The sweet confusing blush, the secret wink, The gentle swimming walk, the courteous sink ; The stare for strangeness fit, for scorn the frown ; For decent yielding, looks declining dow\i ; The practis'd languish, where well-feign'd desire Would own its melting in a mutual fire ; Gay smiles to comfort : April showers to move ; And all the nature, all the art of love. Gold scepter'd Juno next exalts the fair; Her touch endows her with imperious air, Self-valuing fancy, highly-crested pride, Strong sovereign will, and some desire to chide ; For which, an eloquence, that aims to vex, With native troops of anger, arms the sex. Minerva, skilful goddess, train'd the maid To twirle the spindle by the twisting thread ; To fix the loom, instruct the reeds to part, Cross the long weft, and close the web with art, An useful gift ; but what profuse expense, What world of fashions, took its rise from hence Young Hermes next, a close contriving god, Her brows encircled with his serpent rod ; Then plots and fair excuses fill'd her brain, The views of breaking amorous vows for gain ; The price of favours ; the designing arts That aim at riches in contempt of hearts ; And, for a comfort in the marriage life, The little pilfering temper of a wife. Full on the fair his beams Apollo flung, And fond persuasion tipp'd her easy tongue ; He gave her words, where oily flattery lays The pleasing colours of the art of praise ; And wit, to scandal exquisitely prone, Which frets another's spleen to cure its own. Those sacred Virgins whom the bards revere Tun'd all her voice, and shed a sweetness there, To make her sense with double charms abound, Or make her lively nonsense please by sound. To dress the maid, the decent Graces brought A robe in all the dies of beauty wrought. And plac'd their boxes o'er a rich brocade, Where pictur'd Loves on every cover play'd ; Then spread those implements that Vulcan's art Had fram'd to merit Cytherea's heart ; The wire to curl, the close indented comb To call the locks, that lightly wander, home ; And chief, the mirror, where the ravish'd maid Beholds and loves her own reflected shade. Fair Flora lent her stores ; the purpled Hour Confin'd her tresses with a wreath of flowers ; Within the wreath arose a radiant crown ; A veil pellucid hung depending down ; Back roll'd her azure veil with serpent fold, The purfled border deck'd the floor with gold. Her robe (which closely by the girdle brac'd Reveal'd the beauties of a slender waist) Flow'd to the feet, to copy Venus' air, When Venus' statues have a robe to wear. The new-sprung creature, finish'dthus for liar; Adjusts her habit, practises her charms, With blushes glows, or shines with lively smiles, Confirms her will, or recollects her wiles : Then, conscious of her worth, with easy pace Glides by the glass, and turning views her face. A finer flax than what they wrought before, Through Time's deep cave, the sister Fates expk Then fix the loom, their fingers nimbly weave, And thus their toil prophetic songs deceive. " Flow from the rock, my flax ! and swiftly fl< Pursue thy thread ; the spindle runs below. A creature fond and changing, fair and vain, The creature woman, rises now to reign. New beauty blooms, a beauty form'd to fly ; New love begins, a love produc'd to die ; New parts distress the troubled scenes of life, The fondling mistress, and the ruling wife. " Men born to labour, all with pains provide ; Women have time to sacrifice to pride : They want the care of man, their want they knoi And dress to please with heart-alluring show ; The show prevailing, for the sway contend, And make a servant where they meet a friend. " Thus in a thousand wax-erected forts A loitering race the painful bee supports ; From sun to sun, from bank to bank he flies, With honey loads his bag, with wax his thighs ; HESIOD: Oil, THE RISE OF WOMAN. 227 Fly where he will, at home the race remain, Prune the silk dress, and murmuring eat the gain. " Yet here and there we grant a gentle bride, >Vhose temper betters by the father's side ; Jnlike the rest that double human care, U)nd to relieve, or resolute to share : lappy the man whom thus his stars advance ! Tie curse is general, but the blessing chance." Thus sung the sisters, while the gods admire 'heir beauteous creature, made for man in ire ; 'he young Pandora she, whom all contend 'o make too perfect not to gain her end : hen bid the winds, that fly to breathe the spring, eturn to bear her on a gentle wing ; r ith wafting airs the winds obsequious blow, nd land the shining vengeance safe below, golden coffer in her hand she bore, ic present treacherous, but the bearer more ; 'was fraught with pangs ; for Jove ordain'd above, lat gold should aid, and pangs attend on love. Her gay descent the man perceiv'd afar, ondering he ran to catch the falling star : it so surpris'd, as none but he can tell, ho lov'd so quickly, and who lov'd so well, er all his veins the wandering passion burns, j calls her nymph, and every nymph by turns. ;r form to lovely Venus he prefers, swears that Venus' must be such as hers. ;, proud to rule, yet strangely fram'd to teaze, gleets his offers while her airs she plays, >ots scornful glances from the bended frown, brisk disorder trips it up and down ; m hums a careless tune to lay the storm, d sits, and blushes, smiles, and yields, in form. : Now take what Jove design' d," she softly cry'd, "his box thy portion, and myself the bride." d with the prospect of the double charms, snatch'd the box, and bride, with eager arms. Jnhappy man ! to whom so bright she shone, fatal gift, her tempting self, unknown ! winds were silent, all the waves asleep, 1 Heaven was trac'd upon the flattering deep : , whilst he looks unmindful of a storm, I thinks the water wears a stable form, it dreadful din around his ears shall rise ! it frowns confuse his picture of the skies ! t first the creature man was fram'd alone, 1 of himself, and all the world his own. him the nymphs in green forsook the woods, him the nymphs in blue forsook the floods ; ain the Satyrs rage, the Tritons rave, f bore him heroes in the secret cave, are destroy'd, no sick disorder prey'd, >ending age his sprightly form decay 'd, ears were known, no females heard to rage, oets tell us, 'twas a golden age. woman came, those ills the box confin'd furious out, and poison'd all the wind, )oint to point, from pole to pole they flew, as they went, and in the progress grew : mnphs regretting left the mortal race, tering Nature wore a sickly face, erms of folly rose, new states of eare ; )lagues, to suffer, and to please, the fair ! ays of whining, and of wild intrigues, enc'd, or finish'd with the breach of leagues; ean designs of well-dissembled love ; rdid matches never join'd above : id the labour, and at home the noise, The curse of jealousy; expense and strife ; Divorce, the public brand of shameful life ; The rival's sword ; the qualm that takes the fair ; Disdain for passion, passion in despair These, and a thousand yet unnam'd, we find ; Ah fear the thousand yet unnam'd behind ! Thus on Parnassus tuneful Hesiod sung, The mountain echoed, and the valley rung, The sacred groves a fix'd attention show, The crystal Helicon forebore to flow, The sky grew bright, and (if his verse be true) The Muses came to give the laurel too. But what avail'd the verdant prize of wit, If Love swore vengeance for the tales he writ ? Ye fair offended, hear your friend relate What heavy judgment prov'd the writer's fate, Though when it happen'd no relation clears, ' Tis thought in five, or five and twenty years. Where, dark and silent, with a twisted shade The neighbouring woods a native arbour made, There oft a tender pair, for amorous play Retiring, toy'd the ravish'd hours away ; A Locrian youth, the gentle Troilus he, A fair Milesian, kind Evanthe she : But swelling nature in a fatal hour Betray'd the secrets of the conscious bower ; The dire disgrace her brothers count their own, And track her steps, to make its author known. It chanc'd one evening, 'twas the lover's day, Conceal'd in brakes the jealous kindred lay ; When Hesiod, wandering, mus'd along the plain, And fix'd his seat where love had fix'd the scene ; A strong suspicion straight possess their mind, (For poets ever were a gentle kind,) But when Evanthe near the passage stood, Flung back a doubtful look, and shot the wood, " Now take" (at once they cry) "thy due reward," And, urg'd with erring rage, assault the bard. His corpse the sea receiv'd. The dolphins bqre ('Twas all the gods would do) the corpse to shore. Methinks I view the dead with pitying eyes, And see the dreams of ancient wisdom rise : I see the Muses round the body cry, But here a Cupid loudly laughing by ; He wields his arrow with insulting hand, And thus inscribes the moral on the sand. " Here Hesiod lies : ye future bards, beware How far your moral tales incense the fair. Unlov'd, unloving, 'twas his fate to bleed ; Without his quiver, Cupid caus'd the deed : He judg'd this turn of malice justly due, And Hesiod dy'd for joys he never knew." AN ALLEGORY ON MAN. 'A THOUGHTFUL being, long and spare, Our race of mortals call him Care, (Were Homer living, well he knew What name the gods have call'd him too,) With fine mechanic genius wrought, And lov'd to work, though no one bought This being, by a model bred In Jove's eternal sable head, Contriv'd a shape empower'd to breathe, And be the worldling here beneath. The man rose, staring like a stake '228 PARNELL. Then look'd so wise, before he knew The business he was made to do ; That, pleas'd to see with what a grace He gravely show'd his forward face, Jove talk'd of breeding him on high, An under-something of the sky. But ere he gave the mighty nod, Which ever binds a poet's god, ( For which his curls ambrosial shake, And mother Earth's oblig'd to quake,) He saw old mother Earth arise, She stood confess'd before his eyes ; But not with what we read she wore, A castle for a crown before, Nor with long streets and longer roads Dangling behind her, like commodes : As yet with wreaths alone she drest, And trail'd a landskip-painted vest. Then thrice she rais'd, as Ovid said, And thrice she bow'd her weighty head. Her honours made, " Great Jove," she cry'd, " This thing was fashion'd from my side : His hands, his heart, his head are mine ; Then what hast thou to call him tliine ?" " Nay, rather ask," the monarch said, " What boots his hand, his heart, his head, Were what I gave remov'd away ? Thy part's an idle shape of clay." " Halves, more than halves!" cry'd honest Care, " Your pleas would make your titles fair, You claim the body, you the soul, But I who join'd them, claim the whole." Thus with the gods debate began, On such a trivial cause, as man. And can celestial tempers rage ? Quoth Virgil, in a later age ? As thus they wrangled, Time came by ; (There's none that paint him such as I, For what the fabling ancients sung Makes Saturn old, when Time was young). As yet his winters had not shed Their silver honours on his head ; He just had got his pinions free, From his old sire, Eternity. A serpent girdled round he wore, The tail within the mouth, before; By which our almanacs are clear That learned Egypt meant the year. A staff he carry'd, where on high A glass was fix'd to measure by, As amber boxes made a show For heads of canes an age ago. His rest, for day and night, was py'd; A bending sickle arm'd his side ; And Spring's new months his train adorn ! The other seasons were unborn. Known by the gods, as near he draws, They make him umpire of the cause. O'er a low trunk his arm he laid, Where since his hours a dial made ; Then leaning heard the nice debate, And thus pronounc'd the words of Fate : " Since body from the parent Earth, And soul from Jove receiv'd a birth, Return they where they first began ; But since their union makes the man, Till Jove and Earth shall part these two, To Care who join'd them, man is due." He said, and sprung with swift career Where ever since the seasons wheel And tread on one another's heel." " 'Tis well," said Jove, and for consent Thundering he shook the firmament. " Our umpire Time shall have his way, With Care I let the creature stay : Let business vex him, avarice blind, Let doubt and knowledge rack his mind, Let errour act, opinion speak, And want afflict, and sickness break, And anger burn, dejection chill, And joy distract, and sorrow kill, Till, arm'd by Care, and taught to mow, Time draws the long destructive blow ; And wasted man, whose quick decay Comes hurrying on before his day, Shall only find by this decree, The soul flies sooner back to me. " THE BO OK- WORM. COME hither, boy, we'll hunt to-day, The book-worm, ravening beast of prey, Produc'd by parent Earth, at odds, As Fame reports it, with the gods. Him frantic hunger wildly drives Against a thousand authors' lives : Through all the fields of wit he flies ; Dreadful his head with clustering eyes, With horns without, and tusks within, And scales to serve him for a skin. Observe him nearly, lest he climb To wound the bards of ancient time, Or down the vale of fancy go To tear some modern wretch below. On every corner fix thine eye, Or ten to one he slips thee by. See where his teeth a passage eat : We'll rouse him from the deep retreat. But who the shelter's forc'd to give ? 'Tis sacred Virgil, as I live ! From leaf to leaf, from song to song, He draws the tadpole form along, He mounts the gilded edge before, He's up, he scuds the cover o'er, He turns, he doubles, there he past, And here we have him, caught at last. Insatiate brute, whose teeth abuse The sweetest servants of the Muse (Nay never offer to deny, I took thee in the fact to fly). His roses nipt in every page, My poor Anacreon mourns thy rage ; By thee my Ovid wounded lies ; By thee my Lesbia's sparrow dies ; Thy rabid teeth have half destroy 'd The work of love in Biddy Floyd, They rent Belinda's locks away, And spoil'd the Blouzelind of Gay. For all, for every single deed, Relentle3 Justice bids thee bleed. Then fall a victim to the Nine, Myself the priest, my desk the shrine. Bring Homer, Virgil, Tasso near, To pile a sacred altar here ; Hold, boy, thy hand out-runs thy wit, Vrn vo..r4iM iho nl*\rc that TlpnillS writ THE BOOK-WORM. 229 You reach'd me Philips' rustic strain ; Pray take your mortal bards again. Come, bind the victim, there he lies, And here between his numerous eyes This venerable dust I lay, From manuscripts just swept away. The goblet in my hand I take, (For the libation's yet to make,) A health to poets ! all their days May they have bread, as well as praise ; Sense may they seek, and less engage In papers fill'd with party-rage. But if their riches spoil their vein, Ye Muses, make them poor again. Now bring the weapon, yonder blade, With which my tuneful pens are made. I strike the scales that arm thee round, And twice and thrice I print the wound ; The sacred altar floats with red, And now he dies, and now he's dead. How like the son of Jove I stand, This Hydra stretch'd beneath my hand ! Lay bare the monster's entrails here, To see what dangers threat the year : Ye gods ! what sonnets on a wench ! What lean translations out of French ! 'Tis plain, this lobe is so unsound, S prints, before the months go round. But hold, before I close the scene, The sacred altar should be clean. Oh had I Shadwell's second bays, Or, Tate ! thy pert and humble lays ! (Ye pair, forgive me, when I vow I never miss'd your works till now,) I'd tear the leaves to wipe the shrine, (That only way you please the Nine,) But since I chance to want these two, I'll make the songs of Durfey do. Rent from the corps, on yonder pin, I hang the scales that brac'd it in ; I hang my studious morning-gown, And write my own inscription down. " This trophy from the Pithon won, This robe, in which the deed was done, These, Parnell, glorying in the feat, Hung on these shelves, the Muses' seat. Here Ignorance and Hunger found Large realms of Wit to ravage round : Here Ignorance and Hunger fell ? Two foes in one I sent to Hell. Ye poets, who my labours see, Come share the triumph all with me ! Ye critics ! born to vex the Muse, Go mourn the grand ally you lose." 230 NICHOLAS ROWE. JN JCHOLAS ROWE, descended from an ancient family in Devonshire, was the son of John Rowe, Esquire, a barrister of reputation and extensive practice. He was born in 1673, at the house of his maternal grandfather, at Little Berkford, in Bed- fordshire. Being placed at Westminster-school, under Dr. Busby, he pursued the classical studies of that place with credit. At the age of sixteen he was removed from school, and entered a student of the Middle Temple, it being his father's intention to bring him up to his own profession ; but the death of this parent, when Nicholas was only nine- teen, freed him from what he probably thought a pursuit foreign to his disposition ; and he turned his chief studies to poetry and polite literature. At the age of twenty-five he produced his first tra- gedy, "The Ambitious Stepmother;" which was afterwards succeeded by "Tamerlane ;" " The Fair Penitent;" "Ulysses;" "The Royal Convert;" "Jane Shore;" and " Lady Jane Grey." Of these, though all have their merits, the third and the two last alone keep possession of the stage ; but Jane Shore in particular never fails to be viewed with deep interest. His plays, from which are derived his principal claims upon posterity, an chiefly founded on the model of French tragedy and in his diction, which is poetical without bein^ bombastic or affected ; in his versification, which i; singularly sweet ; and in tirades of sentiment, giver with force and elegance, he has few competitors. As a miscellaneous poet, Rowe occupies but ar inconsiderable place among his countrymen ; but i has been thought proper to give some of his song: or ballads in the pastoral strain ; which have a touch- ing simplicity, scarcely excelled by any pieces o: the kind. His principal efforts, however, were ir poetical translation ; and his version of Lucan'i Pharsalia has been placed by Dr. Johnson amon^ the greatest productions of English poetry. In politics, Rowe joined the party of the Whigs under whose influence he had some gainful posts without reckoning that of poet-laureat, on the ac- cession of George I. He was twice married tc women of good connections, by the first of whon he had a son, and by the second, a daughter. H( died in December, 1718, in. the 45th year of hi; age, and was interred among the poets in West- minster Abbey. COLIN'S COMPLAINT. A SONG, TO THE TUNE OF " GRIM KING OF THE GHOSTS." .DESPAIRING beside a clear stream, A shepherd forsaken was laid ; And while a false nymph was his theme, A willow supported his head. The wind that blew over the plain, To his sighs with a sigh did reply ; And the brook, in return to his pain, Ran mournfully murmuring by. " Alas, silly swain that I was !" Thus sadly complaining, he cry'd, " When first I beheld that fair face, 'Twere better by far I had dy'd. She talk'd, and I bless'd the dear tongue ; When she smil'd, 'twas a pleasure too great. I listen'd, and cry'd, when she sung, Was nightingale ever so sweet? " How foolish was I to believe She could doat on so lowly a clown, Or that her fond heart would not grieve, To forsake the fine folk of the town ? To think that a beauty so gay, So kind and so constant would prove ; Or go clad like our maidens in gray, Or live in a cottage on love ? " What though I have skill to complain, Though the Muses my temples have crown'd ; What though, when they hear my soft strain, The virgins sit weeping around. Ah, Colin, thy hopes are in vain, Thy pipe and thy laurel resign ; Thy false-one inclines to a swain, Whose music is sweeter than thine, " And you, my companions so dear, Who sorrow to see me betray'd, Whatever I suffer, forbear, Forbear to accuse the false maid. THE CONTENTED SHEPHERD. 23 Though through the wide world I should range, 'Tis in vain from my fortune to fly ; 'Twas hers to be false and to change, 'Tis mine to be constant and die. " If while my hard fate I sustain, In her breast any pity is found, Let her come with the nymphs of the plain, And see me laid low in the ground. The last humble boon that I crave, Is to shade me with cypress and yew ; And when she looks down on my grave, Let her own that her shepherd was true. " Then to her new love let her go, And deck her in golden array, Be finest at every fine show, And frolic it all the long day ; While Colin, forgotten and gone, No more shall be talk'd of, or seen, Unless when beneath the' pale Moon, His ghost shall glide over the green. ' ' THE CONTENTED SHEPHERD. TO MRS. A D . * As on a summer's day In the greenwood shade I lay, The maid that I lov'd, As her fancy mov'd, Came walking forth that way. And as she passed by With a scornful glance of her eye, " What a shame," quoth she, " For a swain must it be, Like a lazy loon for to die ! " And dost thou nothing heed, What Pan our God has decreed ; What a prize to-day Shall be given away,- To the sweetest shepherd's reed ! " There's not a single swain Of all this fruitful plain, But with hopes and fears Now busily prepares The bonny boon to gain. " Shall another maiden shine In brighter array than thine? Up, up, dull swain, Tune thy pipe once again, And make the garland mine. ' ' " Alas ! my love," he cry'd, " What avails this courtly pride ? Since thy dear desert Is written in my heart What is all the world beside ? " To me thou art more gay, In this homely russet gray, Than the nymphs of our green, So trim and so sheen ; Or the brightest queen of May. " What though my fortune frown, And deny thee a silken gown ; My own dear maid, Be content with this shade, And a shepherd all thy own." SONG. AH WILLOW. TO THE SAME IN HER SICKNESS. To the brook and the willow that heard him complain Ah willow, willow. Poor Colin sat weeping, and told them his pain ; Ah willow, willow ; all willow, willow. Sweet stream, he cry'd sadly, I'll teach thee to flow Ah willow, &c. And the waters shall rise to the brink with my woe. Ah willow, &c. All restless and painful poor Amoret lies, Ah willow, &c. And counts the sad moments of time as it flies. Ah willow, &c. To the nymph my heart loves, ye soft slumber repair ; Ah willow, &c. [your cart Spread your downy wings o'er her, and make he Ah willow, &c. Dear brook, were thy chance near her pillow to creep Ah willow, &c. Perhaps thy soft murmurs might lull her to sleep. Ah willow, &c. Let me be kept waking, my eyes never close, Ah willow, &c. So the sleep that I lose brings my fair one repose, Ah willow, &c. But if I am doom'd to be wretched indeed 1 ; Ah willow, &c. If the loss of my dear-one, my love is decreed ; Ah willow, &c. If no more my sad heart by those eyes shall tw cheerd ; Ah willow, &c. If the voice of my warbler no more shall be heard Ah willow, &c. Believe me,. thou fair-one ; thou dear-one believe, Ah willow, &c. Few sighs to thy loss, and few tears will I give. Ah willow, &c. One fate to thy Colin and thee shall be ty'd, Ah willow, &c. And soon lay thy shepherd close by thy cold side. Ah willow, &c. Then run, gentle brook ; and to lose thyself, haste j Ah willow, willow. Fade thou too, my willow, this verse is my last ; Ah willow, willow ; ah willow, willow. 232 JOSEPH ADDISON. J OSEPH ADDISON, a person in the foremost ranks of wit and elegant literature, was the son of the Reverend Lancelot Addison, at whose parsonage at Milston, near Ambrosbury, Wiltshire, he was born in May, 1672. At the age of fifteen he was entered of Queen's College, Oxford, where he distinguished liimself by his proficiency in classical literature, especially in Latin poetry. He was afterwards elected a demy of Magdalen College, where he took the degrees of bachelor and master of arts. In his twenty-second year he became an author in his own language, publishing a short copy of verses addressed to the veteran poet, Dryden. Other pieces in verse and prose succeeded ; and in 1695 he opened the career of his fortune as a literary man, by a com- plimentary poem on one of the campaigns of King William, addressed to the Lord-keeper Spmers. A pension of 300/. from the crown, which his patron obtained for him, enabled him to indulge his inclin- ation for travel ; and an epistolary poem to Lord Halifax in 1701, with a prose relation of his travels, published on his return, are distinguished by the spirit of liberty which they breathe, and which, during life, was his ruling passion. The most famous of his political poems, " The Campaign," appeared in 1704. It was a task kindly imposed by Lord Ha- lifax, who intimated to him that the writer should not lose his labour. It was accordingly rewarded by an immediate appointment to the post of com- missioner of appeals. This will be the proper place for considering the merits of Addison in his character of a writer in verse. Though Dryden and Pope had already se- cured the first places on the British Parnassus, and other rivals for fame were springing to view, it will scarcely be denied that Addison, by a decent me- diocrity of poetic language, rising occasionally to superior efforts, has deserved that degree of praise which, in general estimation, has been allotted t him. It cannot be doubted that playful and hu morous wit was the quality in which he obtaine almost unrivalled pre-eminence ; but the reader ( his poem to Sir Godfrey Kneller will discover, i the comparison of the painter to Phidias, a ver happy and elegant resemblance pointed out in h verse. His celebrated tragedy of " Cato," equal) remarkable for a correctness of plan, and a sustaine elevation of style, then unusual on the Englis stage, was further distinguished by the glow of i sentiments in favour of political liberty, and wi equally applauded by both parties. A very short account will suffice for the remaii der of his works. His connection with Steele ei gaged him in occasionally writing in the Tatler, tl Spectator, and the Guardian, in which his produi tions, serious and humorous, conferred upon hi immortal honour, and placed him deservedly at tl head of his class. Some other periodical papei decidedly political, were traced to Addison, of whi< The Freeholder was one of the most conspicuou In 1716 he married the Countess- Dowager of Wa wick, a connexion which is said not to have be< remarkably happy. In the following year he w raised to the office of one of the principal secret ries of state ; but finding himself ill suited to tl post, and in a declining state of health, he resigni it to Mr. Craggs. In reality, his constitution w suffering from an habitual excess in wine ; and it a lamentable circumstance that a person so general free from moral defects, should have given way to fondness for the pleasures of a tavern life. Addis< died in June, 1719, leaving an only daughter by t Countess of Warwick. A LETTER FROM ITALY. TO THE RIGHT HON. CHARLES LORD HALIFAX, 1 THE YEAR MDCCI. Salve magna parens frugum Saturnia tellus, Magna virum ! tibi res antiquee laudis etartis Aggredior, sanctos ausus recludere fontes. VIRG. Georg. ii. W HILE you, my lord, the mral shades admire, And from Britannia's public posts retire, Nor longer, her ungrateful sons to please, For their advantage sacrifice your ease ; Me into foreign realms my fate conveys Through nations fruitful of immortal lays, Where the soft season and inviting clime Conspire to trouble your repose with rhyme. For wheresoe'er I turn my ravish'd eyes, Gay gilded scenes and shining prospects rise, Poetic fields encompass me around, And still I seem to tread on classic ground ; For here the Muse so oft her harp has strung, That not a mountain rears its head unsung, Renown'd in verse each shady thicket grows, And every stream in heavenly numbers flows. How am I pleas'd to search the hills and wood For rising springs and celebrated floods ! A LETTER FROM ITALY. 233 ) view the Nar, tumultuous in his course, id trace the smooth Clitumnus to his source, > see the Mincio draw his watery store, irough the long windings of a fruitful shore, id hoary Albula's infected tide er the warm bed of smoking sulphur glide. Fir'd with a thousand raptures, I survey idanus through flowery meadows stray, e king of floods ! that, rolling o'er the plains, e towering Alps of half their moisture drains, d proudly swoln with a whole winter's snows, ^tributes wealth and plenty where he flows, sometimes, misguided by the tuneful throng, H)k for streams immortalis'd in song, it lost in silence and oblivion lie, imb are their fountains and their channels dry,) run for ever by the Muse's skill, I in the smooth description murmur still, ometimes to gentle Tiber I retire, 1 the fam'd river's empty shores admire, t destitute of strength derives its course m thrifty urns and an unfruitful source ; sung so often in poetic lays, i scorn the Danube and the Nile surveys ; igh the deathless Muse exalts her theme ! i was the Boyne, a poor inglorious stream, : in Hibernian vales obscurely stray'd, , unobserv'd, in wild meanders play'd ; by your lines and Nassau's sword renown'd, ising billows through the world resound, re'er the hero's godlike acts can pierce, 'here the fame of an immortal verse, i, could the Muse my ravish'd breast inspire warmth like yours, and raise an equal fire, imber'd beauties in my verse should shine, Virgil's Italy should yield to mine ! c how the golden groves around me smile, shun the coast of Britain's stormy isle, Then transplanted and preserv'd with care, e the cold clime, and starve in northern air. kindly warmth their mountain juice ferments obler tastes, and more exalted scents : the rough rocks with tender myrtle bloom, trodden weeds send out a rich perfume, me, some god, to Baia's gentle seats, ver me in Umbria's green retreats ; e western gales eternally reside, ill the seasons lavish all their pride : 3ms, and fruits, and flowers together rise, r ,he whole year in gay confusion lies, mortal glories in my inind revive, n my soul a thousand passions strive, Rome's exalted beauties I descry ificent in piles of ruin lie. nphitheatre's amazing height fills my eye with terrour and delight, m its public shows unpeopled Rome, d, uncrowded, nations in its womb : liars rough with sculpture pierce the skies, re the proud triumphal arches rise, the old Romans deathless acts display 'd, >ase degenerate progeny upbraid : rivers here forsake the fields below, [flow, ndering at their height through airy channels to new scenes my wandering Muse retires, e dumb show of breathing rocks admires : the smooth chisel all its force has shown, ften'd into flesh the rugged stone, mn silence, a majestic band, J anrl n^Av ,! 1)^~* n ,=,.1. A Stern tyrants, whom their cruelties renown, And emperors in Parian marble frown : While the bright dames, to whom they humbly sued, Still show the charms that their proud hearts sub- dued. Fain would I Raphael's godlike art rehearse, And show th' immortal labours in my verse, Where, from the mingled strength of shade and light, A new creation rises to my sight, Such heavenly figures from his pencil flow, So warm with life his blended colours glow. From theme to theme with secret pleasure tost, Amidst the soft variety I 'm lost : Here pleasing airs my ravish'd soul confound With circling notes and labyrinths of sound ; Here domes and temples rise in distant views, And opening palaces invite my Muse. How has kind Heaven adorn'd the happy land, And scatter'd blessings with a wasteful hand ! But what avail her unexhausted stores, Her blooming mountains, and her sunny shores, With all the gifts that Heaven and Earth impart, The smiles of Nature, and the charms of Art, While proud oppression in her valleys reigns, And tyranny usurps her happy plains ? The poor inhabitant beholds in vain The reddening orange and the swelling grain : Joyless he sees the growing oils and wines, And in the myrtle's fragrant shade repines : Starves in the midst of Nature's bounty curst, And in the loaden vineyard dies for thirst. O Liberty, thou goddess heavenly bright, Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with delight ! Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign, And smiling Plenty leads thy wanton train; Eas'd of her load, Subjection grows more light, And Poverty looks cheerful in thy sight ; Thou mak'st the gloomy face of Nature gay, Giv'st beauty to the Sun, and pleasure to the day. Thee, goddess, thee, Britannia's isle adores ; How has she oft exhausted all her stores, How oft in fields of death thy presence sought, Nor thinks the mighty prize toe dearly bought ! On foreign mountains may the Sun refine The grape's soft juice, and mellow it to wine, With citron groves adorn a distant soil, And the fat olive swell with floods of oil : We envy not the warmer clime, that lies In ten degrees of more indulgent skies, Nor at the coarseness of our Heaven repine, Though o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads sliine : 'Tis Liberty that crowns Britannia's isle, And makes her barren rocks and her bleak moun- tains smile. Others with towering piles may please the sight, And in their proud aspiring domes delight ; A nicer touch to the stretcht canvas give, Or teach their animated rocks to live : 'Tis Britain's care to watch o'er Europe's fate, And hold in balance each contending state, To threaten bold presumptuous kings with war, And answer her afflicted neighbour's prayer. The Dane and Swede, rous'd up by fierce alarms, Bless the wise conduct of her pious arms : Soon as her fleets appear, their terrours cease, And all the northern world lies hush'd in peace. Tli' ambitious Gaul beholds with secret dread Her thunder aim'd at his aspiring head, And fain her god-like sons would disunite 234 ADDISON. But strives in vain to conquer or divide, Whom Nassau's arms defend and counsels guide. Fir'd with the name, which I so oft have found The distant climes and different tongues resound, I bridle-in my struggling Muse with pain, That longs to launch into a bolder strain. But I 've already troubled you too long, Nor dare attempt a more adventurous song. My humble verse demands a softer theme, A painted meadow, or a purling stream; Unfit for heroes : whom immortal lays, And lines, like Virgil's, or like yours, should praise. THE CAMPAIGN, A POEM. TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH, 1 705. Rheni pacator et Istri. Omnis in hoc uno variis discordia cessit Ordinibus ; laetatur eques, plauditque senator, Votaque patricio certant plebeia favori. CLAUD, de Laud. Slilic. Esse aliquam in terris gentem quae sua impensa, suo labore ac periculo, bclla gerat pro libertatc aliorum. Nee hoc finitimis, aut propinquae vi- cinitatis hominibus, aut terris continenti junctis praestet. Maria trajiciat : ne quod toto orbe terrarum injustum imperium sit, et ubique jus, fas, lex, potentissima sint. Liv. Hist. lib. 33. WHILE crowds of princes your deserts proclaim, Proud in their number to enrol your name ; While emperors to you commit their cause, And Anna's praises crown the vast applause ; Accept, great leader, what the Muse recites, That in ambitious verse attempts your fights. Fir'd and transported with a theme so new," Ten thousand wonders opening to my view Shine forth at once ; sieges and storms appear, And wars and conquests fill th' important year : Rivers of blood I see, and hills of slain, An Iliad rising out of one campaign. The haughty Gaul beheld, with towering pride, His ancient bounds enlarg'd on every side ; Pyrene's lofty barriers were subdued, And in the midst of his wide empire stood ; Ausonia's states, the victor to restrain, Oppos'd their Alps and Apennines in vain, Nor found themselves, with strength of rocks im- mur'd, Behind their everlasting hills secur'd ; The rising Danube its long race began, And half its course through the new conquests ran ; Amaz'd and anxious for her sovereign's fates, Germania trembled through a hundred states ; Great Leopold himself was seiz'd with fear ; He gaz'd around, but saw no succour near j He gaz'd, and half-abandon'd to despair His hopes on Heav'n, and confidence in prayer. To Britain's queen the nations turn their eyes, On her resolves the western world relies, Confiding still, amidst its dire alarms, In Anna's councils, and in Churchill's arms. Thrice happy Britain, from the kingdoms rent, \ | To sit the guardian of the continent ! That sees her bravest son advanc'd so high And flourishing so near her prince's eye ; Thy favourites grow not up by fortune's sport, Or from the crimes or follies of a court ; On the firm basis of desert they rise, From long-try'd faith, and friendship's holy ties Their sovereign's well-distinguish' d smiles i share, Her ornaments in peace, her strength in war ; The nation thanks them with a public voice ; By showers of blessings Heaven approves 1 choice ; Envy itself is dumb, in wonder lost, And factions strive who shall applaud them mo Soon as soft vernal breezes warm the sky, Britannia's colours in the zephyrs fly ; Her chief already has his march begun, Crossing the provinces himself had won, Till the Moselle, appearing from afar, Retards the progress of the moving war. Delightful stream, had Nature bid her fall In distant climes far from the perjur'd Gaul ; But now a purchase to the sword she lies, Her harvests for uncertain owners rise, . Each vineyard doubtful of its master grows,. And to the victor's bowl each vintage flows The discontented shades of slaughter'd hosts, That wander 'd on her banks, her heroes' ghosts Hop'd, when they saw Britannia's arms appeal The vengeance due to their great deaths was m Our godlike leader, ere the stream he past, The mighty scheme of all his labours cast, Forming the wondrous year within his thought His bosom glow'd with battles yet unfought. The long laborious march he first surveys, And joins the distant Danube to the Maese, Between whose floods such pathless forests gro Such mountains rise, so many rivers flow : The toil looks lovely in the hero's eyes, ,/j And danger serves but to enhance the prize. Big with the fate of Europe, he renews His dreadful course, and the proud foe pursue Infected by the burning Scorpion's heat, The sultry gales round his chaf d temples beat. Till on the borders of the Maine he finds Defensive shadows, and refreshing winds. Our British youth, with in-born freedom bold, Unnumber'd scenes of servitude behold, Nations of slaves, with tyranny debas'd, (Their Maker's image more than half defac'd,] Hourly instructed, as they urge their toil, To prize their queen, and love their native soil. Still to the rising Sun they take their way Through clouds of dust, and gain upon the da; When now the Neckar on its friendly coast With cooling streams revives the fainting host, That cheerfully his labours past forgets, The mid-night watches, and the noon-day heats O'er prostrate towns and palaces they pass (Now cover'd o'er with woods, and hid in gras Breathing revenge ; whilst anger and disdain Fire every breast, and boil in every vein : Here shatter 'd walls, like broken rocks from fa Rise up in hideous views, the guilt of war, Whilst here the vine o'er hills of ruin climbs,' Industrious to conceal great Bourbon's crimes. At length the fame of England's hero drew Eugenio to the glorious interview. Great souls by instinct to each other turn, Demand alliance, and in friendship burn ; THE CAMPAIGN. sudden friendship, while with stretch'd-out rays ey meet each other, mingling blaze with blaze, iish'd in courts, and harden'd in the field, nown'd for conquest, and in council skill'd, eir courage dwells not in a troubled flood mountain spirits, and fermenting blood ; dg'd in the soul, with virtue over-rul'd, lam'd by reason, and by reason cool'd, hours of peace content to be unknown, d only in the field of battle shown : souls like these, in mutual friendship join'd, aven dares intrust the cause of human-kind. Britannia's graceful sons appear in arms, r harass'd troops the hero's presence warms, ilst the high hills and rivers all around h thundering peals of British shouts resound : ibling their speed, they march with fresh delight, ;er for glory, and require the fight, he stanch hound the trembling deer pursues, I smells his footsteps in the tainted dews, tedious track unravelling by degrees : when the scent comes warm in every breeze, 1 at the near approach he shoots away his full stretch, and bears upon his prey, he march concludes, the various realms are past; immortal Schellenberg appears at last : 1 hills th' aspiring ramparts rise on high, : valleys at their feet the trenches lie ; eries on batteries guard each fatal pass, atening destruction ; rows of hollow brass, 2 behind tube, the dreadful entrance keep, 1st in their wombs ten thousand thunders sleep : t Churchill owns, charm'd with the glorious sight, march o'er-paid by such a promis'd fight. le western Sun now shot a feeble ray, faintly scatter'd the remains of day : ing approach'd ; but oh what host of foes ; never to behold that evening close ! tening their ranks, and wedg'd in firm array, :lose-compacted Britons win their way ; in the cannon their throng'd war defac'd tracts of death, and laid the battle waste ; pressing forward to the fight, they broke agh flames of sulphur, and a night of smoke, laughter'd legions filFd the trench below, bore their fierce avengers to their foe. gh on the works the mingling hosts engage ; >attle, kindled into tenfold rage, showers of bullets and with storms of fire i in full fury ; heaps on heaps expire, ns with nations mix'd confus'dly die, ost in one promiscuous carnage lie. w many generous Britons meet their doom, to the field, and heroes in the bloom ! lustrious youths, that left their native shore irch where Britons never march'd before, al love of fame ! O glorious heat, destructive to the brave and great ! ) such toils o'ercome, such dangers past, Vd on Bavarian ramparts breathe their last : Did, my Muse, may no complaints appear, ot the day with an ungrateful tear : Marlborough lives, Britannia's stars dispense ndly light, and shine in innocence, ing through seas of blood his fiery steed ''er his friends retire, or foes succeed ; he supports, these drives to sudden flight, urns the various fortune of the fight. Nor hazard thus, confus'd in crowds of foes, Britannia's safety, and the world's repose ; Let nations anxious for thy life abate This scorn of danger, and contempt of fate : Thou liv'st not for thyself; thy queen demands Conquest and peace from thy victorious hands ; Kingdoms and empires in thy fortune join, And Europe's destiny depends on thine. At length the long-disputed pass they gain, By crowded armies forrify'd in vain ; The war breaks in, the fierce Bavarians yield, And see their camp with British legions fill'd. So Belgian mounds bear on their shatter'd sides The sea's whole weight increas'dwith swelling tides; But if the rushing wave a passage finds, Enrag'd by watery moons, and warring winds, The trembling peasant sees his country round Cover'd with tempests, and in oceans drown'd. The few surviving foes disperst in flight, (Refuse of swords, and gleanings of a fight,) In every rustling wind the victor hear, And Marlborough's form in every shadow fear, * Till the dark cope of night with kind embrace Befriends the rout, and covers their disgrace. To Donavert, with unresisted force, The gay victorious army bends its course. The growth of meadows, and the pride of fields, Whatever spoils Bavaria's summer yields, (The Danube's great increase,) Britannia shares^ The food of armies and support of wars : With magazines of death, destructive balls, And cannon doom'd to batter Landau's walls, The victor finds each hidden cavern stor'd, And turns their fury on their guilty lord. Deluded prince ! how is thy greatness crost, And all the gaudy dream of empire lost, That proudly set thee on a fancy'd throne, And made imaginary realms thy own ! Thy troops, that now behind the Danube join, Shall shortly seek for shelter from the Rhine, Nor find it there ! Surrounded with alarms, Thou hop'st the assistance of the Gallic arms ; The Gallic arms in safety shall advance, And crowd thy standards with the power of France ; While, to exalt thy doom, th' aspiring Gaul Shares thy destruction, and adorns thy fall. Unbounded courage and compassion join'd, Tempering each other in the victor's mind, Alternately proclaim him good and great. And make the hero and the man complete. Long did he strive th' obdurate foe to gain By proffer'd grace, but long he strove in vain ; Till, fir'd at length, he thinks it vain to spare His rising wrath, and gives a loose to war. In vengeance rous'd, the soldier fills his hand With sword and fire, and ravages the land, A thousand villages to ashes turns, In crackling flames a thousand harvests burns. To the thick woods the woolly flocks retreat, And mixt with bellowing herds confus'dly bleat ; Their trembling lords the common shade partake, And cries of infants sound in every brake : The listening soldier fixt in sorrow stands, Loth to obey his leader's just commands ; The leader grieves, by generous pity sway'd, To see his just commands so well obey'd. But now the trumpet terrible from far In shriller clangors animates the war ; Confederate drums in fuller concert beat, 236 ADDISON. Gallia's proud standards, to Bavaria's join'd, Unfurl their gilded lilies in the wind ; The daring prince his blasted hopes renews, And, while the tliick embattled host he views Stretcht out in deep array, and dreadful length, His heart dilates, and glories in his strength. The fatal day its mighty course began, That the griev'd world had long desir'd in vain ; States that their new captivity bemoan'd, Annies of martyrs that in exile groan 'd, Sighs from the depth of gloomy dungeons heard, And prayers in bitterness of soul preferr'd, Europe's loud cries, that Providence assail'd, And Anna's ardent TOWS at length prevail'd ; The day was come when Heaven design'd to show His care and conduct of the world below. Behold in awful march and dread array The long-extended squadrons shape their way ! Death, in approaching, terrible, imparts An anxious horrour to the bravest hearts ; Yet do their beating breasts demand the strife, And thirst of glory quells the love of life. No vulgar fears can British minds control : Heat of revenge, and noble pride of soul, O'erlook the foe, advantag'd by his post, Lessen his numbers, and contract lu's host ; Though fens and floods possest the middle space, That unprovok'd they would have fear'd to pass ; Nor fens nor floods can stop Britannia's bands, When her proud foe rang'd on their borders stands. But O, my Muse, what numbers wilt thou find To sing the furious troops in battle join'd ! Methinks I hear the drums tumultuous sound The victors' shouts and dying groans confound, The dreadful burst of cannon rend the skies, And all the thunder of the battle rise. [prov'd, 'Twas then great Marlborough's mighty soul was That, in the shock of charging hosts unmov'd, Amidst confusion, horrour, and despair, Examin'd all the dreadful scenes of war : In peaceful thought the field of death survey'd, To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid, Jnspir'd repuls'd battalions to engage, And taught the doubtful battle where to rage. So when an angel by divine command 'With rising tempests shakes a guilty land, Such as of late o'er pale Britannia past, Calm and serene he drives the furious blast ; ' And, pleas' d th' Almighty orders to perform, Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm. I i But see the haughty household troops advance ! The dread of Europe, and the pride of France. The war's whole art each private soldier knows, And with a general's love of conquest glows ; Proudly he marches on, and void of fear Laughs at the shaking of the British spear : Vain insolence ! with native freedom brave, The meanest Briton scorns the highest slave : Contempt and fury fire their souls by turns, Each nation's glory in each warrior burns ; Each fights, as in his arm th' important day And all the fate of his great monarch lay : A thousand glorious' actions, that might claim Triumphant laurels, and immortal fame, Confus'd in crowds of glorious actions lie, And troops of heroes undistinguish'd die. O Dormer, how can I behold thy fate, And not the wonders of thy youth relate ! How can I see the gay, the brave, the young, Fall in the cloud of war. and lie unsuncr ! In joys of conquest he resigns his breath, And, fill'd with England's glory, smiles in deal The rout begins, the Gallic squadrons run, Compell'd in crowds to meet the fate they shun Thousands of fiery steeds with wounds transfix'i Floating in gore, with their dead masters mixt, 'Midst heaps of spears and standards driven aroui Lie in the Danube's bloody whirlpools drown'd. Troops of bold youths, born on the distant Soar Or sounding borders of the rapid Rhone, Or where the Seine her flowery fields divides, Or where the Loire through winding vineyj glides, In heaps the rolling billows sweep away, And into Scythian seas their bloated corps convt From Blenheim's towers the Gaul, with wild affrij Beholds the various havoc of the fight ; His waving banners, that so oft had stood Planted in fields of death, and streams of blood, So wont the guarded enemy to reach, And rise triumphant in the fatal breach, Or pierce the broken foe's remotest lines, The hardy veteran with tears resigns. Unfortunate Tallard ! Oh, who can name The pangs of rage, of sorrow, and of shame, That with mixt tumult in thy bosom swell'd, When first thou saw'st thy bravest troops repell' Thine only son pierc'd with a deadly wound, Chok'd in his blood, and gasping on the ground Thyself in bondage by the victor kept ! The chief, the father, and the captive, wept. An English Muse is touch'd with generous woe And in th' unhappy man forgets the foe ! Greatly distrest ! thy loud complaints forbear, Blame not the turns of fate, and chance of war Give thy brave foes their due, nor blush to own The fatal field by such great leaders won, The field whence fam'd Eugenio bore away Only the second honours of the day. With floods of gore, that from the vanquish'd 1 The marshes stagnate, and the rivers swell. Mountains of slain lie heap'd upon the ground, Or 'midst the roarings of the Danube drown'd ; Whole captive hosts the conqueror detains In painful bondage, and inglorious chains ; Ev r n those who 'scape the fetters and the sword. Nor seek the fortunes of a happier lord, Their raging king dishonours, to complete Marlborough's great work, and finish the defeai From Memminghen's high domes, and Ai burg's walls, The distant battle drives th' insulting Gauls ; Freed by the terrour of the victor's name The rescu'd states his great protection claim ; Whilst Ulme th' approach of her deliverer waits And longs to open her obsequious gates. The hero's breast still swells with great desig In every thought the towering genius shines : If to the foe his dreadful course he bends, O'er the wide continent his march extends ; If sieges in his labouring thoughts are form'd, Camps are assaulted, and an army storm 'd ; If to the fight his active soul is bent, The fate of Europe turns on its event. What distant land, what region, can afford An action worthy his victorious sword ? Where will he next the flying Gaul defeat, To make the series of his toils complete ? Where the swoln Rhine, rushing with all its f Divides the hostile nations in its course, TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER. 237 iile each contracts its bounds, or wider grows, larg'd or straiten'd as the river flows, Gallia's side a mighty bulwark stands, rt all the wide-extended plain commands ; ice, since the war was kindled, has it try'd : victor's rage, and twice has chang'd its side ; oft whole armies, with the prize o'erjoy'd, ve the long summer on its walls employ'd, her our mighty chief his arms directs, ice future triumphs from the war expects ; 1 though the dog star had its course begun, ries his arms still nearer to the Sun : t on the glorious action, he forgets change of seasons, and increase of heats ; toils are painful that can danger show, climes unlovely, that contain a foe. he roving Gaul, to his own bounds restrain'd, rns to incamp within his native land, soon as the victorious host he spies, n hill to hill, from stream to stream he flies : i dire impressions in his heart remain Marlborough's sword and Hochtste's fatal plain : ain Britannia's mighty chief besets r shady coverts, and obscure retreats; / fly the conqueror's approaching fame, : bears the force of armies in his name, ustria's young monarch, whose imperial sway tres and thrones are destin'd to obey, se boasted ancestry so high extends in the pagan gods his lineage ends, es from afar, in gratitude to own great supporter of his father'_s throne : t tides of glory to bis bosom ran, >'d in th' embraces of the godlike man ! were his eyes with pleasing wonder fixt ae such fire with so much sweetness mixt, easy greatness, such a graceful port, irn'd and finish'd for the camp or court ! .hilles thus was form'd with ev'ry grace, Nireus shone but in the second place ; the great father of almighty Rome inely flusht with an immortal bloom, Cytherea's fragrant breath bestow'd) I the charms of his bright mother glow'd. ie royal youth by Marlborough's presence charm'd, ;ht by his counsels, by his actions warm'd, .andau with redoubled fury falls, larges all the thunder on its walls, mines and caves of death provokes the fight, learns to conquer in the hero's sight, e British chief, for mighty toils renown'd, as'd in titles, and with conquests crown'd, Belgian coasts his tedious march renews, the long windings of the Rhine pursues, ing its borders from usurping foes, blest by rescued nations as he goes, fears no more, freed from its dire alarms ; Vaerbach feels the terrour of his arms : on rocks her proud foundations shake, Marlborough presses to the bold attack. all his batteries, bids his cannon roar, hows how Landau might have fall'n before, at his near approach, great Louis fears ance reserv'd for his declining years, ts liis thirst of universal sway, carce can teach his subjects to obey ; ms he finds on vain attempts employ'd, nbitious projects for his race destroy'd, orks of ages sunk in one campaign, Such are th* effects of Anna's royal cares : By her, Britannia, great in foreign wars, Ranges through nations, wheresoe'cr disjoin'd. Without the wonted aid of sea and wind. By her th* unfetter* d Ister's states are free, And taste the sweets of English liberty : But who can tell the joys of those that lie Beneath the constant influence of herjpye ! Whilst in diffusive showers her bounties fall Like Heaven's indulgence, and descend on all, Secure the happy, succour the distrest, Make every subject glad, and a whole people blest. Thus would I fain Britannia's wars rehearse, In the smooth records of a faithful verse ; That, if such numbers can o'er time prevail, May tell posterity the wondrous tale. When actions, unadorn'd, are faint and weak, Cities and countries must be taught to speak ; Gods may descend in factions from the skies, And rivers from their oozy beds arise ; Fiction may deck the truth with spurious rays, And round the hero cast a borrow'd blaze. Marlborough's exploits appear divinely bright, And proudly shine in their own native light, Rais'd of themselves their genuine charms they boast, And those who paint them truest praise them most. TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER, ON HIS PICTURE OF 1 THE KING. KNELLER, with silence and surprise We see Britannia's monarch rise, A godlike form, by thee display'd In all the force of light and shade ; And, aw'd by thy delusive hand, As in the presence-chamber stand. The magic of thy art calls forth His secret soul and hidden worth, His probity and mildness shows, His care of friends, and scorn of foes ; In every stroke, in every line, Does some exalted virtue shine, And Albion's happiness we trace Through all the features of his face. O may I live to hail the day, When the glad nation shall survey Their sovereign, through his wide command, Passing in progress o'er the land ! Each heart shall bend, and every voice In loud applauding shouts rejoice, Whilst all his gracious aspect praise, And crowds grow loyal as they gaze. The image on the medal plac'd, With its bright round of titles grac'd, And stampt on British coins shall live, To richest ores the value give, Or, wrought within the curious mold, Shape and adorn the running gold. To bear this form, the genial Sun Has daily since his course begun Rejoic'd the metal to refine, And ripen'd the Peruvian mine. Thou, Kneller, long with noble pride, The foremost of thy art, hast vy'd With nature in a generous strife, And touch'd the canvas into life. 238 ADDISON. Thy pencil has, by monarchs sought. From reign to reign in ermine wrought, And, in the robes of state array'd, The kings of half an age display'd. Here swarthy Charles appears, and there His brother with dejected air : Triumphant Nassau here we find, And with him bright Maria join'd ; There Anna, great as when she sent Her armies through the continent, Ere yet her hero was disgrac'd : O may fam'd Brunswick be the last, (Though Heaven should with my wish agree, And long preserve thy art in thee) The last, the happiest British king, Whom thou shall paint, or I shall sing ! Wise Phidias thus, his skill to prove, Through many a god advanc'd to Jove, And taught the polish'd rocks to shine With airs and lineaments divine ; Till Greece, amaz'd, and half-afraid, Th' assembled deities survey'd. Great Pan, who wont to chase the fair, And lov'd the spreading oak, was there ; Old Saturn too with upcast eyes Beheld his abdicated skies ; And mighty Mars, for war renown'd, In adamantine armour frown'dj By him the childless goddess rose, Minerva, studious to compose Her twisted threads ; the web she strung, And o'er a loom of marble hung : Thetis, the troubled ocean's queen, Match'd with a mortal, next was seen, ' Reclining on a funeral urn, Her short-liv'd darling son to mourn. The last was he, whose thunder slew The Titan-race, a rebel crew, That from a hundred hills ally'd In impious leagues their king defy'd. This wonder of the sculptor's hand Produc'd, his art was at a stand : For who would hope new fame to raise, Or risk his well-establish'd praise, That, his high genius to approve, Had drawn a George, or carv'd a Jove ? PARAPHRASE ON PSALM XXIII. THE Lord my pasture shall prepare, And feed me with a shepherd's care ; His presence shall my wants supply, And guard me with a watchful eye : My noon-day walks he shall attend, And all my midnight hours defend. When in the sultry glebe I faint, Or on the thirsty mountain pant ; To fertile vales and dewy meads My weary wandering steps he leads : Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow, Amid the verdant landscape flow. Though in the paths of death I tread, With gloomy horrours overspread, My stedfast heart shall fear no ill, For thou, O Lord, art with me still ; Thy friendly crook shall give me aid, And guide me through the dreadful shade. Though in a bare and rugged way, Through devious lonely wilds I stray, Thy bounty shall my wants beguile : The barren wilderness shall smile, With sudden greens and herbage crown'd, And streams shall murmur all around. 239 MATTHEW PRIOR. ATTHEW PRIOR, a distinguished poet, was born 1664, in London according to one account, >rding to another at Winborne, in Dorsetshire. father dying when he was young, an uncle, was a vintner, or tavern-keeper, at Charing- >s, took him under his care, and sent him to itminster-school, of which Dr. Busby was master. Before he had passed through the ol, his uncle took him home, for the pur- of bringing him into his own business ; but Earl of Dorset, a great patron of letters, having d him one day reading Horace, and being ;ed with his conversation, determined to give an university education. He was accordingly itted of St. John's College, Cambridge, in !, proceeded bachelor of arts in 1686, and was after elected to a fellowship. After having. ed his poetic talents by some college exercises, as introduced at court by the Earl of Dorset, was so effectually recommended, that, in 1690, as appointed secretary to the English pleni- itiaries who attended the congress at the ue. Being now enlisted in the service of the :, his productions were, for some years, chiefly ted to courtly topics, of which one of the most derable was an Ode presented to King William 95, on the death of Queen Mary. In 1697, is nominated secretary to the commissioners le treaty of Ryswick ; and, on his return, was secretary to the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. rent to France in the following year, as secre- first to the Earl of Portland, a"nd then to the of Jersey ; and being now regarded as one rsant in public affairs, he was summoned by William to Loo, where he had a confidential nee. In the beginning of 1701 he sat in Par- nt for East Grinstead. or had hitherto been promoted and acted with Tiigs : but the Tories now having become the lent party, he turned about, and ever after ad- to them. He even voted for the impeach- of those lords who advised that partition in which he had been officially employed, most converts, he embraced his new friends nuch zeal, and from that time almost all his connections were confined within the limits of rty. ; successes in the beginning of Queen Anne's were celebrated by the poets on both sides ; ?rior sung the victories of Blenheim and ies ; he afterwards, however, joined in the of the great general who had been his theme. It will not be worth while here to take notice of all his changes in the political world, except to mention the disgraces which followed the famous congress of Utrecht, in which he was deeply engaged. For the completion of that business he was left in France, with the appointments and authority of an ambassador, though without the title, the proud Duke of Shrewsbury having refused to be joined in commission with a man so meanly born. Prior, however, publicly assumed the character till he was superseded by the Earl of Stair, on the acces- sion of George I. The Whigs being now in power, he was welcomed, on his return, by a warrant from the House of Commons, under which he was com- mitted to the custody of a messenger. He was ex- amined before the Privy Council respecting his share in the peace of Utrecht, was treated with rigour, and Walpole moved an impeachment against him, on a charge of high treason, for hold- ing clandestine conferences with the French pleni- potentiary. His name was excepted from an act of grace passed in 1717 : at length, however, he was discharged, without being brought to trial, to end his days in retirement. We are now to consider Prior among the poetical characters of the time. In his writings is found that incongruous mixture of light and rather in- decent topics with grave and even religious ones, which was not uncommon at that period. In the faculty of telling a story with ease and vivacity, he yields only to Swift, compared to whom his humour is occasionally strained and quaint. His songs and amatory pieces are generally elegant and clas- sical. The most popular of his serious compo- sitions are " Henry and Emma," or the Nut-brown Maid, modernised from an antique original ; and " Solomon," the idea of which is taken from the book of Ecclesiastes. These are harmonious in their versification, splendid and correct in their diction, and copious in poetical imagery ; but they exert no powerful effect on the feelings or the fancy, and are enfeebled by prolixity. His " Alma," a piece of philosophical pleasantry, was written to console himself when under confinement, and dis- plays a considerable share of reading. As to his elaborate effusions of loyalty and patriotism, they seem to have sunk into total neglect. The life of Prior was cut short by a lingering illness, which closed his days at Wimpole, the seat of Lord Oxford, in September, 1721, in the 58th year of his age. 240 PRIOR. HENRY AND EMMA. A POEM, Upon the Model of the Nut-Brown Maid. TO CLOE. 1 HOtr, to whose eyes I bend, at whose command (Though low my voice, though artless be my hand), I take the sprightly reed, and sing, and play, Careless of what the censuring world may say : Bright Cloe, object of my constant vow, Wilt thou awhile unbend thy serious brow ? Wilt thou with pleasure hear thy lover's strains, And with one heavenly smile o'erpay his pains ? No longer shall the Nut-brown Maid be old ; Though since her youth three hundred years have roll'd : At thy desire, she shall again be rais'd ; And her reviving charms in lasting verse be prais'd. No longer man of woman shall complain, That he may love, and not be lov'd again : That we in vain the fickle sex pursue, Who change the constant lover for the new. Whatever has been writ, whatever said, Of female passion feign'd, or faith decay'd , Henceforth shall in my verse refuted stand, Be said to winds, or writ upon the sand. And, while my notes to future times proclaim Uhconquer'd love, and ever-during flame, O fairest of the sex ' be thou my Muse : Deign on my work thy influence to diffuse. Let me partake the blessings I rehearse, And grant me, love, the just reward of verse ! As beauty's potent queen, with every grace, That once was Emma's, has adorn'd thy face ; And, as her son has to my bosom dealt That constant flame, which faithful Henry felt : O let the story with thy life agree : men once more the bright example see ; What Emma was to him, be thou to me. Nor send me by thy frown from her I love, Distant and sad, a banish'd man to rove. But, oh ! with pity, long-entreated, crown My pains and hopes ; and, when thou say'st that one Of all mankind thou lov'st, oh ! think on me alone. WHERE beauteous Isis and her husband Tame, With mingled waves, for ever flow the same, In times of yore an ancient baron liv'd ; Great gifts bestow'd, and great respect receiv'd. When dreadful Edward, with successful care, Led his free Britons to the Gallic war ; This lord had headed his appointed bands, In firm allegiance to his king's commands ; And (all due honours faithfully discharg'd) Had brought back his paternal coat, enlarg'd With a new mark, the witness of his toil, And no inglorious part of foreign spoil. From the loud camp retir'd, and noisy court, In honourable ease and rural sport, The remnant of his days he safely past ; Nor found they lagg'd too slow, nor flew too fast. He made his wish with his estate comply, Joyful to live, yet not afraid to die. One child he had, a daughter chaste and fair, His age's comfort, and his fortune's heir. They call'd her Emma; for the beauteous dami Who gave the virgin birth, had borne the name The name th' indulgent father doubly lov'd : For in the child the mother's charms improv'd. Yet as, when little, round his knees she play'd, He call'd her oft, in sport, his Nut-brown Mai< The friends and tenants took the fondling word (As still they please, who imitate their lord) : Usage confirm'd what fancy had begun ; The mutual terms around the land were known And Emma and the Nut-brown Maid were on< As with her stature, still her charms increas'd Through all the isle her beauty was confess'd. Oh ! what perfections must that virgin share, Who fairest is esteem'd, where all are fair ! From distant shires repair the noble youth, And find report, for once, had lessen'd truth. By wonder first, and then by passion mov'd, They came ; they saw ; they marvell'd ; and lov'd. By public praises, and by secret sighs, Each own'd the general power of Emma's eyes, In tilts and tournaments the valiant strove, By glorious deeds, to purchase Emma's love. In gentle verse the witty told their flame, And grac'd their choicest songs with Emma's m In vain they combated, in vain they writ : Useless their strength, and impotent their wit. Great Venus only must direct the dart, Which else will never reach the fair-one's heart Spite of th' attempts of force, and soft effects of Great Venus must prefer the happy one : In Henry's cause her favour must be shown ; And Emma, of mankind j must love but him al While these in public to 'the castle came, And by their grandeur justified their flame ; More secret ways the careful Henry takes ; His squires, his arms, anrd equipage forsakes : In borrow'd name, and false attire array'd, Oft he finds means to see the beauteous maid. v When Emma hunts, in huntsman's habit drc Henry on foot pursues the bounding beast. In his right-hand his beechen pole he bears ; And graceful at his side his horn he wears. Still to the glade, where she has bent her way, With knowing skill he drives the future prey ; Bids her decline the hill, and shun the brake ; And shows the path her steed may safest take ; Directs her spear to fix the glorious wound ; Pleas' d in his toils to have her triumph crown'< And blows her praises in no common sound. A falconer Henry is, when. Emma hawks : With her of tarsels and of lures he talks. Upon his wrist the towering merlin stands, Practis'd to rise, and stoop at her commands. And when superior now the bird has flown, And headlong brought the tumbling quarry do With humble reverence he accosts the fair, And with the honour'd feather decks her hair. Yet still, as from the sportive field she goes, His down-cast eye reveals his inward woes ; And by his look and sorrow is exprest, A nobler game pursued than bird or beast. A shepherd now along the plain he roves ; j And, with his jolly pipe, delights the groves. HENRY AND EMMA. 241 ie neighbouring swains around the stranger throng, r to admire, or emulate liis song : hile with soft sorrow he renews his lays, >r heedful of their envy, nor their praise, it, soon as Emma's eyes adorn the plain, is notes he raises to a nobler strain, ith dutiful respect and studious fear ; st any careless sound offend her ear. A frantic gipsy now, the house he haunts, id in wild phrases speaks dissembled wants, ith the fond maids in palmistry he deals : ey tell the secret first, wliich he reveals ; ;s who shall wed, and who shall be beguil'd ; lat groom shall get, and squire maintain the child, t, when bright Emma would her fortune know, softer look unbends his opening brow ; th trembling awe he gazes on her eye, d in soft accents forms the kind reply ; it she shall prove as fortunate as fair ; d Hymen's choicest gifts are all reserv'd for her. ^ow oft had Henry chang'd his sly disguise, tiark'd by all but beauteous Emma's eyes :'. had found means alone to see the dame, 1 at her feet to breathe his amorous flame ; 1 oft, the pangs of absence to remove, letters, soft interpreters of love : Time and Industry (the mighty two t bring our wishes nearer to our view) le him perceive, that the inclining fair eiv'd his vows with no reluctant ear ; ; Venus had confirm'd her equal reign, dealt to Emma's heart a share of Henry's pain, 'hile Cupid smil'd, by kind occasion bless'd, , with the secret kept, the love increas'd ; amorous youth frequents the silent groves ; much he meditates, for much he loves, oves, 'tis true ; and is belov'd again : t are his joys ; but will they long remain ? ia with smiles receives his present flame ; smiling, will she ever be the same ? itiful looks are rul'd by fickle minds ; summer seas are turn'd by sudden winds, her love may gain her easy youth : changes thought, and flattery conquers truth, impotent estate of human life ! e Hope and Fear maintain eternal strife ; e fleeting joy does lasting doubt inspire ; most we question, what we most desire ! igst thy various gifts, great Heaven, bestow :up of love unmix'd ; forbear to throw * ingredients in ; nor pall the draught nauseous grief: for our ill-judging thought ly enjoys the pleasurable taste ; *ms it not sincere ; or fears it cannot last, th wishes rais'd, with jealousies opprest, nate tyrants of the human breast) ie great trial he resolves to prove \ lith of woman, and the force of love.\ mning Emma's virtues, he may find >eauteous frame enclose a steady mind, fix his hope, of future joy secure ; ive a slave to Hymen's happy power, the fair-one, as he fears, is frail ; 'd aright in Reason's equal scale, ly her merit, and her faults prevail ; nd he vows to free from amorous care, tent mischief from his heart to tear, e his azure arms, and shine again in war. h of the castle, in a verdant glade, ading beech extends her friendly shade : Here oft the nymph his breathing vows had heard ; Here oft her silence had her heart declar'd. As active Spring awak'd her infant buds, And genial life infonn'd the verdant woods ; Henry, in knots involving Emma's name, Had half express'd, and half conceal'd, his flame, Upon this tree : and, as the tender mark Grew with the year, and widen'd with the bark, Venus had heard the virgin's soft address, That, as the wound, the passion might increase. As potent Nature shed her kindly showers, And deck'd the various mead with opening flowers, Upon this tree the nymph's obliging care Had left a frequent wreath for Henry's hair ; Which, as with gay delight the lover found, Pleas' d with his conquest, with her present crown'd, Glorious through all the plains he oft had gone, And to each swain the mystic honour shown ; The gift still prais'd, the giver still unknown. His secret note the troubled Henry writes : To the lone tree the lovely maid invites. Imperfect words and dubious terms express, That unforeseen mischance disturb'd his peace ; [ That he must something to her ear commend, On which her conduct and his life depend. Soon as the fair-one had the note receiv'd, The remnant of the day alone she griev'd : For different this from every former note, Which Venus dictated, and Henry wrote ; Which told her all his future hopes were laid On the dear bosom of his Nut-brown Maid ; Which always bless'd her eyes, and own'd her power ; And bid her oft adieu, yet added more. Now night advanc'd. The house in sleep were laid ; The nurse experienc'd, and the prying maid, And, last, that sprite, which does incessant haunt The lover's steps, the ancient maiden- aunt. To her dear Henry, Erflma wings her way, With quicken'd pace repairing forc'd delay ; For Love, fantastic power, that is afraid To stir abroad till Watchfulness be laid, Undaunted then o'er cliffs and valleys strays, And leads his votaries safe through pathless ways. Not Argus, with his hundred eyes, shall find Where Cupid goes ; though he, poor guide ! is blind. The maiden first arriving, sent her eye To ask, if yet its chief delight were nigh : With fear and with desire, with joy and pain, She sees, and runs to meet him on the plain. But, oh ! his steps proclaim no lover's haste : On the low ground his fix'd regards are cast ; \ His artful bosom heaves dissembled sighs; And tears suborn'd fall copious from his eyes. With ease, alas ! we credit what we love: His painted grief does real sorrow move In the afflicted fair ; adown her cheek Trickling the genuine tears their current break ; Attentive stood the mournful nymph : the man Broke silence first : the tale alternate ran. SIXCERIT, O tell me, hast thou felt a pain, Emma, beyond what woman knows to feign ? Has thy uncertain bosom ever strove With the first tumults of a real love ? Hast thou now dreaded, and now blest liis sway, By turns averse, and joyful to obey ? R 242 PRIOR. Thy virgin softness hast thou e'er bewail'd, As Reason yielded, and as Love prevail'd ? And wept the potent god's resistless dart, His killing pleasure, his ecstatic smart, And heavenly poison thrilling through thy heart ? If so, with pity view my wretched state ; At least deplore, and then forget my fate : To some more happy knight reserve thy charms, By Fortune favour'd, and successful arms ; And only, as the Sun's revolving ray Brings back each year this melancholy day, Permit one sigh, and set apart one tear, To an abandon'd exile's endless care. For me, alas ! out-cast of human race, Love's anger only waits, and dire disgrace ; For, lo ! these hands in murther are imbrued ; These trembling feet by Justice are pursued : Fate calls aloud, and hastens me away ; A shameful death attends my longer stay ; And I this night must fly from thee and love, Condemn'd in lonely woods, a banish'd man, to rove. What is our bliss, that changeth with the Moon ? And day of life, that darkens ere 'tis noon ? What is true passion, if unblest it dies ? And where is Emma's joy, if Henry flies ? If love, alas ! be pain ; the pain I bear No thought can figure, and no tongue declare. Ne'er faithful woman felt, nor false one feign'd, The flames which long have in my bosom reign'd : The god of love himself inhabits there, With all his rage, and dread, and grief, and care, His complement of stores, and total war. O ! cease then coldly to suspect my love ; And let my deed at least my faith approve. Alas ! no youth shall my endearments share ; Nor day nor night shall interrupt my care ; No future story shall with truth upbraid The cold indifference of the Nut-brown Maid ; Nor to hard banishment shall Henry run, While careless Emma sleeps on bods of down. View me resolv'd, where'er thou lead'st, to go, Friend to thy pain, and partner of thy woe ; For I attest, fair Venus and her son, That I, of all mankind, will love but thee alone. Let prudence yet obstruct thy venturous way ; And take good heed, what men will think and say ; That beauteous Emma vagrant courses took ; Her father's house and civil life forsook ; That, full of youthful blood, and fond of man, She to the wood-land with an exile ran. Reflect, that lesseii'd fame is ne'er regained, And virgin honour, once, is always stain'd : Timely advis'd, the coming evil shun : Better not do the deed, than weep it done. No penance can absolve our guilty fame ; Nor tears, that wash out sin, can wash out shame. Then fly the sad effects of desperate love, And leave a banish'd man through lonely woods to Let Emma's hapless case be falsely told By the rash young, or the ill-natur'd old : Let every tongue its various censures choose ; with rnlrlnucu nr with crvi'fa OO/.I.OA . Fair Truth, at last, her radiant beams will raise And Malice vanquish'd heightens Virtue's praisi Let then thy favour but indulge my flight ; O ! let my presence make thy travels light ; And potent Venus shall exalt my name Above the rumours of censorious Fame ; Nor from that busy demon's restless power Will ever Emma other grace implore, Than that this truth should to the world be knoi That I, of all mankind, have lov'd but thee alor But canst thou wield the sword, and bend the b< With active force repel the sturdy foe ? When the loud tumult speaks the battle nigh, And winged deaths in whistling arrows fly ; Wilt thou, though wounded, yet undaunted stay Perform thy part, and share the dangerous day : Then, as thy strength decays, thy heart will fail* Thy limbs all trembling, and thy cheeks all pale With fruitless sorrow, thou, inglorious maid, Wilt weep thy safety by thy love betray'd : Then to thy friend, by foes o'er-charg'd, deny Thy little useless aid, and coward fly : Then wilt thou curse the chance that made thee 1 A banish'd man, condemn'd in lonely woods to n With fatal certainty Thalestris knew To send the arrow from the twanging yew ; And, great in arms, and foremost in the war, Bonduca brandish'd high the British spear. Could thirst of vengeance and desire of fame Excite the female breast with martial flame ? And shall not love's diviner power inspire More hardy virtue, and more generous fire ? Near thee, mistrust not, constant I'll abide, And fall, or vanquish, fighting by thy side. Though my inferior strength may not allow That I should bear or draw the warrior bow ; With ready hand I will the shaft supply, And joy to see thy victor arrows fly. Touch'd in the battle by the hostile reed, Should'st thou, (but Heaven avert it ! ) shoul thou bleed ; To stop the wounds, my finest lawn I'd tear, Wash them with tears, and wipe them with my hi Blest, when my dangers and my toils have show That I, of all mankind, could love but thee aloi But canst thou, tender maid, canst thou sustai Afflictive want, or hunger's pressing pain ? Those limbs, in lawn and softest silk array'd, From sun-beams guarded, and of winds afraid, Can they bear angry Jove ? can they resist The parching dog-star, and the bleak north-east When, chill'd by adverse snows and beating rain We tread with weary steps the longsome plain ; When with hard toil we seek our evening food, Berries and acorns from the neighbouring wood And find among the cliffs no other house But the thin covert of some gather'd boughs ; Wilt thou not then reluctant send thine eye Around the dreary waste, and, weeping, try (Though then, alas ! that trial be too late) To find thy father's hospitable gate, HENRY AND EMMA. 243 liose seats, whence long excluded, thou must mourn : 'hat gate, for ever barr'd to thy return : yilt thou not then bewail ill-fated love, [rove ? ind liate a banish'd man, condemn'd in woods to Thy rise of fortune did I only wed, rom its decline detennin'd to recede ; )id I but purpose to embark with thee >n the smooth surface of a summer's sea ; ITiile gentle Zephyrs play in prosperous gales, .nd Fortune's favour fills the swelling sails ; ut would forsake the ship, and make the shore, 7 hen the winds whistle, and the tempests roar ? o, Henry, no : one sacred oath has tied ur loves : one destiny our life shall guide ; or wild nor deep our common way divide. When from the cave thou risest with the day, > beat the woods, and rouse the bounding prey ; ic cave with moss and branches I'll adorn, id cheerful sit, to wait my lord's return : id, when thou frequent bring' st the smitten deer, or seldom, archers say, thy arrows err) I fetch quick fuel from the neighbouring wood, id strike the sparkling flint, and dress the food ; th humble duty, and officious haste, cull the furthest mead for thy repast ; e choicest herbs I to thy board will bring, d draw thy water from the freshest spring : d, when at night with weary toil opprest, t slumbers thou enjoy'st, and wholesome rest, tchful I'll guard thee, and with midnight prayer ary the gods to keep thee in their care ; 1 joyous ask, at morn's returning ray, liou hast health, and I may bless the day. thoughts shall fix, my latest wish depend, thee, guide, guardian, kinsman, father, friend : all these sacred names be Henry known Emma's heart ; and grateful let him own t she, of all mankind, could love but him alone ! ainly thou tell'st me, what the woman's care I in the wildness of the wood prepare : J, ere thou goest, unhappiest of thy kind, t leave the habit and the sex behind, onger shall thy comely tresses break cowing ringlets on thy snowy neck ; it behind thy head, an ample round, aceful braids with various ribbon bound : anger shall the bodice aptly lac'd, i thy full bosom to thy slender waist, air and harmony of shape express, by degrees, and beautifully less : ;hall thy lower garments' artful plait, i thy fair side dependent to thy feet, their chaste beauties with a modest pride, double every charm they seek to hide, brosial plenty of thy shining hair, off and lost, scarce lower than thy ear tand uncouth : a horseman's coat shall hide per shape, and comeliness of side : ort trunk-hose shall show thy foot and knee ous, and to common eye-sight free : with a bolder stride and looser air, ed with men, a man thou must appear, solitude, nor gentle peace of mind, ten maid, shalt thou in forests find : "Hs long since Cynthia and her train were there, Or guardian gods made innocence their care. Vagrants and outlaws shall offend thy view : For such must be my friends, a hideous crew By adverse fortune mix'd in social ill, Train'd to assault, and disciplin'd to kill ; Their common loves, a lewd abandon 'd pack, The beadle's lash still flagrant on their back : By sloth corrupted, by disorder fed, Made bold by want, and prostitute for bread : j With such must Emma hunt the tedious day, Assist their violence, and divide their prey : With such she must return at setting light, j Though not partaker, witness of their night. Thy ear, inur'd to charitable sounds I And pitying love, must feel the hateful wounds Of jest obscene and vulgar ribaldry, j The ill-bred question, and the lewd reply ; j Brought by long habitude from bad to worse, Must hear the frequent oath, the direful curse, That latest weapon of the wretches' war, And blasphemy, sad comrade of despair. Now, Emma, now the last reflection make, WTiat thou would'st follow, what thou must forsake : By our ill-omen'd stars, and adverse Heaven, No middle object to thy choice is given. Or yield thy virtue, to attain thy love ; Or leave a banish 'd man, condemn'd in woods to rove. O grief of heart ! that our unhappy fates Force thee to suffer what thy honour hates : Mix thee amongst the bad ; or make thee run Too near the paths which Virtue bids thee shun. Yet with her Henry still let Emma go ; With him abhor the vice, but share the woe : And sure my little heart can never err Amidst the worst, if Henry still be there. Our outward act is prompted from within ;" And from the sinner's mind proceeds the sin : By her own choice free Virtue is approv'd ; Nor by the force of outward objects mov'd. ^ Who has assay'd no danger, gains no praise. In a small isle, amidst the wildest seas, Triumphant Constancy has fix'd her seat : In vain the Syrens sing, the tempests beat : Their flattery she rejects, nor fears their threat. For thee alone these little charms I drest : Condemn'd them, orabsolv'd them by thy test. In comely figure rang'd my jewels shone, Or negligently plac'd for thee alone : For thee again they shall be laid aside ; The woman, Henry, shall put off' her pride For thee : my clothes, my sex, exchang'd for thee, I'll mingle with the people's wretched lee : O line extreme of human infamy ! Wanting the scissars, with these hands I'll tear (If that obstructs my flight) this load of hair. Black soot, or yellow walnut, shall disgrace This little red and white of Emma's face. These nails with scratches shall deform my breast, Lest by my look or colour be express'd The mark of aught high-born, or ever better dress'd. Yet in this commerce, under this disguise, Let me be grateful still to Henry's eyes ; Lost to the world, let me to him be known : My fate I can absolve, if he shall own That, leaving all mankind, I love but him alone. R 2 244- PRIOR. O wildest thoughts of an abandon'd mind ! Name, habit, parents, woman, left behind, Ev'n honour dubious, thou preferr'st to go Wild to the woods with me : said Emma so ? Or did I dream what Emma never said ? O guilty errour ! and O wretched maid ! Whose roving fancy would resolve the same With him, who next should tempt her easy fame ; And blow with empty words the susceptible flame. Now why should doubtful terms thy mind perplex? Confess thy frailty, and avow the sex : No longer loose desire for constant love [to rove. Mistake : but say, 'tis man with whom thou long'st Are there not poisons, racks, and flames, and swords, That Emma thus must die by Henry's words ? Yet what could swords or poison, racks or flame, But mangle and disjoint this brittle frame ! [fame. More fatal Henry's words ; they murdei Emma's And fall these sayings from that gentle tongue, Where civil speech and soft persuasion hung ; Whose artful sweetness and harmonious strain, Courting my grace, yet courting it in vain, Call'd sighs, and tears, and wishes, to its aid ; And, whilst it Henry's glowing flame convey'd, Still blam'd the coldness of the Nut-brown Maid? Let envious Jealousy and canker'd Spite Produce my actions to severest light, And tax my open day, or secret night. Did e'er my tongue speak my unguarded heart The least inclin'd to play the wanton's part ? Did e'er my eye one inward thought reveal, Which angels might not hear, and virgins tell ? And hast thou, Henry, in my conduct known One fault, but that which I must never own, That I, of all mankind, have lov'd but thee alone? Vainly thou talk'st of loving me alone : Each man is man ; and all our sex is one. False are our words, and fickle is our mind : Nor in Love's ritual can we ever find Vows made to last, or promises to bind. By Nature prompted, and for empire made, Alike by strength or cunning we invade : When, arm'd with rage, we march against the foe, We lift the battle-axe, and draw the bow : ^Vhen, fir'd with passion, we attack the fair, Delusive sighs and brittle vows we bear ; Our falsehood and our arms have equal use ; As they our conquest or delight produce. The foolish heart thou gav'st, again receive, The only boon departing love can give. To be less wretched, be no longer true ; What strives to fly thee, why should'st thou pursue ? Forget the present flame, indulge a new ; Single the loveliest of the amorous youth : Ask for his vow ; but hope not for his truth. The next man (and the next thou shalt believe) Will pawn his gods, intending to deceive ; Will kneel, implore, persist, o'ercome, and leave. Hence let thy Cupid aim his arrows right ; Be wise and false, shun trouble, seek delight : Why should'st thou weep ? let Nature judge on case ; I saw thee young and fair ; pursued the chase Of Youth and Beauty : I another saw Fairer and younger : yielding to the law Of our all-ruling mother, I pursued More youth, more beauty : blest vicissitude ! My active heart still keeps its pristine flame ; The object alter'd, the desire the same. This younger, fairer, pleads her rightful charms With present power compels me to her arms. And much I fear, from my subjected mind, (If Beauty's force to constant love can bind,) That years may roll, ere in her turn the maid Shall weep the fury of my love decay'd ; And weeping follow me, as thou dost now, With idle clamours of a broken vow. Nor can the wildness of thy wishes err So wide, to hope that thou may'st live with her. Love, well thou know'st, no partnership allows : Cupid averse rejects divided vows : Then, from thy foolish heart, vain maid, remove An useless sorrow, and an ill-storr'd love ; And leave me, with the fair, at large in woods rove. Are we in life through one great errour led ? Is each man perjur'd, and each nymph betray 'd ? Of the superior sex art thou the worst ? Am I of mine the most completely curst? Yet let me go with thee ; and going prove, From what I will endure, how much I love. This potent beauty, this triumphant fair, This happy object of our different care, Her let me follow ; her let me attend A servant (she may scorn the name of friend). What she demands, incessant I'll prepare : I'll weave her garlands ; and I'll plait her hair : My busy diligence shall deck her board, (For there at least I may approach my lord,) And, when her Henry's softer hours advise His servant's absence, with dejected eyes Far I'll recede, and sighs forbid to rise. Yet, when increasing grief brings slow disease, And ebbing life, on terms severe as these, Will have its little lamp no longer fed; When Henry's mistress shows him Emma dead ; Rescue my poor remains from vile neglect, With virgin honours let my hearse be deckt, And decent emblem ; and at least persuade This happy nymph, that Emma may be laid Where thou, dear author of my death, where she, With frequent eye my sepulchre may see. The nymph amidst her joys may haply breathe One pious sigh, reflecting on my death, And the sad fate which she may one day prove, Who hopes from Henry's vows eternal love. And thou forsworn, thou cruel, as thou art, If Emma's image ever touch'd thy heart ; [t< Thou sure must give one thought, and drop c To her, whom love abandon'd to despair ; To her, who, dying, on the wounded stone Bid it in lasting characters be known, That, of mankind, she lov'd but thee alone. HENRY. Hear, solemn Jove ; and conscious Venus, he: HENRY AND EMMA. 3o time, no change, no future flame, shall move [Tie well-plac'd basis of my lasting love. 1 powerful virtue ! O victorious fair ! U least, excuse a trial too severe : leceive the triumph, and forget the war. No banish'd man, condemn'd in woods to rove, Entreats thy pardon, and implores thy love : Jo perjur'd knight desires to quit thy arms, 'airest collection of thy sex's charms, Yown of my love, and honour of my youth ! lenry, thy Henry, with eternal truth, .s thou may'st wish, shall all his life employ, .nd found his glory in his Emma's joy. In me behold the potent Edgar's heir, lustrious earl : him terrible in war et Loyre confess, for she has felt his sword, nd trembling fled before the British lord, im great in peace and wealth fair Deva knows ; >r she amidst his spacious meadows flows ; iclines her urn upon his fatten'd lands ; nd sees his numerous herds imprint her sands. And thou, my fair, my dove, shalt raise thy thought greatness next to empire : shalt be brought ith solemn pomp to my paternal seat ; here peace and plenty on thy word shall wait, usic and song shall wake the marriage-day : .d, whilst the priests accuse the bride's delay, mles and roses shall obstruct her way. iendship shall still thy evening feasts adorn ; id blooming Peace shall ever bless thy morn, receding years their happy race shall run, d Age, unheeded, by delight come on : ule yet superior Love shall mock his power : d when old Time shall turn the fated hour, lich only can our well-tied knot unfold, it idling in their high abodes, legardless of this world below, )ur health or hanging, weal or woe ; for once disturb their heavenly spirits Vith Scapin's cheats, or Caesar's merits. " Nor e'er can Latin poets prove Vhere lies the real seat of Love. scur they burn, and cor they pierce, .s either best supplies their verse ; .nd, if folks ask the reason for't, ay, one was long, and t'other short, hus, I presume, the British Muse fay take the freedom strangers use. i prose our property is greater : r hy should it then be less in metre ? ' Cupid throws a single dart, r e make him wound the lover's heart : ut, if he takes his bow and quiver ; 'is sure he must transfix the liver : >r rhyme with reason may dispense, nd sound has right to govern sense. " But let your friends in verse suppose, hat ne'er shall be allow'd in prose ; latomists can make it clear, le Liver minds his own affair ; indly supplies our public uses, id parts and strains the vital juices ; 11 lays some useful bile aside, > tirge the chyle's insipid tide : se we should want both gibe and satire ; id all be burst with pure good-nature. w gall is bitter with a witness, id love is all delight and sweetness. r logic then has lost its aim, sweet and bitter be the same : d he, methinks, is no great scholar, 10 can mistake desire for choler. ' The like may of the heart be said ; urage and terrour there are bred, those, whose hearts are loose and low, rt, if they hear but the tattoo : d mighty physical their fear is ; , soon as noise of combat near is, air heart, descending to their breeches, .st give their stomach cruel twitches. t heroes, who o'ercome or die, ve their hearts hung extremely high, ; strings of which, in battle's heat, ainst their very corslets beat ; ALMA. 249 Keep time with their own trumpet's measure, And yield them most excessive pleasure. " Now, if 'tis chiefly in the heart That Courage does itself exert, 'Twill be prodigious hard to prove That this is eke the throne of Love. Would Nature make one place the seat Of fond desire, and fell debate ? Must people only take delight in Those hours, when they are tir'd of fighting ? And has no man, but who has kill'd A father, right to get a child ? These notions then I think but idle ; And Love shall still possess the middle. " This truth more plainly to discover, Suppose your hero were a lover. Though he before had gall and rage, Which death or conquest must assuage, He grows dispirited and low ; He hates the fight, and shuns the foe. " In scornful sloth Achilles slept, | And for his wench, like Tall-boy, wept : Nor would return to war and slaughter, Till they brought back the parson's daughter. " Antonius fled from Actium's coast, Augustus pressing, Asia lost : His sails by Cupid's hands unfurl'd, To keep the fair, he gave the world. Edward our Fourth, rever'd and crown'd, Vigorous in youth, in arms renown'd, While England's voice, and Warwick's care, Design'd him Gallia's beauteous heir, Chang'd peace and power for rage and wars, Only to dry one widow's tears " France's fourth Henry we may see A servant to the fair d'Estree ; When, quitting Coutras' prosperous field, And Fortune taught at length to yield, He from his guards and midnight tent Disguis'd o'er hills and vallies went, To wanton with the sprightly dame, And in his pleasure lost his fame. " Bold is the critic who dares prove These heroes were no friends to love ; And bolder he, who dares aver That they were, enemies to war. Yet, when their thought should, now or never, Have rais'd their heart, or fir'd their liver, Fond Alma to those parts was gone, Which Love more justly calls his own. " Examples I could cite you more ; But be contented with these four : For when one's proofs are aptly chosen, Four are as valid as four dozen. One came from Greece, and one from Rome ; The other two grew nearer home. For some in ancient books delight ; Others prefer what moderns write : Now I should be extremely loth, Not to be thought expert in both." CANTO II. " BUT shall we take the Muse abroad, To drop her idly on the road ? And leave our subject in the middle, As Butler did his Bear and Fiddle ? Yet he, consummate master, knew, When to recede, and where pursue : 250 PRIOR. CANTO His noble negligences tcacli What others toils despair to reach. He, perfect dancer, climbs the rope, And balances your fear and hope : If, after some distinguish'd leap, He drops his pole, and seems to slip, Straight gathering all his active strength, He rises higher half his length. With wonder you approve his slight, And owe your pleasure to your fright: But like poor Andrew I advance, False mimic of my master's dance. Around the cord awhile I sprawl, And thence, though low, in earnest fall. " My preface tells you, I digress'd : He's half absolv'd who has confess'd." " I like," quoth Dick, " your simile, And, in return, take two from me. As masters in the dare obscure With various light your eyes allure, A flaming yellow here they spread, Draw off in blue, or charge in red ; Yet, from these colours oddly mix'd, Your sight upon the whole is fix'd : Or as, again, your courtly dames (Whose clothes returning birth-day claims) By arts improve the stuffs they vary, And things are best as most contrary ; The gown, with stiff' embroidery shining, Looks charming with a slighter lining ; The out-, if Indian figure stain, The in-side must be rich and plain. So you great authors have thought fit To make digression temper wit : When arguments too fiercely glare, You calm them with a milder air : To break their points, you turn their force, And furbelow the plain discourse." " Richard," quoth Mat, " these words of thine Speak something sly, and something fine : But I shall e'en resume my theme, However thou may'st praise or blame. " As people marry now, and settle, Fierce Love abates his usual mettle : Worldly desires, and household cares, Disturb the godhead's soft affairs : So now, as health or temper changes, In larger compass Alma ranges. Tliis day below, the next above, As light or solid whimsies move. So merchant has his house in town, And country-seat near Bansted-down : From one he dates his foreign letters, Sends out his goods, and duns his debtors : In t'other, at his hours of leisure, He smokes his pipe, and takes his pleasure. " And now your matrimonial Cupid, Lash'd on by Time, grows tir'd and stupid. For story and experience tell us That man grows old, and woman jealous. Both would their little ends secure ; He sighs for freedom, she for power : His wishes tend abroad to roam, And hers to domineer at home. Thus passion flags by slow degrees* And, ruffled more, delighted less, The busy mind does seldom go To those once-charming seats below ; But, in the breast incamp'd, prepares For well-bred feints and future wars. The man suspects lus lady's crying (When he last autumn lay a-dying) Was but to gain him to appoint her By codicil a larger jointure. The woman finds it all a trick, That he could swoon when she was sick ; And knows, that in tha,t grief lie reckon'd On black-ey'd Susan for his second. " Thus having strove some tedious years With feign'd desires, and real fears ; And, tir'd with answers and replies Of John affirms, and Martha lies, Leaving this endless altercation, The Mind affects a higher station. " Poltis, that generous king of Thrace, I think, was in this very case. All Asia now was by the ears, And gods beat up for volunteers To Greece and Troy ; wliile Poltis sat In quiet governing his state. ' And whence,' said the pacific king, v * Does all this noise and discord spring?' ' Why, Paris took Atrides* wife.' ' With ease I could compose this strife : The injur'd hero should not lose, Nor the young lover want a spouse. But Helen chang'd her first condition, Without her husband's just permission. What from the dame can Paris hope ? She may as well from him elope. Again, how can her old good man, With honour, take her back again ? From hence I logically gather, The woman cannot live with either. Now, I have two right honest wives, For whose possession no man strives : One to Atrides I will send, And t'other to my Trojan friend. Each prince shall thus with honour have What both so warmly seem to crave : The wrath of gods and man shall cease, And Poltis live and die in peace.' " Dick, if this story pleaseth thee, Pray thank Dan Pope, who told it me. " Howe'er swift Alma's flight may vary, (Take this by way of corollary] Some limbs she finds the very same, In place, in dignity, in name : These dwell at such convenient distance, That each may give his friend assistance. Thus he who runs or dances begs The equal vigour of two legs ; So much to both does Alma trust, She ne'er regards which goes the first. Teague could make neither of them stay, When with himself he ran away. The man who struggles in the fight, Fatigues left arm as well as right ; For, whilst one hand exalts the blow, And on the earth extends the foe, T'other would take it wondrous ill, If in your pocket it lay still. And, when you shoot, and shut one eye, You cannot think he would deny To lend the other friendly aid, Or wink as coward, and afraid. No, sir; wlrilst he withdraws his flame, His comrade takes the surer aim : One moment if his beams recede, As soon as e'er the bird is dead, H. ALMA. 251 Opening again, he lays his claim To half the profit, half the fame, And helps to pocket up the game. 'Tis thus one tradesman slips away, To give his partner fairer play. " Some limbs again, in bulk or stature Unlike, and not a-kin by nature, In concert act, like modern friends, Because one serves the other's ends. The arm thus waits upon the heart, So quick to take the bully's part, That one, though warm, decides more slow Than t'other executes the blow. A stander-by may chance to have it, Ere Hack Iiimself perceives he gave it. " The amorous eyes thus always go A-strolling for their friends below ; For, long before the squire and dame Have tete-a-tete reliev'd their flame, Ere visits yet are brought about, The eye by sympathy looks out, Knows Florimel, and longs to meet her, And, if he sees, is sure to greet her, Though at sash-window, on the stairs, At court, nay (authors say) at prayers. " The funeral of some valiant knight May give this thing its proper light. View his two gauntlets ; these declare fhat both his hands were us'd to war. And from his two gilt spurs 'tis learn'd His feet were equally concern' d. But have you not, with thought, beheld die sword hang dangling o'er the shield ? OTiich shows the breast, that plate was us'd to, rlad an ally right arm to trust to : Ind, by the peep-holes in his crest, s it not virtually confest, ["hat there his eyes took distant aim, Ind glanc'd respect to that bright dame, n whose delight his hope was center'd, i.nd for whose glove his life he ventur'd ? " Objections to my general system. lay rise, perhaps ; and I have mist them ; lut I can call to my assistance "roximity (mark that ! ) and distance ; ^an prove, that all things, on occasion, ove union, and desire adhesion ; Tiat Alma merely is a scale, jid motives, like the weights, prevail. f neither side turn down nor up, Pith loss or gain, with fear or hope, Tie balance always would hang even, ike Mah'met's tomb, 'twixt Earth and Heaven. " This, Richard, is a curious case : uppose your eyes sent equal rays 'pon two distant pots of ale, ot knowing which was mild or stale : i this sad state your doubtful choice ^ould never have the casting voice ; 'hich best or worst you could not think, nd die you must for want of drink ; nless some chance inclines your sight, ?tting one pot in fairer light ; hen you prefer or A, or B, s lines and angles best agree : our sense resolv'd impels your will : ie guides your hand so drink your fill. " Have you not seen a baker's maid etween two equal banniers sway'd ? Her tallies useless tie, and idle, If plac'd exactly in the middle : But, forc'd from this unactive state By virtue of some casual weight, On either side you hear them clatter, And judge of right and left hand matter. " Now, Richard, this coercive force, Without your choice, must take its course ; Great kings to wars are pointed forth, Like loaded needles to the north. And thou and I, by power unseen, Are barely passive, and suck'd-in To Henault's vaults, or Celia's chamber, As straw and paper are by amber. If we sit down to play or set, (Suppose at ombre or basset,) Let people call us cheats or fools, Our cards and we are equal tools. We sure in vain the cards condemn : Ourselves both cut and shuffled them. In vain on Fortune's aid rely : She only is a stander-by. Poor men ! poor papers ! we and they Do some impulsive force obey : And are but play'd with do not play. But space and matter we should blame ; They palm'd the trick that lost the game. " Tims, to save further contradiction Against what you may think but fiction, I for attraction, Dick, declare : Deny it those bold men that dare. As well your motion, as your thought, Is all by hidden impulse wrought : Ev'n saying that you think or walk, How like a country squire you talk ! " Mark then ; Where fancy, or desire, Collects the beams of vital fire ; Into that limb fair Alma slides, And there, jrro tempore, resides. She dwells in Nicolini's tongue, When Pyrrhus chants the heavenly song. When Pedro does the lute command, She guides the cunning artist's hand. Through Macer's gullet she runs down, When the vile glutton dines alone. And, void of modesty and thought, She follows Bibo's endless draught. Through the soft sex again she ranges, As youth, caprice, or fashion, changes. Fair Alma, careless and serene, In Fanny's sprightly eyes is seen ; While they diffuse their infant beams, Themselves not conscious of their flames. Again fair Alma sits confest On Florimel's experter breast ; When she the rising sigh constrains, And, by concealing, speaks her pains. In Cynthia's neck fair Alma glows, When the vain thing her jewels shows : When Jenny's stays are newly lac'd, Fair Alma plays about her waist ; And when the swelling hoop sustains The rich brocade, fair Alma deigns Into that lower space to enter, Of the large round herself the centre. " Again : that single limb or feature, (Such is the cogent force of Nature,^ Which most did Alma's passion move In the first object of her love, 252 For ever will be found confest, And printed on the amorous breast. " O Abelard ! ill-fated youth, Thy tale will justify this truth : But well I weet, thy cruel wrong Adorns a nobler poet's song. Dan Pope for thy misfortune griev'd, With kind concern and skill has weav'd A silken web ; and ne'er shall fade Its colours ; gently has he laid The mantle o'er thy sad distress, And Venus shal-1 the texture bless. He o'er the weeping nun has drawn Such artful folds of sacred lawn, That Love, with equal grief and pride, Shall see the crime he strives to hide, And, softly drawing back the veil, The god shall to his votaries tell Each conscious tear, each blushing grace, ' That deck'd dear Eloisa's face. Happy the poet, blest the lays, Which Buckingham has deign'd to praise ! " Next, Dick, as youth and habit sways, A hundred gambols Alma plays. If, whilst a boy, Jack ran from school, Fond of his hunting-horn and pole ; Though gout and age his speed detain, Old John halloos his hounds again ; By his fire-side he starts the hare, And turns her in his wicker-chair ; His feet, however lame, you find, Have got the better of his Mind. " If, while the Mind was in her leg, The dance affected nimble Peg ; Old Madge, bewitch'd at sixty-one, Calls for Green Sleeves, and Jumping Joan. In public mask, or private ball, From Lincoln's-inn to Goldsmiths-hall, All Christmas long away she trudges, Trips it with prentices and judges. In vain her children urge her stay, And age or palsy bar the way But, if those images prevail Which whilom did affect the tail, She still renews the ancient scene, Forgets the forty years between : Awkwardly gay, and oddly merry, Her scarf pale pink, her head-knot cherry ; O'er-heated with ideal rage, She cheats her son, to wed her page. " If Alma, whilst the man was young, Slipp'd up too soon into his tongue, Pleas' d with his own fantastic skill, He lets that weapon ne'er lie still. On any point if you dispute, Depend upon it, he'll confute : Change sides, and you increase your pain, For he'll confute you back again. For one may speak with Tully's tongue, Yet all the while be in the wrong. And 'tis remarkable, that they Talk most, who have the least to say. Your dainty speakers have the curse, To plead bad causes down to worse : As dames, who native beauty want, Still uglier look, the more they paint. " Again : if in the female sex Alma should on this member fix, ( A cruel and a desperate case, From which Heaven shield my lovely lass !) PR1OH. CANT For ever more all care is vain, That would bring Alma down again. As, in habitual gout or stone, The only thing that can be done, Is to correct your drink and diet, And keep the inward foe in quiet; So, if for any sins of ours, Or our forefathers' higher powers, Severe, though just, afflict our life With that prime ill, a talking wife ; Till Death shall bring the kind relief, We must be patient, or be deaf. " You know a certain lady, Dick, Who saw me when I last was sick : She kindly talk'd, at least three hours, Of plastic forms, and mental powers; Describ'd our pre-existing station Before this vile terrene creation ; And, lest I should be weary'd, madam, To cut things short, came down to Adam ; From whence, as fast as she was able, She drowns the world, and builds up Babel. Through Syria, Persia, Greece, she goes, And takes the Romans in the close. " But we'll descant on general nature : This is a system, not a satire. " Turn we this globe, and let us see How different nations disagree In what we wear, or eat and drink ; Nay, Dick, perhaps in what we think. In water as you smell and taste The soils through which it rose and past, In Alma's manners you may read The place where she was born and bred. " One people from their swaddling band Releas'd their infants' feet and hands : Here Alma to these limbs was brought, And Sparta's offspring kick'd and fought. " Another taught their babes to talk, Ere they could yet in go-carts walk : There Alma settled in the tongue, And orators from Athens sprung. " Observe but in these neighbouring lam The different use of mouths and hands ; As men repos'd their various hopes, In battles these, and those in tropes. " In Britain's isles, as Heylin notes, The ladies trip in petticoats ; Which, for the honour of their nation, They quit but on some great occasion. Men there in breeches clad you view : They claim that garment as their due. In Turkey the reverse appears ; Long coats the haughty husband wears, And greets his wife with angry speeches, If she be seen without her breeches. " In our fantastic climes the fair With cleanly powder dry their hair : And round their lovely breast and head Fresh flowers their mingled odours shed. Your nicer Hottentots think meet With guts and tripe to deck their feet : With down-cast looks on Totta's legs The ogling youth most humbly begs She would not from his hopes remove At once his breakfast and his love : And, if the skittish nymph should fly, He in a double sense must die. " We simple toasters take delight To see our women's teeth look white, AXTO II. ALMA. And every saucy ill-bred fellow Sneers at a mouth profoundly yellow. In China none hold women sweet, Except their snags are black as jet. King Cliilm put nine queens to death, Convict on statute, Ivory Teeth. " At Tonquin, if a prince should die, (As Jesuits write, who never lie,) The wife, and counsellor, and priest, Who scrv'd him most, and lov'd him best, Prepare and light his funeral fire, And cheerful on the pile expire. In Europe 'twould be hard to find In each degree one half so kind. " Now turn we to the farthest east, And there observe the gentry drest. Prince Giolo, and his royal sisters, Scarr'd with ten thousand comely blisters ; The marks remaining on the skin, To tell the quality within. Distinguish' d slashes deck the great : As each excels in birth or state, His oylet-holes are more and ampler : The king's own body was a sampler. Happy the climate, where the beau Wears the same suit for use and show : And at a small expense your wife, If once well pink'd, is cloth'd with life. " Westward again, the Indian fair Is nicely smear'd with fat of bear : Before you see, you smell your toast , A.nd sweetest she who stinks the most. Die finest sparks and cleanest beaux Drip from the shoulders to the toes : How sleek their skins ! their joints how easy ! There slovens only are not greasy ! " I mention'd different ways of breeding : Begin we in our children's reading. To master John the English maid \ horn-book gives of gingerbread ; \nd, that the child may learn the better, \s he can name, he eats the letter. Proceeding thus with vast delight, tie spells, and gnaws, from left to right. 3ut, show a Hebrew's hopeful son tVhere we suppose the book begun, The child would thank you for your kindness, \nd read quite backward from ourji/tia. Devour he learning ne'er so fast, 3reat A would be reserv'd the last. " An equal instance of this matter s in the manners of a daughter, n Europe, if a harmless maid, 3y Nature and by Love betray'd, ihould, ere a wife, become a nurse, ier friends would look on her the worse, n China, Dampier's Travels tell ye, Look in his Index for Pagelli,) ioon as the British ships unmoor, ind jolly long-boat rows to shore, )own come the nobles of the land : uach .brings his daughter in his hand, Jeseeching the imperious tar To make her but one hour his care. Che tender mother stands affrighted, -n toasts of ammunition bread : 'ut, by his mother sent away, -mongst the Thracian girls to play, Effeminate he sat, and quiet : Strange product of a cheese-cake diet ! Now give my argument fair play, And take the thing the other way : The youngster, who at nine and three Drinks with his sisters milk and tea, From breakfast reads till twelve o'clock, Burnet and Heylin, Hobbes, and Locke : He pays due visits after noon To cousin Alice and uncle John. At ten from coffee-house or play Returning, finishes the day. But, give him port and potent sack, From milksop he starts up Mohack ; Holds that the happy know no hours ; So through the street at midnight scours, Breaks watchmen's heads and chairmen's glasses, And thence proceeds to nicking sashes ; Till, by some tougher hand o'ercome, And first knock'd down, and then led home, He damns the footman, strikes the maid, And decently reels up to bed. " Observe the various operations Of food and drink in several nations. Was ever Tartar fierce or cruel Upon the strength of water-gruel ? But who shall stand his rage and force, If first he rides, then eats his horse ? Salads, and eggs, and lighter fare, Tune the Italian spark's guitar. And, if I take Dan Congreve right, Pudding and beef make Britons fight. Tokay and coffee cause this work Between the German and the Turk ; And both, as they provisions want, Chicane avoid, retire and faint. " Hunger and thirst, or guns and swords, Give the same death in different words. To push this argument no further ; To starve a man, in law is murther. " As in a watch's fine machine, Though many artful springs are seen ; The added movements, which declare How full the Moon, how old the year, Derive their secondary power From that which simply points the hour. For, though those gim-cracks were away, (Quare would not swear, but Quare would say) However more reduc'd and plain, The watch would still a watch remain : But, if the /iorerZ-orbit ceases, The whole stands still, or breaks to pieces; Is now no longer what it was, And you may e'en go sell the case. So, if unprejudic'd you scan The goings of this clock-work man, You find a hundred movements made By fine devices in his head ; But 'tis the stomach's solid stroke That tells his being what's o'clock. If you take off this rhetoric trigger, He talks no more in mode and figure ; Or, clog his ma thematic-wheel, His buildings fall, his ship stands still ; Or, lastly, break his ;>o/i/ic-weight, His voice no longer rules the state. Yet, if these finer whims are gone, Your clock, though plain, would still go on ; But spoil the engine of digestion, And you entirely change the question. 256 PRIOR. CANTC Alma's affairs no power can mend ; The jest, alas ! is at an end : Soon ceases all the worldly bustle, And you consign the corpse to Russel. " Now make your Alma come or go From leg to hand, from top to toe, Your system, without my addition, Is in a very sad condition. So Harlequin extoll'd his horse, Fit for the war, or road, or course ! His mouth was soft, his eye was good, His foot was sure as ever trod : One fault he had (a fault indeed !) And what was that? the horse was dead." " Dick, from these instances and fetches, Thou mak'st of horses, clocks, and watches," Quoth Mat, " to me thou seem'st to mean, That Alma is a mere machine : That, telling others what's o'clock, She knows not what herself has struck ; But leaves to standers-by the trial Of what is mark'd upon her dial." " Here hold a blow, good friend," quoth Dick, And rais'd his voice exceeding quick. " Fight fair, sir : what I never meant Don't you infer. In argument Similies are like songs in love : They much describe; they nothing prove." Mat, who was here a little gravell'd, Tost up his nose, and would have cavill'd ; But, calling Hermes to his aid, Half pleas'd, half angry, thus he said : (Where mind ('tis for the author's fame) That Matthew call'd, and Hermes came. In danger heroes, and in doubt Poets find gods to help them out.) " Friend Richard, I begin to see, That you and I shall scarce agree. Observe how oddly you behave : The more I grant, the more you crave. But, comrade, as I said just now, I should affirm, and you allow. We system-makers can sustain The thesis, which you grant was plain ; And with remarks and comments teaze ye, In case the thing before was easy. But, in a point obscure and dark, We fight as Leibnitz did with Clarke ; And, when no reason we can show, Why matters this or that way go, The shortest way the thing we try, And what we know not, we deny ; True to our own o'erbearing pride, And false to all the world beside. " That old philosopher grew cross, Who could not tell what motion was : Because he walk'd against his will, He fac'd men down, that he stood still. And he who, reading on the heart, (When all his quodlibets of art Could not expound its pulse and heat) Swore he had never felt it beat. Chrysippus, foil'd by Epicurus, Makes bold (Jove bless him !) to assure us, That all things, which our mind can view, May be at once both false and true. And Malebranche has an odd conceit, As ever enter 'd Frenchman's pate : Says he, ' So little can our mind Of matter or of spirit find, That we by guess at least may gather Something, which may be both, or neither.' Faith, Dick, I must confess, 'tis true, (But this is only entre nous] That many knotty points there are, Which all discuss, but few can clear ; As Nature slily had thought fit, For some by-ends, to cross-bite wit : Circles to square, and cubes to double, Would give a man excessive trouble ; The longitude uncertain roams, In spite of Whiston and his bombs. What system, Dick, has right averr'd The cause why woman has no beard ? Or why, as years our frame attack, Our hairs grow white, our teeth grow blacfc In points like these we must agree, Our barbers know as much as we. Yet still, unable to explain, We must persist the best we can ; With care our system still renew, And prove things likely, though not true. " I could, thou seest, in quaint dispute, By dint of logic, strike thee mute ; With learned skill, now push, now parry, From Darii to Bocardo vary, And never yield ; or, what is worst, Never conclude the point discours'd. Yet, that you hie <$ nunc may know How much you to my candour owe, I'll from the disputant descend, To show thee, I assume the friend : I'll take thy notion for my own (So most philosophers have done) It makes my system more complete : Dick, can it have a nobler fate ?" [fri " Take what thou wilt," said Dick, " But bring thy matters to an end." " I find," quoth Mat, " reproof is vain : Who first offend, will first complain. Thou wishest I should make to shore ; Yet still putt'st in thy thwarting oar. What I have told thee fifty times In prose, receive for once in rhymes : A huge fat man in country-fair, Or city-church, (no matter where,) Labour'd and push'd amidst the crowd, Still bawling out extremely loud, * Lord save us ! why do people press !' Another, marking his distress, Friendly reply'd, ' Plump gentleman, Get out as fast as e'er you can ; Or cease to push, or to exclaim : You make the very crowd you blame.' " Says Dick, " Your moral does not need The least return ; so e'en proceed : Your tale, howe'er apply'd, was short : So far, at least, I thank you for't." Mat took his thanks ; and, in a tone More magisterial, thus went on. " Now Alma settles in the head, As has before been sung or said : And here begins this farce of life ; Enter Revenge, Ambition, Strife : Behold on both sides men advance, To form in earnest Bays's dance. L'Avare, not Using half his store, Still grumbles that he has no more ; Strikes not the present tun, for fear The vintage should be bad next year ; ANTO III. ALMA. 257 And cats to day with inward sorrow, And dread of fancy'd want to-morrow. Abroad if the surtout you wear Repels the rigour of the air ; Would you be warmer, if at home You had the fabric and the loom ? And, if two boots keep out the weather, What need you have two hides of leather ? Could Pedro, think you, make no trial Of a sonata on his viol, Unless he had the total gut Whence every string at first was cut ? " When Rarus shows you his cartone, He always tells you, with a groan, Where two of that same hand were torn. Long before you or he were born. " Poor Vento's mind so much is crost, ?or part of his Petronius lost, Fhat he can never take the pains To understand what yet remains. " What toil did honest Curio take, Vhat strict inquiries did he make, x> get one medal wanting yet, ind perfect all his Roman set ! Tis found : and, O his happy lot! Tis bought, lock'd up, and lies forgot : )f these no more you hear him speak : Ie now begins upon the Greek, "hese, rang'd and show'd, shall in their turns '.emain obscure as in their urns, [y copper lamps, at any rate, For being true antique, I bought ; et wisely melted down my plate, On modern models to be wrought : nd trifles I alike pursue, ecause they're old, because they're new. " Dick, I have seen you with delight, jr Georgy * make a paper kite, nd simple ode too many show ye y servile complaisance to Chloe. irents and lovers are decreed r think to-night of thy ill-nature, it of thy follies, idle creature ! ie turns of thy uncertain wing, id not the malice of thy sting : iy pride of being great and wise lo but mention, to despise ; iew, with anger and disdain, >w little gives thee joy or pain ; print, a bronze, a flower, a root, shell, a butterfly, can do't : 'n a romance, a tune, a rhyme, ;lp thee to pass the tedious time, lich else would on thy hand remain ; ough, flown, it ne'er looks back again ; cards are dealt, and chess-boards brought, ase the pain of coward Thought : py result of human wit ! Alma may herself forget. Dick, thus we act ; and thus we are, oss'd by hope, or sunk by care, i endless pain this man pursues it, if he gain'd he could not use : * Mr. Shelton's son. And t'other fondly hopes to see What never was, nor e'er shall be. We err by use, go wrong by rules, In gesture grave, in action fools : We join hypocrisy to pride, Doubling the faults we strive to hide. Or grant that, with extreme surprise, We find ourselves at sixty wise, And twenty pretty things are known, Of which we can't accomplish one ; Whilst, as my system says, the Mind Is to these upper rooms confin'd. Should I, my friend, at large repeat Her borrow'd sense, her fond conceit, The bead-roll of her vicious tricks, My poem would be too prolix. For, could I my remarks sustain, Like Socrates, or Miles Montaigne, Who in these times would read my books, But Tom o' Stiles, or John o'Nokes? " As Brentford kings, discreet and wise, After long thought and grave advice, Into Lardella's coffin peeping, Saw nought to cause their mirth or weeping : So Alma, now to joy or grief Superior, finds her late relief : Weary'd of being high or great, And nodding in her chair of state ; Stunn'd and worn out with endless chat Of Will did this, and Nan said that ; She finds, poor thing, some little crack, Which Nature, forc'd by Time, must make, Through which she wings her destin'd way ; Upward she soars, and down drops clay : While some surviving friend supplies Hie jacet, and a hundred lies. " O Richard, till that day appears, Which must decide our hopes and fears, Would Fortune calm her present rage, And give us play-things for our age : Would Clotho wash her hands in milk, And twist our thread with gold and silk ; Would she, in friendship, peace and plenty, Spin out our years to four times twenty ; And should we both, in this condition, Have conquer'd Love, and worse Ambition, (Else those two passions, by the way, May chance to show us scurvy play,) Then, Richard, then should we sit down, Far from the tumult of this town ; I fond of my well-chosen seat, My pictures, medals, books complete. Or, should we mix our friendly talk, O'ershaded in that favourite walk, Which thy own hand had whilom planted, Both pleas'd with all we thought we wanted ; Yet then, ev'n then, one cross reflection Would spoil thy grove, and my collection : Thy son, and his, ere that, may die, And Time some uncouth heir supply, Who shall for nothing else be known But spoiling all that thou hast done. Who set the twigs shall he remember That is in haste to sell the timber? And what shall of thy woods remain, Except the box that threw the main? " Nay, may not Time and Death remove The near relations whom I love ? And my coz Tom, or his coz Mary, (Who hold the plough, or skim the dairy,) 258 PRIOR. My favourite books ana pictures sell To Smart, or Doiley, by the ell ? Kindly throw in a little figure, And set the price upon the bigger ? Those who could never read the grammar, When my dear volumes touch the hammer, May think books best, as richest bound ; My copper medals by the pound May be with learned justice weigh'd ; To turn the balance, Otho's head May be thrown in ; and, for the metal, The coin may mend a tinker's kettle " Tir'd with these thoughts" " Less tir'd than I," Quoth Dick, " with your philosophy Thattpeople live and die, I knew An hour ago, as well as you. And, if Fate spins us longer years, Or is in haste to take the shears, I know we must both fortunes try, And bear our evils, wet or dry. Yet, let the goddess smile or frown, Bread we shall eat, or white or brown ; And in a cottage, or a court, Drink fine champaigne, or muddled port. What need of books these truths to tell, Which folks perceive who cannot spell ? And must we spectacles apply, To view what hurts our naked eye ! " Sir, if it be your wisdom's aim To make me merrier than I am, I'll be all night at your devotion Come on, friend, broach the pleasing notion ; But, if you would depress my thought, Your system is not worth a groat " For Plato's fancies what care I ? I hope you would not have me die, Like simple Cato in the play, For any tiling that he can say : E'en let him of ideas speak To heathens in his native Greek. If to be sad is to be wise, I do most heartily despise Whatever Socrates has said, Or Tully writ, or Wanley read. " Dear Drift *, to set our matters right^ Remove these papers from my sight ; Burn Mat's Des-cart, and Aristotle : Here 1 Jonathan, your master's bottle. *' * Mr. Prior's secretary and executor. SOLOMON THE VANITY OF THE WORLD. A POEM, IN THREE BOOKS. 'O B/a; yu.i> ovofjc,' ';/, -rovos %' ^t>y r'&ii. E Siquis Deus mihi largiatur, ut ex hac aetate i erascam, et in cunis vagiam, valde recusem Cic. dc Se The bewailing of man's miseries has been eleg; and copiously set forth by many in the wri as well of philosophers as divines ; and is bi pleasant and a profitable contemplation. BA BOOK 1. KNOWLEDGE. Texts chiejly alluded to in Book I. 1 THE words of the Preacher the son of D; king of Jerusalem." ECCLES. chap. i. vcr. 1 : Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher, vanii vanities, all is vanity." Ver. 2. ; I communed with mine own heart, saying, I am come to great estate, and have gotten r wisdom than all they that have been before in Jerusalem : yea, my heart had great e rience of wisdom and knowledge." Ver. 1( He spake of trees, from the cedar- tree that i Lebanon, even unto the hyssop that sprin, out of the wall : he spake also of beasts, an fowl, and of creeping things, and of fishes. 1 KINGS, chap. iv. ver. 33. I know, that whatsoever God doeth, it shal for ever : nothing can be put to it, nor any tl taken from it ; and God doeth it, that men sh< fear before him." ECCLES. chap. ni. ver. 14, He hath made every thing beautiful in his tii also he hath set the world in their heart, so i no man can find out the work that God mal from the beginning to the end." Ver. 1 1. For in much wisdom is much grief: and he increaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow.' Ch. i. ver. 18. " And further, by these, my son, be admonish of making many books there is no end: i much study is a weariness of the flesh." Ch. Ver. 12. The Argument. SOLOMON, seeking happiness from knowledge, c venes the learned men of his kingdom ; requi them to explain to him the various operati and effects of Nature ; discourses of vegetab animals, and man; proposes some questi concerning the origin and situation of the ha! able Earth ; proceeds to examine the systerr the visible Heaven; doubts if there may be a plurality of worlds; inquires into the tnrp of snirits and ancrels: and wishes to be no BOOK I. SOLOMON. 259 fully informed as to the attributes of the Supreme Being. He is imperfectly answered by the rab- bins and doctors ; blames his own curiosity ; and concludes, that, as to human science, All is vanity. YE sons of men, with just regard attend, Observe the preacher, and believe the friend, Whose serious Muse inspires him to explain, That all we act, and all we think, is vain ; That, in this pilgrimage of seventy years, O'er rocks of perils, and through vales of tears, Destin'd to march, our doubtful steps we tend, Tir'd with the toil, yet fearful of its end : That from the womb we take our fatal shares Of follies, passions, labours, tumults, cares ; And, at approach of Death, shall only know The truth, which from these pensive numbers flow, That we pursue false joy, and suffer real woe. Happiness, object of that waking dream, \Vhich we call life, mistaking : fugitive theme )f my pursuing verse, ideal shade, Motional good, by fancy only made, \.nd by tradition nurs'd, fallacious fire, Vhose dancing beams mislead our fond desire, ?ause of our care, and errour of our mind ; )h ! hadst thou ever been by Heaven design'd 'o Adam, and his mortal race ; the boon Entire had been reserv'd for Solomon : >n me the partial lot had been bestow'd, nd in my cup the golden draught had flow'd. But O ! ere yet original man was made, re the foundations of this Earth were laid, was, opponent to our search, ordain'd hat joy, still sought, should never be attain'd. lis sad experience cites me to reveal, ad what I dictate is from what I feel. Born, as I was, great David's favourite son, ?ar to my people, on the Hebrew throne, blime my court, with Ophir's treasures blest, y name extended to the farthest east, y body cloth'd with every outward grace, ength in my limbs, and beauty in my face, / shining thought with fruitful notions crown' d, lick my invention, and my judgment sound : Arise," I commun'd with myself, " arise; ink, to be happy ; to be great, be wise : ntent of spirit must from science flow, tis a godlike attribute to know." said ; and sent my edict through the land : d my throne the letter' d rabbins stand ; ic leaves revolve, long volumes spread, old discoursing as the younger read : I heard, propos'd my doubts, and said : The vegetable world, each plant and tree, eed, its name, its nature, its degree, n allow'd, as Fame reports, to know m the fair cedar on the craggy brow Lebanon, nodding supremely tall, :reeping moss and hyssop on the wall : just and conscious to myself, I find lousand doubts oppose the searching mind. I know not why the beech delights the glade ii boughs extended, and a rounder shade ; 1st towering firs in conic forms arise, with a pointed spear divide the skies : why again the changing oak should shed yearly honour of his stately head ; 1st the distinguish'd yew is ever seen, hang'd his branch, and permanent his GTeen. Wanting the Sun, why does the caltha fade ? Why does the cypress flourish in the shade ? The fig and date, why love they to remain In middle station, and an even plain ; While in the lower marsh the gourd is found, And while the hill with olive shade is crown'd ? Why does one climate and one soil endue The blushing poppy with a crimson hue, Yet leave the lily pale, and tinge the violet blue ? Why does the fond carnation love to shoot A various colour from one parent root ; While the fantastic tulip strives to break I In twofold beauty, and a parted streak ? j The twining jasmine and the blushing rose, i With lavish grace, their morning scents disclose : j The smelling tuberose and jonquil declare j The stronger impulse of an evening air. Whence has the tree (resolve me), or the flower, A various instinct, or a different power ? Why should one earth, one clime, one stream, one breath, Raise this to strength, and. sicken that to death ? ' Whence does it happen, that the plant, which well We name the Sensitive, should move and feel ? Whence know her leaves to answer her command, And with quick horrour fly the neighbouring hand ? " Along the sunny bank, or watery mead, Ten thousand stalks the various blossoms spread : Peaceful and lowly in their native soil, They neither know to spin, nor care to toil ; Yet with confess'd magnificence deride Our vile attire, and impotence of pride. The cowslip smiles, in brighter yellow dress'd Than that which veils the nubile virgin's breast : A fairer red stands blushing in the rose Than that which on the bridegroom's vestment flows. Take but the humblest lily of the field, And, if our pride will to our reason yield, It must, by sure comparison, be shown That on the regal seat great David's son, Array'd in all his robes and types of power, Shines with less glory than that simple flower. " Of fishes next, my friends, I would inquire : How the mute race engender, or respire, From the small fry that glide on Jordan's stream, Unmark'd, a multitude without a name, To that Leviathan, who o'er the seas Immense rolls onward his impetuous ways, And mocks the wind, and in the tempest plays ? How they in warlike bands march greatly forth From freezing waters and the colder north, To southern climes directing their career, Their station changing with th' inverted year ? How all with careful knowledge are endued, To choose their proper bed, and wave, and food ; To guard their spawn, and educate their brood ? Of birds, how each, according to her kind, Proper materials for her nest can find, And build a frame, which deepest thought in man Would or amend or imitate in vain ? How in small flights they know to try their young, And teach the callow child her parent's song ? Why these frequent the plain, and those the wood? Why every land has her specific brood ? Where the tall crane, or winding swallow, goes, Fearful of gathering winds and falling snows; If into rocks, or hollow trees, they creeo, In temporary death confin'd to sleep : 260 PRIOR. Booi Or, conscious of the coming evil, fly To milder regions, and a southern sky ? " Of beasts and creeping insects shall we trace The wondrous nature, and the various race ; Or wild or tame, or friend to man or foe, Of us what they, or what of them we know ? " Tell me, ye studious, who pretend to see Far into Nature's bosom, whence the bee Was first inform'd her venturous flight to steer Through trackless paths, and an abyss of air ? Whence she avoids the slimy marsh, and knows The fertile hills, where sweeter herbage grows,. And honey-making flowers their opening buds dis- close? How from the thicken 1 d mist, and setting sun, Finds she the labour of her day is done ? Who taught her against winds and rains to strive, To bring her burthen to the certain hive ; And through the liquid fields again to pass, Duteous, and hearkening to the sounding brass ? " And, O thou sluggard, tell me why the ant, 'Midst summer's plenty, thinks of winter's want, By constant journies careful to prepare Her stores ; and, bringing home the corny ear, By what instruction does she bite the grain, Lest, Lid in earth, and taking root again, It might elude the foresight of her care ? Distinct in either insect's deed appear The marks of thought, contrivance, hope, and fear. " Fix thy corporeal and internal eye On the young gnat, or new-engender'd fly ; On the vile worm that yesterday began To crawl ; thy fellow-creatures, abject man ! [see, Like thee they breathe, they move, they taste, they They show their passions by their acts, like thee : Darting their stings, they previously declare Design 'd revenge, and fierce intent of war : Laying their eggs, they evidently prove The genial power, and full effect of love. Each then has organs to digest his food, One to beget, and one receive the brood ; Has limbs and sinews, blood and heart, and brain, Life and her proper functions to sustain, Though the whole fabric smaller than a grain. What more can our penurious reason grant To the large whale, or castled elephant ; To those enormous terrours of the Nile, The crested snake, and long-tail'd crocodile ; Than that all differ but in shape and name, Each destin'd to a less or larger frame ? *< For potent Nature loves a various act, Prone to enlarge, or studious to contract ; Now forms her work too small, now too immense, And scorns the measures of our feeble sense. The object, spread too far, or rais'd too high, Denies its real image to the eye ; Too little, it eludes the dazzled sight, Becomes mixt blackness, or unparted light. Water and air the varied form confound ; [round. The straight looks crooked, and the square grows '* Thus, while with fruitless hope and weary pain, We seek great Nature's power, but seek in vain, Safe sits the goddess in her dark retreat ; Around her myriads of ideas wait, And endless shapes, which the mysterious queen Can take or quit, can alter or retain, As from our lost pursuit she wills, to hide Her close decrees, and chasten human pride. " Untam'd and fierce the tiger still remains TJ,, * v,: Kiv, : i.:*.: u:_ _i : For the kind gifts of water and of food Ungrateful, and returning ill for good, He seeks his keeper's flesh, and thirsts his bloot While the strong camel, and the generous horse, Restrain'd and aw'd by man's inferior force Do to the rider's will their rage submit, And answer to the spur, and own the bit ; Stretch their glad mouths to meet the feeder's ha Pleas'd with his weight, and proud of his comrm " Again : the lonely fox roams far abroad, On secret rapine bent, and midnight fraud; Now haunts the cliff, now traverses the lawn, And flies the hated neighbourhood of man : While the kind spaniel and the faithful hound, Likest that fox in shape and species found, Refuses through these cliffs and lawns to roam, Pursues the noted path, and covets home, Does with kind joy domestic faces meet, Takes what the glutted child denies to eat, And, dying, licks his long-lov'd master's feet. " By what immediate cause they are inclin'd, In many acts, 'tis hard, I own, to find. I see in others, or I think I see, That strict their principles and ours agree. Evil like us they shun, and covet good ; Abhor the poison, and receive the food. Like us they love or hate ; like us they know To joy the friend, or grapple with the foe. With seeming thought their action they intend ; And use the means proportion'd to the end. Then vainly the philosopher avers, That reason guides our deed, and instinct theirs, How can we justly different causes frame, When the effects entirely are the same ? Instinct and reason how can we divide ? 'Tis the fool's ignorance, and the pedant's pride. " With the same folly, sure, man vaunts his sv If the brute beast refuses to obey. For tell me, when the empty boaster's word Proclaims himself the universal lord, Does he not tremble, lest the lion's paw Should join his plea against the fancy'd law ? Would not the learned coward leave the chair, If in the schools or porches should appear The fierce hyena, or the foaming bear? " The combatant too late the field declines, When now the sword is girded to his loins. When the swift vessel flies before the wind, Too late the sailor views the land behind. And 'tis too late now back again to bring Inquiry, rais'd and towering on the wing : Forward she strives, averse to be withheld From nobler objects, and a larger field. " Consider with me this ethereal space, Yielding to earth and sea the middle place. Anxious I ask you, how the pensile ball Should never strive to rise nor fear to fall ? When I reflect how the revolving Sun Does round our globe his crooked journies run, I doubt of many lands, if they contain Or herd of beast, or colony of man ; If any nation pass their destin'd days Beneath the neighbouring Sun's directer rays ; If any suffer on the polar coast The rage of Arctos and eternal frost. " May not the pleasure of Omnipotence To each of these some secret good dispense? Those who amidst the torrid regions live, May they not gales unknown to us receive ? BOOK I. SOLOMON. 2i May they not pity us, condemn 'd to bear The various heaven of an obliquer sphere ; While by fix'd laws, and with a just return, [burn ; They feel twelve hours that shade, for twelve that And praise the neighbouring Sun, whose constant flame Enlightens them with seasons still the same ? And may not those, whose distant lot is cast North beyond Tartary's extended waste ; Where through the plains of one continual day Six shining months pursue their even way, And six succeeding urge their dusky flight, Obscur'd with vapours, and o'erwhelm'd in night ? May not, I ask, the natives of these climes (As annals may inform succeeding times) To our quotidian change of heaven prefer Their own vicissitude, and equal share Of day and night, disparted through the year? May they not scorn our Sun's repeated race, To narrow bounds prescrib'd, and little space, Hastening from morn, and headlong driven from noon, Half of our daily toil yet scarcely done ? May they not justly to our climes upbraid Shortness of night, and penury of shade ; That, ere our wearied limbs are justly blest With wholesome sleep, and necessary rest, Another Sun demands return of care, The remnant toil of yesterday to bear? Whilst, when the solar beams salute their sight, Bold and secure in half a year of light, Uninterrupted voyages they take To the remotest wood, and farthest lake ; Manage the fishing, and pursue the course [force? With more extended nerves, and more continued And, when declining day forsakes their sky, When gathering clouds speak gloomy winter nigh ; With plenty for the coming season blest, Six solid months (an age) they live, releas'd From all the labour, process, clamour, woe, Which our sad scenes of daily action know : They light the shining lamp, prepare the feast, And with full mirth receive the welcome guest ; Or tell their tender loves (the only care Which now they suffer) to the listening fair ; And, rais'd in pleasure, or repos'd in ease, (Grateful alternate of substantial peace) They bless the long nocturnal influence shed On the crown'd goblet, and the genial bed. " In foreign isles, which our discoverers find, Far from this length of continent disjoin'd, The rugged bear's, or spotted lynx's brood, Frighten the vallies, and infest the wood ; The hungry crocodile, and hissing snake, Lurk in the troubled stream and fenny brake ; And man, untaught and ravenous as the beast, Does valley, wood, and brake, and stream, infest : Deriv'd these men and animals their birth From trunk of oak, or pregnant womb of Earth ? Whence then the old belief, that all began In Eden's shade, and one created man ? Or, grant tliis progeny was wafted o'er, By coasting boats, from next adjacent shore ; Would those, from whom we will suppose they spring, Slaughter to harmless lands and poison bring ? Would they on board or bears or lynxes take, Feed the she-adder, and the brooding snake ? Or could they think the new-discover'd isle Plcas'd to receive a pregnant crocodile ? " And, since the savage lineage we must tract From Noah sav'd, and his distinguish 'd race ; How should their fathers happen to forget The arts which Noah taught, the rules he set. To sow the glebe, to plant the generous vine, And load with grateful flames the holy shrine ; While the great sire's unhappy sons are found, Unpress'd their vintage, and untill'd their groun Straggling o'er dale and hill in quest of food, And rude of arts, of virtue, and of God ? " How shall we next o'er earth and seas pursu The varied forms of every thing we view ; That all is chang'd, though all is still the same, Fluid the parts, yet durable the frame ? Of those materials, which have been confess'd The pristine springs and parents of the rest, Each becomes other. Water stopp'd gives birth To grass and plants, and thickens into earth : Diffus'd, it rises in a higher sphere, Dilates its drops, and softens into air : Those finer parts of air again aspire, Move into warmth, and brighten into fire : The fire, once more by thicker air o'ercome, And downward forc'd, in Earth's capacious worn Alters its particles ; is fire no more, But lies resplendent dust, and shining ore ; Or, running through the mighty mother's veins, Changes its shape, puts off its old remains; With watery parts its lessen'd force divides, Flows into waves, and rises into tides. " Disparted streams shall from their channels f And, deep surcharg'd, by sandy mountains lie, Obscurely sepulcher'd. By beating rain, And furious wind, down to the distant plain The hill, that hides his head above the skies, Shall fall ; the plain, by slow degrees, shall rise Higher than erst had stood the summit-hill ; For Time must Nature's great behest fulfil. " Thus, by a length of years and change of fai All things are light or heavy, small or great : Thus Jordan's waves shall future clouds appear, And Egypt's pyramids refine to air : Thus later age shall ask for Pison's flood, And travellers inquire where Babel stood. Now where we see these changes often fall, Sedate we pass them by as natural ; Where to our eye more rarely they appear, The pompous name of prodigy they bear. Let active thought these close meanders trace ; Let human wit their dubious boundaries place : Are all things miracle, or nothing such ? And prove we not too little, or too much ? " For, that a branch cut off, a wither'd rod, Should, at a word pronounc'd, revive and bud ; Is this more strange, than that the mountain's bro^ Stripp'd by December's frost, and white with sno Should push in spring ten thousand thousand bu< And boast returning leaves, and blooming woods That each successive night, from opening Heaver The food of angels should to man be given ; Is this more strange, than that with common brea Our fainting bodies every day are fed? Than that each grain and seed, consum'd in earth Raises its store, and multiplies its birth, And from the handful, which the tiller sows, The labour'd fields rejoice, and future harv< flows. " Then, from whate'er we can to sense produc Common and plain, or wondrous and abstruse, S 3 262 PRIOR. BOOK I. From Nature's constant or eccentric laws, The thoughtful soul this general inference draws, That an effect must pre-suppose a cause : And, while she does her upward flight sustain, Touching each link of the continued chain, At length she is oblig'd and forc'd to see A First, a Source, a Life, a Deity; What has for ever been, and must for ever be. " This great Existence, thus by reason found, Blest by all power, with all perfection crown'd ; How can we bind or limit his decree, By what our ear has heard, or eye may see ? Say then, is all in heaps of water lost, Beyond the islands, and the mid-land coast ? Or has that God, who gave our world its birth, Sever'd those waters by some other earth, Countries by future plough-shares to be torn, And cities raised by nations yet unborn ! Ere the progressive course of restless age Performs three thousand times its annual stage, May not our power and learning be supprest, And arts and empire learn to travel west ? " Where, by the strength of this idea charm'd, Lighten'd with glory, and with rapture warm'd, Ascends my soul ? what sees she white and great Amidst subjected seas ? An isle, the seat Of power and plenty ; her imperial throne, For justice and for mercy sought and known ; Virtues sublime, great attributes of Heaven, From thence to this distinguish'd nation given*- Yet farther west the western Isle extends Her happy fame ; her armed fleet she sends To climates folded yet from human eye, And lands, which we imagine wave and sky. From pole to pole she hears her acts resound, And rules an empire by no ocean bound ; Knows her ships anchor'd, and her sails unfurl'd, In other Indies, and a second world. " Long shall Britannia (that must be her name) Be first in conquest, and preside in fame : Long shall her favour'd monarchy engage The teeth of Envy, and the force of Age : Rever'd and happy she shall long remain, Of human things least changeable, least vain. Yet all must with the general doom comply, And this great glorious power, tho' last, must die. " Now let us leave this Earth, and lift our eye To the large convex of yon azure sky : Behold it like an ample curtain spread, Now streak'd and glowing with the morning red ; Anon at noon in flaming yellow bright, And choosing sable for the peaceful night. Ask Reason now, whence light and shade were given, And whence this great variety of Heaven. Reason, our guide, what can she more reply, Than that the Sun illuminates the sky ; Than that night rises from his absent ray, And his returning lustre kindles day ? " But we expect the morning-red in vain : 'Tis bid in vapours, or obscur'd by rain. The noon-tide yellow we in vain require : 'Tis black in storm, or red in lightning fire. Pitchy and dark the night sometimes appears, Friend to our woe, and parent of our fears : Our joy and wonder sometimes she excites, Witli stars unnumbcr'd, and eternal lights. Send forth, ye wise, send forth your labouring thought ; Let it return with empty notions fraught, Of airy columns every moment broke, Of circling whirlpools, and of spheres of smoke : Yet this solution but once more affords New change of terms, and scaffolding of words : In other garb my question I receive, And take the doubt the very same I gave. " Lo ! as a giant strong, the lusty Sun Multiply'd rounds in one great round does run ; Twofold his course, yet constant his career, Changing the day, and finishing the year. Again, when his descending orb retires, And Earth perceives the absence of his fires ; The Moon affords us her alternate ray, And with kind beams distributes fainter day, Yet keeps the stages of her monthly race ; Various her beams, and changeable her face. Each planet, shining in his proper sphere, Does with just speed his radiant voyage steer ; Each sees his lamp with different lustre crown'd ; Each knows his course with different periods bound ; And, in his passage through the liquid space, Nor hastens, nor retards, his neighbour's race. Now, shine these planets with substantial rays ? Does innate lustre gild their measur'd days ? Or do they (as your schemes, I think, have shown) Dart furtive beams and glory not their own, All servants to that source of light, the Sun ? " Again I see ten thousand thousand stars, Nor cast in lines, in circles, nor in squares, (Poor rules, with which our bounded mind is fill'd, When we would plant, or cultivate, or build,) But shining with such vast, such various light, As speaks the hand, that form'd them, infinite. How mean the order and perfection sought, In the best product of the human thought, Compar'd to the great harmony that reigns In what the Spirit of the world ordains ! " Now if the Sun to Earth transmits his ray, Yet does not scorch us with too fierce a day ! How small a portion of his power is given To orbs more distant, and remoter Heaven ? And of those stars, which our imperfect eye Has doom'd and fix'd to one eternal sky, Each, by a native stock of honour great, May dart strong influence, and diffuse kind heat, (Itself a sun) and with transmissive light Enliven worlds deny'd to human sight. Around the circles of their ambient skies New moons may grow or wane, may set or rise, And other stars may to those suns be earths, Give their own elements their proper births, Divide their climes, or elevate their pole, See their lands flourish, and their oceans roll : Yet these great orbs, thus radically bright, Primitive founts, and origins of light, May each to other (as their different sphere Makes or their distance or their light appear) Be seen a nobler or inferior star, And, in that space which we call air and sky, Myriads of earths, and moons, and suns, may lie, Unmeasur'd and unknown by human eye. " In vain we measure this amazing sphere, And find and fix its centre here or there ; Whilst its circumference, scorning to be brought Ev'n into fancy'd space, illudes our vanquished thought. " Where then are all the radiant monsters driven, With which your guesses fill'd the fdghten'd Heaven ? BOOK I. SOLOMON. Where will their fictions images remain ? In paper-schemes, and the Chaldean's brain. " This problem yet, this offspring of a guess, Let us for once a child of truth confess, That these fair stars, these objects of delight And terrour to our searching dazzled sight, Are worlds immense, unnumber'd, infinite. But do these worlds display their beams, or guide Their orbs, to serve thy use, to please thy pride ? Thyself but dust, thy stature but a span, A moment thy duration, foolish man ! As well may the minutest emmet say, That Caucasus was rais'd to pave his way ; The snail, that Lebanon's extended wood Was destin'd only for his walk and food ; The vilest cockle, gaping on the coast That rounds the ample seas, as well may boast, The craggy rock projects above the sky, That he in safety at its foot may lie ; And the whole ocean's confluent waters swell, [shell. Only to quench his thirst, or move and blanch his " A higher flight the venturous goddess tries, Leaving material worlds and local skies ; Inquires what are the beings, where the space, That form'd and held the angels' ancient race. For rebel Lucifer with Michael fought, (I offer only what tradition taught,) Embattled cherub against cherub rose, Did shield to shield, and power to power oppose ; Heaven rung with triumph, Hell was fill'd with woes. What were these forms of which your volumes tell, How some fought great, and others recreant fell ? These bound to bear an everlasting load, Durance of chain, and banishment of God ; 3y fatal turns their wretched strength to tire, To swim in sulphurous lakes, or land on solid fire : iVhile those, exalted to primeval light, Excess of blessing, and supreme delight, Dnly perceive some little pause of joys .n those great moments when their God employs Their ministry, to pour his threaten'd hate )n the proud king, or the rebellious state j )r to reverse Jehovah's high command, \nd speak the thunder falling from his hand, Vhen to his duty the proud king returns, Vnd the rebellious state in ashes mourns ; low can good angels be in Heaven confin'd, )r view that presence, which no space can bind ? s God above, beneath, or yon, or here? le who made all. is he not every where ? )h, how can wicked angels find a night k> dark, to hide them from that piercing light, -Vhich form'd the eye, and gave the power of sight ? " What mean I now of angel, when I hear ? irm body, spirit pure, or fluid air? ipirits to action spiritual confin'd, Viends to our thought, and kindred to our mind, ihould only act and prompt us from within, >Ior by external eye be ever seen. Vas it not, therefore, to our fathers known, Hiat these had appetite, and limb, and bone ? Slse how could Abraham wash their weary 'd feet ? Jr Sarah please their taste with savoury meat ? vVhence should they fear ? or why did Lot engage To save their bodies from abusive rage ? ind how could Jacob, in a real fight, i?eel or resist the wrestling angel's might ? tlow could a form in strength with matter try ? )r how a spirit touch a mortal's tlu'gh ? " Now are they air condens'd, or gather'd rays How guide they then our prayer, or keep our wa By stronger blasts still subject to be tost, By tempests scatter 'd, and in whirl winds lost ? " Have they again (as sacred song proclaims) Substances real, and existing frames ? How comes it, since with them we jointly share The great effect of one Creator's care, That, whilst our bodies sicken and decay, Theirs are for ever healthy, young, and gay ? Why, whilst we struggle in this vale beneath With want and sorrow, with disease and death, Do they, more bless'd, perpetual life employ On songs of pleasure, and in scenes of joy ? " Now when my mind has all this world survey And found, that nothing by itself was made ; When thought has rais'd itself, by just degrees, From vallies crown'd with flowers, and hills w trees; From smoaking mineral, and from rising stream; From fattening Nilus, or victorious Thames ; From all the living, that four-footed move Along the shore, the meadow, or the grove ; From all that can with fins or feathers fly Through the aerial or the watery sky ; From the poor reptile with a reasoning soul, That miserable master of the whole ; From this great object of the body's eye, This fair half-round, this ample azure sky, Terribly large, and wonderfully bright, With stars unnumber'd, and unmeasur'd light ; From essences unseen, celestial names, Enlightening spirits, and ministerial flames, Angels, dominions, potentates, and thrones, All that in each degree the name of creature own Lift we our reason to that sovereign Cause, [law Who blest the whole with life, and bounded it wi Who forth from nothing call'd this comely frame, His will and act, his word and work the same ; To whom a thousand years are but a day ; Who bade the Light her genial beams display, And set the Moon, and taught the Sun its way ; Who, waking Time, his creature, from the source Primeval, order'd his predestin'd course ; Himself, as in the hollow of his hand, Holding, obedient to his high command, The deep abyss, the long-continued store, [po Where months, and days, and hours, and minut Their floating parts, and thenceforth are no more This Alpha and Omega, first and last, W^ho like the potter in a mould has cast The world's great frame, commanding it to be Such as the eyes of Sense and Reason see ; Yet if he wills may change or spoil the whole ; May take yon' beauteous, mystic, starry roll, And burn it like an useless parchment scroll ; May from its basis in one moment pour This melted earth Like liquid metal, and like burning ore ; Who, sole in power, at the beginning said, Let Sea, and Air, and Earth, and Heaven be madi And it was so : and, when he shall ordain In other sort, has but to speak again, And they shall be no more : of this great theme, This glorious, hallow'd, everlasting name, This Gon, I would discourse." The learned elders sat appall'd, amaz'd, And each with mutual look on other gaz'd ; Nor speech they meditate, nor answer frame, (Too plain, alas ! their silence spake- their shame) S 4 PRIOR. BOOK I Till one, in whom an outward mien appear' d, And turn superior to the vulgar herd, Began : That human learning's furthest reach Was but to note the doctrine I could teach ; That mine to speak, and theirs was to obey ; For I in knowledge more than power did sway : And the astonish'd world in me beheld Moses eclips'd, and Jesse's son excell'd. Humble a second bow'd, and took the word ; Foresaw my name by future age ador'd : " O live," said he, " thou wisest of the wise; As none has equall'd, none shall ever rise Excelling thee." Parent of wicked, bane of honest deeds, Pernicious Flattery ! thy malignant seeds, In an ill hour, and by a fatal hand, Sadly diffus'd o'er Virtue's gleby land, With rising pride amidst the corn appear, And choke the hopes and harvest of the year. And now the whole perplex'd ignoble crowd, Mute to my questions, in my praises loud, Echo'd the word : whence things arose, or how They thus exist, the aptest nothing know : What yet is not, but is ordain'd to be, All veil of doubt apart, the dullest see ! My prophets and my sophists iinish'd here The civil efforts of the verbal war : Not so my rabbins and logicians yield ; Retiring, still they combat ; from the field Of open arms unwilling they depart, And skulk behind the subterfuge of art. To speak one thing, mix'd dialects they join, Divide the simple, and the plain define ; Fix fancy'd laws, and form imagin'd rules, Terms of their art, and jargon of their schools, Ill-grounded maxims, by false gloss enlarg'd, And captious science against reason charg'd. Soon their crude notions with each other fought ; The adverse sect deny'd what this had taught ; And he at length the amplest triumph gain'd, Who contradicted what the last maintain'd. O wretched impotence of human mind ! We, erring still, excuse for errour find, And darkling grope, not knowing we are blind. Vain man ! since first thy blushing sire essay'd His folly with connected leaves to shade, How does the crime of thy resembling race With like attempt that pristine errour trace ! Too plain thy nakedness of soul espy'd, Why dost thou strive the conscious shame to hide , By masks of eloquence and veils of pride ? With outward smiles their flattery I receiv'd, Own'd my sick mind by their discourse reliev'd ; But bent, and inward to myself, again Perplex'd, these matters I revolv'd in vain. My search still tir'd, my labour still renew'd, At length I ignorance and knowledge view'd, Impartial ; both in equal balance laid, [weigh'd. Light flew the knowing scale, the doubtful heavy Forc'd by reflective reason, I confess, That human science is uncertain guess. Alas ! we grasp at clouds, and beat the air, Vexing that spirit we intend to clear. Can thought beyond the bounds of matter climb ? Or who shall tell me what is space or time ? In vain we lift up our presumptuous eyes To what our Maker to their ken denies : The searcher follows fast ; the object faster flies. The little which imperfectly we find, Seduces only the bewilder'd mind To fruitless search of something yet behind. Various discussions tear our heated brain ; Opinions often turn ; still doubts remain ; And who indulges thought, increases pain. How narrow limits were to Wisdom given ! Earth she surveys ; she thence would measa Heaven : Through mists obscure now wings her tedious waj Now wanders dazzled with too bright a day ; And from the summit of a pathless coast Sees infinite, and in that sight is lost. Remember, that the curs'd desire to know, Offspring of Adam ! was thy source of woe. Why wilt thou then renew the vain pursuit, And rashly catch at the forbidden fruit ; With empty labour and eluded strife Seeking, by knowledge, to attain to life ; For ever from that fatal tree debarr'd, Wliich flaming swords and angry cherubs guard i BOOK II. ^-PLEA SURE. Texts chiefly alluded to in Book II. " I said in my own heart, Go to now, I will pro 1 thee with mirth; therefore enjoy pleasure. "- ECCLES. chap, ii. ver. I. " I made me great works, I builded me houses, planted me vineyards." Ver. 4. " I made me gardens and orchards ; and I planti trees in them of all kind of fruits." Ver. 5. " I made me pools of water, to water therewith tl wood that bringeth forth trees." Ver. 6. " Then I looked on all the works that my hands hi wrought, and on the labour that I had labour< to do : and behold all was vanity and vexation spirit ; and there was no profit under the Sun."- Ver. 11. " I gat me men-singers and women-singers, and tl delights of the sons of men, as musical instri ments, and that of all sorts." Ver. 8. " I sought in mine heart to give myself unto win (yet acquainting mine heart with wisdom) ar to lay hold on folly, till I might see what w that good for the sons of men, which they shou do under Heaven all the days of their life."- Ver. 3. " Then I said in my heart, As it happeneth un the fool, so it happeneth even unto me ; and wl was I then more wise ? Then I said in my lieai that this also is vanity." Ver. 15. " Therefore I hated life, because the work that wrought under the Sun is grievous unto me."- Ver. 17. " Dead flies cause the ointment to send forth stinking savour : so doth a little folly him that in reputation for wisdom and honour." Ch. : ver. 1. " The memory of the just is blessed, but the mi mory of the wicked shall rot." PROVERBS, ch. 2 The Argument. Solomon, again seeking happiness, inquires if weall and greatness can produce it; begins with tl magnificence of gardens and buildings, the luxin of music and feasting ; and proceeds to the hop* BOOK II. SOLOMON. 26; and desires of love. In two episodes are shown the follies and troubles of that passion. Solomon, still disappointed, falls under the temptations of libertinism and idolatry ; recovers his thought ; reasons aright; and concludes, that, as to the pursuit of pleasure and sensual delight, All is vanity and vexation of spirit. TRY then, O man, the moments to deceive, That from the womb attend thee to the grave : For weary'd Nature find some apter scheme : Health be thy hope, and Pleasure be thy theme. From the perplexing and unequal ways, Where study brings thee ; from the endless maze, Which doubt persuades to run, forewarn'd, recede To the gay field and flowery path, that lead To jocund mirth, soft joy, and careless ease : Forsake what may instruct, for what may please ; Essay amusing art, and proud expense, irid make thy reason subject to thy sense. I commun'd thus : the power of wealth I try'd, ind all the various luxe of costly pride ; Artists and plans reliev'd my solemn hours ; founded palaces, and planted bowers ; Jirds, fishes, beasts, of each exotic kind, to the limits of my court confin'd ; ?o trees transferr'd I gave a second birth, Vnd bade a foreign shade grace Judah's earth ; 'ish-ponds were made, where former forests grew, \.nd hills were levell'd to extend the view ; Livers diverted from their native course, ..nd bound with chains of artificial force, rom large cascades in pleasing tumult roll'd, r rose through figur'd stone, or breathing gold ; rom furthest Africa's tormented womb lie marble brought, erects the spacious dome, T forms the pillars long-extended rows, 'n which the planted grove, the pensile garden, grows. The workmen here obey the master's call, o gild the turret, and to paint the wall, o mark the pavement there with various stone, nd on the jasper steps to rear the throne : he spreading cedar, that an age had stood, ipreme of trees, and mistress of the wood, at down and carv'd, my shining roof adorns, nd Lebanon his ruin'd honour mourns. A thousand artists show their cunning power, ) raise the wonders of the ivory tower, thousand maidens ply the purple loom, > weave the bed, and deck the regal room ; II Tyre confesses her exhausted store, lat on her coast the murex * is no more ; 11 from the Parian isle, and Libya's coast, ic mountains grieve their hopes of marble lost ; id India's woods return their just complaint, icir brood decay 'd, and want of elephant. My full design with vast expense achiev'd, :ame, beheld, admir'd, reflected, griev'd ; :hid the folly of my thoughtless haste, >r, the work perfected, the joy was past. To my new courts sad Thought did still repair, id round my gilded roofs hung hovering Care, vain on silken beds I sought repose, id restless oft from purple couches rose ; iiatious Thought still found my flying mind )r bound by limits, nor to place confin'd ; * The murex is a shell-fish, of the liquor whereof juqile colour is made. Haunted my nights, and terrify 'd my days ; Stalk 'd through my gardens, and pursued my ways Nor shut from artful bower, nor lost in windinj maze. Yet take thy bent, my soul ; another sense Indulge ; add music to magnificence : Essay if harmony may grief control, Or power of sound prevail upon the soul. Often our seers and poets have confest, That music's force can tame the furious beast Can make the wolf, or foaming boar, restrain His rage ; the lion drop his crested mane, Attentive to the song ; the lynx forget His wrath to man, and lick the minstrel's feet. Are we, alas ! less savage yet than these ? Else music, sure, may human cares appease. I spake my purpose ; and the cheerful choir Parted their shares of harmony : the lyre Soften'd the timbrel's noise ; the trumpet's sound Provok'd the Dorian flute (both sweeter found When mix'd) ; the fife the viol's notes refin'd, And every strength with every grace was join'd. Each morn they wak'd me with a sprightly lay ; Of opening Heaven they sung and gladsome day. Each evening their repeated skill express'd Scenes of repose, and images of rest : Yet still in vain ; for music gather'd thought : But how unequal the effects it brought ! The soft ideas of the cheerful note, Lightly receiv'd, were easily forgot ; The solemn violence of the graver sound Knew to strike deep, and leave a lasting wound. And now reflecting, I with grief descry The sickly lust of the fantastic eye ; How the weak organ is with seeing cloy'd, Flying ere night what it at noon enjoy'd. And now (unhappy search of thought !) I found The fickle ear soan glutted with the sound, Condemn'd eternal changes to pursue, Tir'd with the last, and eager of the new. I bade the virgins and the youth advance, To temper music with the sprightly dance. In vain ! too low the mimic motions seem ; What takes our heart must merit our esteem. Nature, I thought, perform'd too mean a part, Forming her movements to the rules of art ; And, vex'd, I found that the musician's hand Had o'er the dancer's mind too great command. I drank ; I lik'd it not ; 'twas rage, 'twas nois< An airy scene of transitory joys. In vain I trusted that the flowing bowl Would banish sorrow, and enlarge the soul. To the late revel, and protracted feast, Wild dreams succeeded, and disorder'd rest ; And as, at dawn of morn, fair Reason's light Broke through the fumes and phantoms of the nigh What had been said, I ask'd my soul, what done ? Howflow'd our mirth, and whence the source begur Perhaps the jest that charm'd the sprightly crowd, And made the jovial table laugh so loud, To some false notion ow'd its poor pretence, To an ambiguous word's perverted sense, To a wild sonnet, or a wanton air, Offence and torture to the sober ear : Perhaps, alas ! the pleasing stream was brought From this man's errour, from another's fault ; From topics, which good-nature would forget, And prudence mention with the last regret. Add yet unnumber'd ills, that lie unseen In the pernicious draught ; the word obscene, 266 PRIOR. BOOK Or harsh, which, once elanc'd, must ever fly Irrevocable ; the too prompt reply, Seed of severe distrust and fierce debate ; What we should shun, and what we ought to hate. Add too the blood impoverish'd, and the course Of health suppress'd, by wine's continual force. Unhappy man ! whom sorrow thus and rage To different ills alternately engage ; Who drinks, alas ! but to forget ; nor sees That melancholy sloth, severe disease, Memory confus'd, and interrupted thought, Death's harbingers, lie latent in the draught ; And, in the flowers that wreath the sparkling bowl, Fell adders hiss, and poisonous serpents roll. Remains there aught untry'd that may remove Sickness of mind, and heal the bosom? Love. Love yet remains : indulge his genial fire, Cherish fair hope, solicit young desire, And boldly bid thy anxious soul explore This last great remedy's mysterious power. Why therefore hesitates my doubtful breast ? Why ceases it one moment to be blest ? " Fly swift, my friends ; my servants, fly ; employ Your instant pains to bring your master joy. Let all my wives and concubines be dress'd ; Let them to-night attend the royal feast ; All Israel's beauty, all the foreign fair ; The gifts of princes, or the spoils of war : Before their monarch they shall singly pass, And the most worthy shall obtain the grace." I said : the feast was serv'd, the bowl was crown'd ; To the king's pleasure went the mirthful round. The women came : as custom wills, they past : On one (O that distinguish'd one!) I cast The favourite glance ! O ! yet my mind retains That fond beginning of my infant pains. Mature the virgin was, of Egypt's race ; [face ; Grace shap'd her limbs, and beauty deck'd her Easy her motion seem'd, serene her air ; Full, though unzon'd, her bosom rose ; her hair, Unty'd, and ignorant of artful aid, Adown her shoulders loosely lay display'd, And in the jetty curls ten thousand Cupids play'd. Fix'd on her charms, and pleas'd that I could love, " Aid me, my friends, contribute to improve Your monarch's bliss," I said; " fresh roses bring To strew my bed, till the impoverish'd Spring Confess her want ; around my amorous head Be dropping myrrh and liquid amber shed, Till Arab has no more. From the soft lyre. Sweet flute, and ten-string'd instrument, require Sounds of delight : and thou, fair nymph ! draw nigh, Thou, in whose graceful form and potent eye, Thy master's joy, long sought, at length is found ; And, as thy brow, let my desires be crown'd ; O favourite virgin ! that hast warm'd the breast, Whose sovereign dictates subjugate the East!" I said: and sudden from the golden throne, With a submissive step, I hasted down. The glowing garland from my hair I took, Love in my heart, obedience in my look ; Prepar'd to place it on her comely head : " O favourite virgin !" yet again I said, " Receive the honours destin'd to thy brow ; And O, above thy fellows, happy thou ! Their duty must thy sovereign word obey : Rise up, my love, my fair-one, come away." What pangs, alas ! what ecstacy of smart, Tore up my senses, and transfix'd my heart, When she, with modest scorn, the wreath retun Reclin'd her beauteous neck, and inward mourn Forc'd by my pride, I my concern suppress'd Pretended drowsiness, and wish of rest : And sullen I forsook th' imperfect feast, Ordering the eunuchs, to whose proper care Our eastern grandeur gives th' imprison'd fair, To lead her forth to a distinguish'd bower, And bid her dress the bed, and wait the hour Restless I follow'd this obdurate maid (Swift are the steps that Love and Anger tread) Approach'd her person, courted her embrace, Renew'd my flame, repeated my disgrace ; By turns put on the suppliant and the lord ; Threaten' d this moment, and the next implor'd OfFer'd again the unaccepted wreath, And choice of happy love, or instant death. Averse to all her amorous king desir'd, Far as she might she decently retir'd ; And, darting scorn and sorrow from her eyes, " What means," said she, " king Solomon the wi: " This wretched body trembles at your power : Thus far could Fortune, but she can no more. Free to herself my potent mind remains, Nor fears the victor's rage, nor feels his chains. " 'Tis said, that thou canst plausibly dispute, Supreme of seers ! of angel, man, and brute ; Canst plead, with subtle wit and fair discourse, Of passion's folly, and of reason's force ; That, to the tribes attentive, thou canst show Whence their misfortunes or their blessings flow That thou in science as in power art great, And truth and honour on thy edicts wait. Where is that knowledge now, that regal thougl: With just advice and timely counsel fraught ? Where now, O Judge of Israel ! does it rove ? - What in one moment dost thou offer ? Love Love ! why 'tis joy or sorrow, peace or strife ; 'Tis all the colour of remaining life : And human misery must begin or end, As he becomes a tyrant or a friend. Would David's son, religious, just, and grave, To the first bride-bed of the world receive A foreigner, a heathen, and a slave ? Or, grant thy passion has these names destroy 'd, That Love, like Death, makes all distinction voi Yet in his empire o'er thy abject breast His flames and torments only are exprest ; His rage can in my smiles alone relent, And all his joys solicit my consent. " Soft love, spontaneous tree, its parted root Must from two hearts with equal vigour shoot; Whilst each, delighted and delighting gives The pleasing ecstacy which each receives : Cherish'd with hope, and fed with joy it grows ; Its cheerful buds their opening bloom disclose, And round the happy soil diffusive odour flows. If angry Fate that mutual care denies, The fading plant bewails its due supplies ; Wild with despair, or sick with grief, it dies. " By force beasts act, and are by force restrain The human mind by gentle means is gain'd. Thy useless strength, mistaken king, employ ; ! Sated with rage, and ignorant of joy, ' Thou shalt not gain what I deny to yield, Nor reap the harvest, though thou spoil' st the fie Know, Solomon, thy poor extent of sway ; Contract thy brow, and Israel shall obey : But wilful Love thou must with smiles appease, Approach his awful throne by just degrees, And, if thou would'st be happy, learn to please. 1500K 11. SOLOMON. 267 " Not that those arts can here successful prove, For I am destin'd to another's love. Beyond the cruel bounds of thy command, To my dear equal in my native land, My plighted vow I gave ; I his receiv'd: Each swore with truth, with pleasure each believ'd. The mutual contract was to Heaven convey'd ; [n equal scales the busy angels weigh'd Its solemn force, and clapp'd their wings, and spread Fhe lasting roll, recording what we said. " Now in my heart behold thy poniard stain'd ; Take the sad life which I hare long disdain'd ; Lnd, in a dying virgin's wretched fate, Chy ill-starr'd passion and my stedfast hate : ''or, long as blood informs these circling veins, )r fleeting breath its latest power retains, lear me to Egypt's vengeful Gods declare, late is my part, be thine, O king, despair. " Now strike," she said, and open'd bare her breast; Stand it in Judah's chronicles confest, 'hat David's son, by impious passion mov'd, mote a she-slave, and murder'd what he lov'd !" Asham'd, confus'd, I started from the bed, nd to my soul, yet uncollected, said, Into thyself, fond Solomon, return ; eflect again, and thou again shall mourn, 'hen I through number'd years have Pleasure sought, nd in vain hope the wanton phantom caught ; ) mock my sense, and mortify my pride, 'is in another's power, and is deny'd. n I a king, great Heaven ! does life or death ang on the wrath or mercy of my breath ; hile kneeling I my servant's smiles implore, id one mad damsel dares dispute my power ? " To ravish her ! that thought was soon depress'd, hich must debase the monarch to the beast. send her back ! O whither, and to whom ? lands where Solomon must never come ? that insulting rival's happy arms, r whom, disdaining me, she keeps her charms ? ' Fantastic tyrant of the amorous heart, >w hard thy yoke ! how cruel is thy dart ! ose 'scape thy anger, who refuse thy sway, d those are punish'd most who most obey. Judah's king revere thy greater power : lat canst thou covet, or how triumph more ? ly then, O Love, with an obdurate ear, es this proud nymph reject a monarch's prayer ? iy to some simple shepherd does she run 'in the fond arms of David's favourite son ? y flies she from the glories of a court, ere wealth and pleasure may thy reign support, some poor cottage on the mountain's brow, v bleak with winds, and cover'd now with snow, ere pinching want must curb her warm desires, 1 household cares suppress thy genial fires ? Too aptly the afflicted Heathens prove ' force, while they erect the shrines of Love, mystic form the artizans of Greece vounded stone, or molten gold, express j I Cyprus to his godhead pays her vow, n his hand the idol holds his bow ; ver by his side sustains his store inted darts ; sad emblems of his power : r of wings he has, which he extends to be gone ; which now again he bends, to return, as best may serve his wanton ends. Entirely thus I find the fiend pourtray'd, Since first, alas ! I saw the beauteous maid ; I felt him strike, and now I see him fly : Curs'd demon ! O ! for ever broken lie Those fatal shafts, by which I inward bleed ! ! can my wishes yet o'ertake thy speed ! Tir'd may'st thou pant, and hang thy flagging wing, Except thou turn'st thy course, resolv'd to bring The damsel back, and save the love-sick king !" My soul thus struggling in the fatal net, Unable to enjoy, or to forget ; 1 reason'd much, alas ! but more I lov'd : Sent and recall'd, ordain'd and disapprov'd ; Till, hopeless, plung'd in an abyss of grief, I from necessity receiv'd relief: Time gently aided to assuage my pain, And Wisdom took once more the slacken'd rein. But O, how short my interval of woe ! Our griefs how swift ! our remedies how slow ! Another nymph, (for so did Heaven ordain, To change the manner, but renew the pain,) Another nymph, amongst the many fair, That made my softer hours their solemn care, Before the rest affected still to stand, And watch'd my eye, preventing my command. Abra, she so was call'd, did soonest haste To grace my presence ; Abra went the last Abra was ready ere I call'd her name ; And, though I call'd another, Abra came. Her equals first observ'd her growing zeal, And, laughing, gloss'd, that Abra serv'd so well. To me her actions did unheeded die, Or were remarked but with a common eye ; Till more appriz'd of what the rumour said, More I observ'd peculiar in the maid. The Sun declin'd had shot his western ray, When, tir'd with business of the solemn day, I purpos'd to unbend the evening hours, And banquet private in the women's bowers. I call'd, before I sat, to wash my hands (For so the precept of the law commands) : Love had ordain'd, that it was Abra's turn To mix the sweets, and minister the urn. With awful homage and submissive dread, The maid approach'd, on my declining head To pour the oils ; she trembled as she pour'd : With an unguarded look she now devour'd My nearer face ! and now recall'd her eye, And heav'd, and strove to hide, a sudden sigh. " And whence," said I, " canst thou have dread or pain ? What can thy imagery of sorrow mean ? Secluded from the world and all its care, Hast thou to grieve or joy, to hope or fear? For sure," I added, " sure thy little heart Ne'er felt Love's anger, nor receiv'd his dart." Abash'd, she blush'd, and with disorder spoke : Her rising shame adorn'd the words it broke. " If the great master will descend to hear The humble series of his handmaid's care ; O ! while she tells it, let him not put on The look, that awes the nations from the throne ! O ! let not death severe in glory lie In the king's frown, and terrour of his eye ! " Mine to obey, thy part is to ordain ; And though to mention be to suffer pain, If the king smile whilst I my woe recite, If, weeping, I find favour in his sight, Flow fast, my tears, full rising his delight. 268 PRIOR. BOOK " O ! witness Earth beneath, and Heaven above ! For can I hide it ? I am sick of love ; If madness may the name of passion bear, Or love be call'd what is indeed despair, [controls " Thou Sovereign Power ! whose secret will The inward bent and motion of our souls ! Why hast thou plac'd such infinite degrees Between the cause and cure of my disease ? The mighty object of that raging fire, In which unpity'd Abra must expire, Had he been born some simple shepherd's heir, The lowing herd or fleecy sheep his care, At morn with him I o'er the hills had run, Scornful of winter's frost and summer's sun, Still asking where he made his flock to rest at noon. For him at night, the dear expected guest, [ had with hasty joy prepar'd the feast ; And from the cottage, o'er the distant plain, Sent forth my longing eye to meet the swain, Wavering, impatient, toss'd by hope and fear, Till he and joy together should appear, And the lov'd dog declare his master near. On my declining neck and open breast I should have lull'd the lovely youth to rest, And from beneath his head, at dawning day, With softest care have stol'n my arm away, To rise and from the fold release the sheep, Fond of his flock, indulgent to his sleep. " Or if kind Heaven, propitious to my flame, (For sure from Heaven the faithful ardour came,) Had blest my life, and deck'd my natal hour With height of title, and extent of power j Without a crime my passion had aspir'd, Found the lov'd prince, and told what I desir'd. " Then I had come, preventing Sheba's queen, To see the comeliest of the sons of men, To hear the charming poet's amorous song, And gather honey falling from his tongue, To take the fragrant kisses of his mouth, Sweeter than breezes of her native south, Likening his grace, his person, and his mien, To all that great or beauteous I had seen. Serene and bright his eyes, as solar beams Reflecting temper'd light from crystal streams ; Ruddy as gold his cheek ; his bosom fair As silver ; the curl'd ringlets of his hair Black as the raven's wing ; his lip more red Than eastern coral, or the scarlet thread ; Even his teeth, and white like a young flock Coeval, newly shorn, from the clear brook Recent, and branching on the sunny rock. Ivory, with sapphires interspers'd, explains How white his hands, how blue the manly veins. Columns of polish'd marble, firmly set On golden bases, are his legs and feet ; His stature all majestic, all divine, Straight as the palm-tree, strong as is the pine. Saffron and myrrh are on his garments shed, And everlasting sweets bloom round his head. What utter I ! where am I ! wretched maid I Die, Abra, die : too plainly hast thou said Thy soul's desire to meet his high embrace, And blessing stamp'd upon thy future race ; To bid attentive nations bless thy womb, With unborn monarchs charg'd, and Solomons to come." Here o'er her speech her flowing eyes prevail. O foolish maid ! and O unhappy tale ! My suffering heart for ever shall defy New wounds and danger from a future eye. ! yet my tortur'd senses deep retain The wretched memory of my former pain, The dire affront, and my Egyptian chain. " As time," I said, " may happily efface That cruel image of the king's disgrace, Imperial Reason shall resume her seat, And Solomon, once fall'n, again be great. Betray'd by passion, as subdued in war, We wisely should exert a double care, Nor ever ought a second time to err." This Abra then 1 saw her ; 'twas humanity ; it gave Some respite to the sorrows of my slave. Her fond excess proclaim'd her passion true, And generous pity to that truth was due. Well I entreated her, who well deserv'd ; I call'd her often, for she always serv'd. Use made her person easy to my sight, And ease insensibly produc'd delight. Whene'er I revell'd in the women's bowers, (For first I sought her but at looser hours) The apples she had gather' d smelt most sweet, The cakes she kneaded was the savoury meat : But fruits their odour lost, and meats their taste, If gentle Abra had not deck'd the feast. Dishonour'd did the sparkling goblet stand, Unless receiv'd from gentle Abra's hand ; And, when the virgins form'd the evening choir, Raising their voices to the master lyre, Too flat I thought this voice, and that too shrill ; One show'd too much, and one too little skill ; Nor could my soul approve the music's tone, Till all was hush'd, and Abra sung alone. Fairer she seem'd distinguish'd from the rest, And better mien disclos'd, as better drest. A bright tiara, round her forehead ty'd, To juster bounds confin'd its rising pride ; The blushing ruby on her snowy breast Render'd its panting whiteness more confess'd ; Bracelets of pearl gave roundness to her arm, And every gem augmented every charm. Her senses pleas'd, her beauty still improv'd, And she more lovely grew, as more belov'd. And now I could behold, avow, and blame The several follies of my former flame ; Willing my heart for recompense to prove The certain joys that lie in prosperous love. " For what," said I, " from Abra can I fear, Too humble to insult, too soft to be severe ? The damsel's sole ambition is to please : With freedom I may like, and quit with ease ; She soothes, but never can enthral my mind : Why may not Peace and JLove for once be join'd Great Heaven ! how frail thy creature man made! How by himself insensibly Ixetray'd ! In our own strength unhappily secure, Too little cautious of the adverse power, And by the blast of self-opinion mov'd, We wish to charm, and seek to be belov'd. On Pleasure's flowing brink we idly stray, Masters as yet of our returning way ; Seeing no danger, we disarm our mind, And give our conduct to the waves and wind : Then in the flowery mead, or verdant shade, To wanton dalliance negligently laid, We weave the cl-aplet, and we crown the bowl, And smiling sec the nearer waters roll, Till the strong gusts of raging passion rise. Till the dire tempest mingles earth and skies ;. BOOK II. SOLOMON. And, swift into the boundless ocean borne, Our foolish confidence too late we mourn ; Round our devoted heads the billows beat, [treat. And from our troubled view the lessen'd lands re- O mighty Love ! from thy unbounded power How shall the human bosom rest secure ? How shall our thought avoid the various snare ? Or Wisdom to our caution'd soul declare The different shapes thou pleasest to employ, When bent to hurt, and certain to destroy ? The haughty nymph, in open beauty drest, To-day encounters our unguarded breast : She looks with majesty, and moves with state ; Unbent her soul, and in misfortune great, She scorns the world, and dares the rage of Fate. Here whilst we take stern manhood for our guide, And guard our conduct with becoming pride ; Charm'd with the courage in her action shown, We praise her mind, the image of our own. She that can please is certain to persuade, To-day belov'd, to-morrow is obey'd. We tliink we see through Reason's optics right, Nor find how Beauty's rays elude our sight : Struck with her eye, whilst we applaud her mind, And when we speak her great, we wish her kind. To-morrow, cruel power ! thou arm'st the fair With flowing sorrow, and dishevell'd hair ; Sad her complaint, and humble is her tale, Her sighs explaining where her accents fail. Here generous softness warms the honest breast ; We raise the sad, and succour the distress'd. \nd, whilst our wish prepares the kind relief, Whilst pity mitigates her rising grief, We sicken soon from her contagious care, arieve for her sorrows, groan for her despair ; \nd against Love too late those bosoms arm, Which tears can soften, and which sighs can warm. Against this nearest, cruellest of foes, What shall Wit meditate, or Force oppose ? Whence, feeble Nature, shall we summon aid, [f by our pity and our pride betray'd ? External remedy shall we hope to find, [mind ; When the close fiend has gain'd our treacherous [nsulting there does Reason's power deride, \nd, blind himself, conducts the dazzled guide ? My conqueror now, my lovely Abra, held My freedom in her chains ; my heart was fill'd With her, with her alone ; in her alone ft sought its peace and joy : while she was gone, [t sigh'd and griev'd, impatient of her stay ; Return'd, she chas'd those sighs, that grief, away: Her absence made the night, her presence brought the day. The ball, the play, the mask, by turns succeed : For her I make the song, the dance with her I lead. [ court her various in each shape and dress, Fhat luxury may form, or thought express. To-day, beneath the palm-tree on the plains, [n Deborah's arms and habit Abra reigns : Fhe wreath, denoting conquest, guides her brow, \.nd low, like Barak, at her feet I bow. Hie mimic chorus sings her prosperous hand, \s she had slain the foe, and sav'd the land. To-morrow she approves a softer air, Forsakes the pomp and pageantry of war, Flic form of peaceful Abigail assumes, Vnd from the village with the present comes. Fhe youthful band depose their glittering arms, Receive her bounties, and recite her charms ; Whilst I assume my father's step and mien, TO meet with HUP rocrnrc\ mv fiitnro /n.onn If haply Abra's will be now inclin'd To range the woods, or chase the flying hind, Soon as the Sun awakes, the sprightly court Leave their repose, and hasten to the sport. In lessen'd royalty, and humble state, Thy king, Jerusalem, descends to wait Till Abra comes : she comes ; a milk-white steed Mixture of Persia's and Arabia's breed, Sustains the nymph : her garments flying loose, (As the Sydonian maids or Thracian use,) And half her knee and half her breast appear, By art, like negligence, disclos'd and bare. Her left-hand guides the hunting courser's flight, A silver bow she carries in her right, And from the golden quiver at her side Rustles the ebon arrow's feather'd pride. Sapphires and diamonds on her front display An artificial moon's increasing ray. Diana, huntress, mistress of the groves, The favourite Abra speaks, and looks, and moves. Her, as the present goddess, I obey : Beneath her feet the captive game I lay. The mingled chorus sings Diana's fame : Clarions and horns in louder peals proclaim Her mystic praise ; the vocal triumphs bound Against the hills ; the hills reflect the sound. If, tir'd this evening with the hunted woods, To the large fish-pools, or the glassy floods, Her mind to-morrow points ; a thousand hands, To-night employ'd, obey the king's commands. Upon the watery beach an artful pile Of planks is join'd, and forms a moving isle : A golden chariot in the midst is set, And silver cygnets seem to feel its weight. Abra, bright queen, ascends her gaudy throne, In semblance of the Grecian Venus known : Tritons and sea-green Naiads round her move, And sing in moving strains the force of love ; Whilst, as th' approaching pageant does appear, And echoing crowds speak mighty Venus near, I, her adorer, too devoutly stand Fast on the utmost margin of the land, With arms and hopes extended, to receive The fancy'd goddess rising from the wave. O subject Reason ! O imperious Love ! Whither yet further would my folly rove ? Is it enough, that Abra should be great In the wall'd palace, or the rural seat ? That masking habits, and a borrow'd name, Contrive to hide my plenitude of shame ? No, no ! Jerusalem combin'd must see My open fault, and regal infamy. Solemn a month is destin'd for the feast : Abra invites ; the nation is the guest. To have the honour of each day sustain'd, The woods are travers'd, and the lakes are drain'd Arabia's wilds, and Egypt's, are explor'd : The edible creation decks the board : Hardly the phenix 'scapes The men their lyres, the maids their voices raise, To sing my happiness, and Abra's praise ; And slavish bards our mutual loves rehearse In lying strains and ignominious verse : While, from the banquet leading forth the bride, Whom prudent Love from public eyes should hide, I show her to the world, confess'd and known Queen of my heart, and partner of my throne. And now her friends and flatterers fill the court j From Dan and from Beersheba they resort : They barter places, and dispose of grants, 270 PRIOR. BOOK! They teach her to recede, or to debate, With toys of love to mix affairs of state By practis'd rules her empire to secure, And in my pleasure make my ruin sure. They gave, and she transferr'd the curs'd advice, That monarchs should their inward soul disguise, Dissemble and command, be false and wise ; By ignominious arts, for servile ends, Should compliment their foes, and shun their friends. And now I leave the true and just supports Of legal princes, and of honest courts, Barzillai's and the fierce Benaiah's heirs, Whose sires, great partners in my father's cares, Saluted their young king, at Hebron crown'd, Great by their toil, and glorious by their wound. And now (unhappy counsel ! ) I prefer Those whom my follies only made me fear, Old Corah's blood, and taunting Shimei's race ; Miscreants who ow'd their lives to David's grace, Though they had spurn'd his rule, and curs'd him to his face. Still Abra's power, my scandal still increas'd; Justice submitted to what Abra pleas'd : Her will alone could settle or revoke, And law was fix'd by what she latest spoke. Israel neglected, Abra was my care : I only acted, thought, and liv'd, for her. I durst not reason with my wounded heart ; Abra possess'd ; she was its better part. O ! had I now review'd the famous cause, Which gave my righteous youth so just applause, In vain on the dissembled mother's tongue Had cunning art and sly persuasion hung, And real care in vain, and native love, In the true parent's panting breast had strove ; While both, deceiv'd, had seen the destin'd child Or slain or sav'd, as Abra frown'd or smil'd. Unknowing to command, proud to obey, A lifeless king, a royal shade, I lay. Unheard, the injur'd orphans now complain ; The widow's cries address the throne in vain. Causes unjudg'd disgrace the loaded file, And sleeping laws the king's neglect revile. No more the elders throng "d around my throne, To hear my maxims, and reform their own. No more the young nobility were taught How Moses govern'd, and how David fought. Loose and undisciplin'd the soldier lay, Or lost in drink and game the solid day. Porches and schools, design'd for public good, Uncover' d, and with scaffolds cumber'd stood, Or nodded, threatening ruin. Half pillars wanted their expected height, And roofs imperfect prejudic'd the sight. The artists grieve ; the labouring people droop : My father's legacy, my country's hope, God's temple, lies unfinish'd. The wise and great deplor'd their monarch's fate, And future mischiefs of a sinking state. " Is this," the serious said, " is this the man, Whose active soul through every science ran ? Who, by just rule and elevated skill, Prescrib'd the dubious bounds of good and ill ? Whose golden sayings, and immortal wit, On large phylacteries expressive writ, Were to the forehead of the rabbins ty'd, Our youth's instruction, and our age's pride? Could not the wise his wild desires restrain ? Then was our ijearing, and his preaching, vain ! What from his life and letters were we taught, But that his knowledge aggravates his fault ? " In lighter mood the humorous and the gay (As crown'd with roses at their feasts they lay) Sent the full goblet, charg'd with Abra's name, And charms superior to their master's fame. Laughing, some praise the king, who let them st How aptly luxe and empire might agree : Some gloss'd, how love and wisdom were at strife And brought my proverbs to confront my life. " However, friend, here's to the king," one cries " To him who was the king," the friend replies. " The king, for Judah's and for Wisdom's curse To Abra yields : could I or thou do worse ? Our looser lives let Chance or Folly steer, If thus the prudent and determin'd err. Let Dinah bind with flowers her flowing hair, And touch the lute, and sound the wanton air : Let us the bliss without the sting receive, Free, as we will, or to enjoy, or leave. Pleasures on levity's smooth surface flow : Thought brings the weight that sinks the soul Now be this maxim to the king convey 'd, [\vi And added to the thousand he has made." " Sadly, O Reason ! is thy power express'd, Thou gloomy tyrant of the frighted breast ! And harsh the rules which we from thee receive, If for our wisdom we our pleasure give ; And more to think be only more to grieve : If Judah's king, at thy tribunal try'd, Forsakes his joy, to vindicate his pride, And, changing sorrows, I am only found Loos'd from the chains of Love, in thine mi strictly bound ! " But do I call thee tyrant, or complain ! How hard thy laws, how absolute thy reign ? While thou, alas ! art but an empty name, J To no two men, who e'er discours'd, the same ; The idle product of a troubled thought, In borrow'd shapes and airy colours wrought ; A fancy'd line, and a reflected shade ; A chain which man to fetter man has made ; By artifice impos'd, by fear obey'd ! " Yet, wretched name, or arbitrary thing, Whence-ever I thy cruel essence bring, I own thy influence, for I feel thy sting. Reluctant I perceive thee in my soul, Form'd to command, and destin'd to control. Yes ; thy insulting dictates shall be heard ; Virtue for once shall be her own reward: Yes ; rebel Israel ! this unhappy maid Shall be dismiss'd : the crowd shall be obey'd : The king his passion and his rule shall leave, No longer Abra's, but the people's slave. My coward soul shall bear its wayward fate ; I will, alas ! be wretched to be great, And sigh in royalty, and grieve in state." I said : resolv'd to plunge into my grief At once so far, as to expect relief From my despair alone I chose to write the thing I durst not speak To her I lov'd, to her I must forsake. The harsh epistle labour'd much to prove How inconsistent majesty and love. I always should, it said, esteem her well, But never see her more : it bid her feel No future pain for me; but instant wed A lover more proportion'd to her bed, And quiet dedicate her remnant life To the just duties of an humble wife. BOOK II. SOLOMON. She read, and forth to me she wildly ran, To me, the ease of all her former pain. She kneel'd, entreated, struggled, threaten'd, cry'd, And with alternate passion liv'd and dy'd : Till, now, deny'd the liberty to mourn, And by rude fury from my presence torn, This only object of my real care, Cut off from hope, abandon'd to despair, In some few posting fatal hours is hurl'd [world. From wealth, from power, from love, and from the " Here tell me, if thou dar'st, my conscious soul, What different sorrows did within thee roll ? What pangs, what fires, what racks, didst thou sustain ? What sad vicissitudes of smarting pain ? How oft from pomp and state did I remove, To feed despair, and cherish hopeless love ? How oft, all day, recall'd I Abra's charms, Her beauties press'd, and panting in my arms ? How oft, with sighs, view'd ev'ry female face, iVhere mimic fancy might her likeness trace? 3ow oft desir'd to fly from Israel's throne, ind live in shades with her and Love alone ? low oft all night pursued her in my dreams, )'er flowery vallies, and through crystal streams, \.nd, waking, view'd with grief the rising Sun, Vnd fondly mourn'd the dear delusion gone ?" When thus the gather'd storms of wretched love n my swoln bosom, with long war had strove ; it length they broke their bounds ; at length their force >ore down whatever met its stronger course, .aid all the civil bonds of manhood waste, md scatter'd ruin as the torrent past, o from the hills, whose hollow caves contain Tie congregated snow and swelling rain 'ill the full stores their ancient bounds disdain, 'recipitate the furious torrent flows : ti vain would speed avoid, or strength oppose ; 'owns, forests, herds, and men, promiscuous drown'd, fith one great death deform the dreary ground : he echoed woes from distant rocks resound. nd now, what impious ways my wishes took, r .ovr they the monarch and the man forsook ; nd how I follow'd an abandon'd will, hrough crooked paths, and sad retreats of ill ; ow Judah's daughters now, now foreign slaves, y turns my prostituted bed receives ; hrough tribes of women how I loosely rang'd npatient : lik'd to-night, to-morrow chang'd ; nd, by the instinct of capricious lust, njoy'd, disdain'd, was grateful, or unjust : ! be these scenes from human eyes conceal'd, i clouds of decent silence justly veil'd ! ! be the wanton images convey'd j black oblivion and eternal shade ! r let their sad epitome alone, nd outward lines, to future age be known, nough to propagate the sure belief, lat vice engenders shame, and folly broods o'er grief! Bury'd in sloth, and lost in ease, I lay ; ie night I revell'd, and I slept the day. ew heaps of fuel damp'd my kindling fires, nd daily change extinguish'd young desires. 'f its own force destroy'd, fruition ceas'd, nd, always weary'd, I was never pleas'd. o longer now does my neglected mind s wonted stores and old ideas find. Fix'd Judgment there no longer does abide, To take the true, or set the false aside. No longer does swift Memory trace the cells, Where springing Wit, or young Invention, dwells Frequent debauch to habitude prevails ; Patience of toil, and love of virtue, fails. By sad degrees impair'd, my vigour dies, Till I command no longer ev'n in vice. The women on my dotage build their sway ; They ask, I grant ; they threaten, I obey. In regal garments now I gravely stride, Aw'd by the Persian damsel's haughty pride : Now with the looser Syrian dance and sing, In robes tuck'd up, opprobrious to the king. Charm'd by their eyes, their manners I acquire, And shape my foolishness to their desire ; Seduc'd and aw'd by the Philistine dame, At Dagon's shrine I kindle impious flame. With the Chaldean's charms her rites prevail, And curling frankincense ascends to Baal. To each new harlot I new altars dress, And serve her god, whose person I caress. Where, my deluded sense, was Reason flown ? Where the high majesty of David's throne ? Where all the maxims of eternal truth, With which the living God inform'd my youth, When with the lewd Egyptian I adore Vain idols, deities that ne'er before In Israel's land had fix'd their dire abodes, Beastly divinities, and droves of gods ; Osiris, Apis, powers that chew the cud, And dog Anubis, flatterer for his food ? When in the woody hills forbidden shade I carv'd the marble, and invok'd its aid ; When in the fens to snakes and flies, with zeal Unworthy human thought, I prostrate fell ; To shrubs and plants my vile devotion paid, And set the bearded leek, to which I pray'd ; When to all beings sacred rites were given, Forgot the Arbiter of Earth and Heaven ? Through these sad shades, this chaos in my soul Some seeds of light at length began to roll. The rising motion of an infant ray Shot glimmering thro' the cloud, and promis'd daj And now, one moment able to reflect, I found the king abandon'd to neglect, Seen without awe, and serv'd without respect. I found my subjects amicably join To lessen their defects by citing mine. The priest with pity pray'd for David's race, And left his text, to dwell on my disgrace. The father, whilst he warn'd his erring son The sad examples which he ought to shun, Describ'd, and only nam'd not, Solomon. Each bard, each sire, did to his pupil sing, " A wise child better than a foolish king." Into myself my Reason's eye I turn'd, And as I much reflected, much I mourn'd. A mighty king I am, an earthly god ; Nations obey my word, and wait my nod : I raise or sink, imprison or set free, And life or death depends on my decree. Fond the idea, .and the thought is vain ; O'er Judah's king ten thousand tyrants reign ; Legions of lust, and various powers of ill, Insult the master's tributary will : And he, from whom the nations should receive Justice and freedom, lies himself a slave, Tortur'd by cruel change of wild desires, Losh'd by mad rage, and scorch'd by brutal fires. 272 PRIOR. BOOK I the burnt-offering, and the sacrifices; and glory of the Lord filled the house." 2 CHR vii. 1. By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat dov yea, we wept, when we remembered Sion," &c PSALM cxxxvii. 1. I said of laughter, it is mad ; and of mirth, w doth it?" ECCLES. ii. 2. No man can find out the work that God mak from the beginning to the end." Ch. iii. 11 Whatsoever God doeth, it shall be for e\ nothing can be put to it, nor any thing taken fi it : and God doeth it, that men should fear be him." Ver. 14. Let us hear the conclusion of the whole mati fear God, and keep his commandments ; for is the whole duty of man." Ch. xii. 13. " O Reason ! once again to thee I call ; Accept my sorrow, and retrieve my fall. Wisdom, thou say'st, from Heaven receiv'd her birth, Her beams transmitted to the subject Earth : Yet this great empress of the human soul Does only with imagin'd power control, If restless Passion, by rebellious sway, Compels the weak usurper to obey. " O troubled, weak, and coward, as thou art, Without thy poor advice, the labouring heart To worse extremes with swifter steps would run, Not sav'd by virtue, yet by vice undone !" Oft have I said, the praise of doing well Is to the ear as ointment to the smell. Now, if some flies, perchance, however small, Into the alabaster urn should fall, The odours of the sweets enclos'd would die, And stench corrupt (sad change !) their place supply. So the least faults, if mix'd with fairest deed, Of future ill become the fatal seed ; Into the balm of purest virtue cast, Annoy all life with one contagious blast. Lost Solomon ! pursue this thought no more : Of thy past errours recollect the store ; And silent weep, that, while the deathless Muse Shall sing the just, shall o'er their heads diffuse Perfumes with lavish hand, she shall proclaim Thy crimes alone, and, to thy evil fame Impartial, scatter damps and poisons on thy name. Awaking, therefore, as who long had dream'd, Much of my women and their gods asham'd ; From tltis abyss of exemplary vice Resolv'd, as time might aid my thought, to rise; Again I bid the mournful goddess write The fond pursuit of fugitive delight ; Bid her exalt her melancholy wing, And, rais'd from earth, and sav'd from passion, sing Of human hope by cross event destroy 'd, Of useless wealth and greatness unenjoy'd, Of lust and love, with their fantastic train, Their wishes, smiles, and looks, deceitful all, and j ^ ^ o ^ St ^^Lb ', Bear'st thou submissive, but a lowly birth, Some separate particles of finer earth, A plain effect which Nature must beget, BOOK III. PO WEE. As mot i on or ders, and as atoms meet ; Companion of the body's good or ill, From force of instinct, more than choice of wil Conscious of fear or valour, joy or pain, As the wild courses of the blood ordain ; Who, as degrees of heat and cold prevail, In youth dost flourish, and with age shalt fail ; Till, mingled with thy partner's latest breath, Thou fly'st dissolv'd in air, and lost in death ? Or, if thy great existence would aspire To causes more sublime, of heavenly fire Wert thou a spark struck off, a separate ray, Ordain'd to mingle with terrestrial clay ; With it condemn'd for certain years to dwell, To grieve its frailties, and its pains to feel ; To teach it good and ill, disgrace or fame, Pale it with rage, or redden it with shame ; To guide its actions with informing care, In peace to judge, to conquer in the war ; Render it agile, witty, valiant, sage, As fits the various course of human age ; Till as the earthly part decays and falls, The captive breaks her prison's mouldering wi Argument. Solomon considers man through the several sti and conditions of life, and concludes in gen< that we are all miserable. He reflects more ticularly upon the trouble and uncertainty greatness and power ; gives some instances the from Adam down to himself; and still conch that all is vanity. He reasons again upon death, and a future being ; finds human wisi too imperfect to resolve his doubts ; has reco to religion ; is informed by an angel, what ; happen to himself, his family, and his king till the redemption of Israel ; and, upon the wl resolves to submit his inquiries and anxieti< the will of his Creator. COME then, my soul ; I call thee by that nai Thou busy thing, from whence I know I am : For, knowing what I am, I know thou art ; Since that must needs exist, which can impart. Texts chiefly alluded to in Hook III. Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern." ECCLES. chap. xii. ver. 6. " The Sun ariseth, and the Sun goeth down, and hasteth to his place where he arose." Ch. i. 5. " The wind goeth towards the south, and turneth about unto the north. It whirleth about con- tinually ; and the wind returneth again, accord- ing to his circuit." Ver. G. " All the rivers run into the sea : yet the sea is not full. Unto the place from whence the rivers come, thither they return again." Ver. 1. " Then shall the dust return to the earth, as it was : and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it." Ch. xii. 7. " Now when Solomon had made an end of praying the fire came down from Heaven, and consumed BOOK III. SOLOMON. 273 Hovers awhile upon the sad remains, Which now the pile or sepulchre contains ; And thence with liberty unbounded fliei, Impatient to regain her native skies. Whate'er thou art, where-e'er ordain'd to go, 'Points which we rather may dispute than know,) Come on, thou little inmate of this breast, Which for thy sake from passions I divest, r^or these, thou say'st, raise all the stormy strife, Vhich hinder thy repose, and trouble life. 5e the fair level of thy actions laid, is temperance wills, and prudence may persuade : Je thy affections undisturb'd and clear, Juided to what may great or good appear, .nd try if life be worth the liver's care. Amass'd in man, there justly is beheld That through the whole creation has excell'd : lie life and growth of plants, of beasts the sense, he angel's forecast and intelligence : iv from these glorious seeds what harvest flows, ecount our blessings, and compare onr woes. its true light let clearest reason see e man dragg'd out to act, and forc'd to be ; elpless and naked, on a woman's knees be expos'd and rear'd as she may please, el her neglect, and pine from her disease : s tender eye by too direct a ray junded, and flying from unpractis'd day ; s heart assaulted by invading air, d beating fervent to the vital war ; his young sense how various forms appear, it strike his wonder, and excite his fear : his distortions he reveals his pains ; by his tears and by his sighs complains ; time and use assist the infant wretch, broken words and rudiments of speech, wants in plainer characters to show, 1 paint more perfect figures of his woe ; demn'd to sacrifice his childish years babbling ignorance, and to empty fears ; lass the riper period of his age, ng his part upon a crowded stage ; asting toils expos'd, and endless cares, >pen dangers, and to secret snares ; nalice, which the vengeful foe intends, the more dangerous love of seeming friends, deeds examin'd by the people's will, ,e to forget the good, and blame the ill ; fr censur'd in their curs'd debate, the scomer's or the judge's seat, condemn the virtue which they hate, rould he rather leave this frantic scene, trees and beasts prefer to courts and men, remotest wood and lonely grot to meet that worst of evils, Thought ; ideas to his memory brought, icate as are the pathless woods, some as the descending floods ; doubts, with raging passions torn, companion near with whom to mourn, echoing rock return his sighs, "the frighted hermit flies. what path soe'er of life we rove, our hate, and grief our love, present moment's heavy gloom, we brightness from the years to come ? 'd and broken like a sick man's sleep, thoughts to distant prospects leap, what flies us to o'ertake, the dream of those that wake But, looking back, we see the dreadful train Of woes anew, which were we to sustain, We should refuse to tread the path again ; Still adding grief, still counting from the first, Judging the latest evils still the worst, And sadly finding each progressive hour Heighten their number and augment their power. Till, by one countless sum of woes opprest, Hoary with cares, and ignorant of rest, We find the vital springs relax'd and worn, Compell'd our common impotence to mourn. Thus through the round of age to childhood we return ; Reflecting find, that naked from the womb We yesterday came forth ; that in the tomb Naked again we must to-morrow lie, Born to lament, to labour, and to die. Pass we the ills which each man feels or dreads, The weight or fallen or hanging o'er our heads ; The bear, the lion, f errours of the plain, The sheepfold scatter'd, and the shepherd slain . The frequent errours of the pathless wood, The giddy precipice, and the dangerous flood ; The noisome pestilence, that, in open war, Terrible marches through the mid-day air, And scatters death ; the arrow that by night Cuts the dank mist, and fatal wings its flight ; The billowing snow, and violence of the shower, That from the hills disperse their dreadful store, And o'er the vales collected ruin pour ; The worm that gnaws the ripening fruit, sad guest, Canker or locust, hurtful to infest The blade ; while husks elude the oiler's care, And eminence of want distinguishes the year. Pass we the slow disease, and subtle pain, Which our weak frame is destin'd to sustain ; The cruel stone with congregated war Tearing his bloody way; the cold catarrh, With frequent impulse, and continued strife, Weakening the wasted seats of irksome life ; The gout's fierce rack, the burning fever's rage, The sad experience of decay ; and age, Herself the sorest ill ; while Death and ease, Oft' and in vain invok'd or to appease Or end the grief, with hasty wings recede From the vext patient and the sickly bed. Nought shall it profit, that the charming fair, Angelic, softest work of Heayen, draws near To the cold shaking paralytic hand, Senseless of beauty's touch, or lore's command ; Nor longer apt or able to fulfil The dictates of its feeble master's wflL Nought shall the psaltry and the harp avail, The pleasing song, or well-repeated tale, When the quick spirits their warm march forbear, And numbing coldness has unbrac'd the ear. The verdant rising of the flowery hill, The vale enamell'd, and the crystal rill, The ocean rolling, and the shelly shore, Beautiful objects, shall delight no more, When the lax'd sinews of the weaken *d eye In watery damps or dim suffusion lie. Day follows night ; the clouds return again After the falling of the latter rain ; But to the ageoCblind shall np'er return Grateful vicissitude : he still must mourn The Sun and Moon, and every starry light, Eclips'd to him, and lost in everlasting night. Behold where Age's wretched victim lies, See his head trembling, and his half-clos'd eyes . 274- PRIOR. BOOK III. Frequent for breath his panting bosom heaves To broken sleep his remnant sense he gives, And only by his pains, awaking, finds he lives. Loos'd by devouring Time, the silver cord Dissever'd lies ; unhonour'd from 'the board The crystal urn, when broken, is thrown by, And apter utensils their place supply. These things and thou must share one equal lot, Die and be lost, corrupt and be forgot ; While still another and another race Shall now supply, and now give up the place ; From earth all came, to earth must all return, Frail as the cord, and brittle as the urn. But be the terrour of these ills suppress'd, And view we man with health and vigour blest, Home he returns with the declining Sun, His destin'd task of labour hardly done ; Goes forth again with the ascending ray, Again his travel for his bread to pay, And find the ill sufficient to the day. Haply at night he does with horrour shun A widow'd daughter or a dying son ; His neighbour's offspring he to-morrow sees, And doubly feels his want in their increase ; The next day, and the next, he must attend His foe triumphant, or his buried friend. In every act and turn of life he feels Public calamities, or household ills ; The due reward to just desert refus'd, The trust betray'd, the nuptial bed abus'd ; The judge corrupt, the long-depending cause, And doubtful issue of misconstrued laws ; The crafty turns of a dishonest state, And violent will of the wrong-doing great; The venom'd tongue, injurious to his fame, Which nor can wisdom shun, nor fair advice re- claim. Esteem we these, my friends, event and chance., Produc'd as atoms from the fluttering dance? Or higher yet their essence may we draw From destin'd order and eternal law ? Again, my Muse, the crnel doubt repeat : Spring they, I say, from accident or Fate ? Yet such we find they are as can control The servile actions of our wavering soul : Can fright, can alter, or can chain, the will ; Their ills all built on life, that fundamental ill. O fatal search ! in which the labouring mind, Still press'd with weight of woe, still hopes to find A shadow of delight, a dream of peace, From years of pain one moment of release ; Hoping at least she may herself deceive, Against experience willing to believe, Desirous to rejoice, condemn'd to grieve. Happy the mortal man, who now at last Has through this doleful vale of misery past, Who to his destin'd stage has carry'd on The tedious load, and laid his burthen down ; Whom the cut brass, or wounded marble, shows Victor o'er Life, and all her train of woes. He, happier yet, who, privileg'd by Fate To shorter labour and a lighter weight, Receiv'd but yesterday the gift of breath, Order'd to-morrow to return to death. But O ! beyond description happiest he, Who ne'er must roll on life's tumultuous sea ; Who, with bless'd freedom, from the general doom Exempt, must never force the teeming womb, Nor see the Sun, nor sink into the tomb ! Who breathes, must suffer ; and who thinks, must mourn; And he alone is bless'd, who ne'er was born. " Yet in thy turn, thou frowning preacher, hear : Are not these general maxims too severe? Say : cannot power secure its owner's bliss ? And is not wealth the potent sire of peace ? Are victors bless'd with fame, or kings with ease ?** I tell thee, life is but one common care, And man was born to suffer, and to fear. '* But is no rank, no station, no degree, From this contagious taint of sorrow free ?" None, mortal ! none. Yet in a bolder strain Let me this melancholy truth maintain. But hence, ye worldly and profane, retire ; For I adapt my voice, and raise my lyre, To notions not by vulgar ear receiv'd : Yet still must covet life, and be deceiv'd ; Your very fear of death shall make you try To catch the shade of immortality ; Wishing on Earth to linger, and to save Part of its prey from the devouring grave ; To those who may survive you to bequeath Something entire, in spite of Time and Death ; A fancy'd kind of being to retrieve, And in a book, or from a building, live. False hope ! vain labour ! let some ages fly, The dome shall moulder, and the volume die : Wretches, still taught, still will ye think it strange, That all the parts of this great fabric change, Quit their old station, and primeval frame, And lose their shape, their essence, and their name ? Reduce the song : our hopes, our joys, are vain ; Our lot is sorrow, and our portion pain. [bring What pause from woe, what hopes of comfort The name of wise or great, of judge or king ? What is a king ? a man condemn'd to bear The public burthen of the nation's care ; Now crown'd some angry faction to appease ; Now falls a victim to the people's ease; From the first blooming of his ill-taught youth, Nourish'd in flattery, and estrang'd from truth ; At home surrounded by a servile crowd, Prompt to abuse, and in detraction loud ; Abroad begirt with men, and swords, and spears, His very state acknowledging his fears ; Marching amidst a thousand guards, he shows His secret terrour of a thousand foes : In war, however prudent, great, or brave, To blind events and fickle chance a slave ; Seeking to settle what for ever flies, Sure of the toil, uncertain of the prize. But he returns with conquest on his brow, Brings up the triumph, and absolves the vow : The captive generals to his car were ty'd ; The joyful citizens tumultuous tide, Echoing his glory, gratify his pride. What is this triumph ? madness, shouts, and noise \ One great collection of the people's voice. The wretches he brings back in chains relate What may to-morrow be the victor's fate. The spoils and trophies, borne before him, show I National loss, and epidemic woe, Various distress, which he and his may know. Does he not mourn, the valiant thousands slain, J The heroes, once the glory of the plain, Left in the conflict of the fatal day, Or the wolfs portion, or the vulture's prey ? Does he not weep the laurel which he wears, Wi>t with tVit. enMinr'c MnnH anH wiflnw's tpar