THE MILTON EPOCH BY J.C.STOBART,MA EPOCHS OF ENGLISH LITERATURE VOLUME IV. THE MILTON EPOCH EPOCHS OF ENGLISH LITERATURE UNIFOEM WITH THIS VOLUME VOL. I. The Chaucer Epoch, 12151500 ,. II. The Spenser Epoch, 15001600 ,, III. The Shakespeare Epoch, 16001625 ,, IV. The Milton Epoch, 16251671 ,, V. The Dryden Epoch, 1660 1700 VI. The Pope Epoch, 17001750 VII. The Johnson Epoch, 17501798 VIII. The Wordsworth Epoch, 17981830 IX. The Tennyson Epoch, 1830 present day EPOCHS OF ENGLISH LITERATURE VOLUME IV. THE MILTON EPOCH BY J. G. STOBAKT, M.A. FORMERLY ASSISTANT MASTER AT MERCHANT TAYLORS' SCHOOL LONDON EDWARD ARNOLD 41 & 43 MADDOX STREET, BOND STREET, W. [All right* reserved] Made and Printed in Great Britain by UN WIN BROTHERS, LIMITED, LONDON AND WOK IN O PREFACE THE series of which this volume is the fourth may be said to have three objects : First, to teach the history of our literature in a rational and orderly manner ; second, to illuminate the history of England by exhibiting the thoughts of its men of letters in their own words ; and, third, to display, as if in a gallery, some specimens of the inheritance into which every English-reading boy and girl has entered. It has been too long the practice to teach English literature in handbooks which give only the briefest examples, if any, of the works they profess to describe; and our many excellent school anthologies, from their want of a definite historical arrange- ment, and the absence of prose, fail almost entirely to give a connected view of the development of our language. Now, the history of our literature, falling, as it undoubtedly does, into a series of well-marked periods of excellence, appears to lend itself peculiarly to the historical treatment suggested by the word ' epoch.' My general principles of selection are three the intrinsic merit and interest of the piece, its convenience for use in schools, and its ability to stand by itself without great detri- ment from the absence of context. ' Scrappiness ' is a charge to which all such collections are open ; but I have tried to lessen its force by the preponderance of lyric songs, and the insertion of Comus and Book VI. of Paradise Lost complete. J. C. S. ', 1906. I CONTENTS PAGE INTRODUCTION - - 1 I. SIR T. BROWNE BBLIGIO MEDICI and URN-BURIAL - 17 II. GEORGE HERBERT THE PULLEY - - 29 III. MILTON COMUS - 30 IV. MILTON PARADISE LOST (Boon VI.) - 61 V. MILTON SAMSON BLIND - 88 VI. MILTON ON SHAKESPEAR - - 89 VII. MILTON FOUR SONNETS - 89 VIII. HERRICK FOURTEEN POEMS - - 91 IX. WITHER His RESOLUTION - - 99 X. HENRY KING THE DIRGE - - 101 XI. SUCKLING THE INCONSTANT LOVER - - 102 XII. LOVELACE To LUCASTA and To ALTHEA - - 103 XIII. CAREW SONG and IN BLISS - - 104 XIV. CRASHAW THE WEEPER - - - 105 XV. VAUGHAN DEPARTED FRIENDS - 108 XVI. SHIRLEY DEATH THE LEVELLER - - 109 XVII. MARVELL THE GARDEN - 110 XVIII. BALLAD FAIR HELEN - - 113 XIX. IZAAK WALTON COMPLEAT ANGLER - - - 114 XX. BALLAD THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON - 121 NOTBS - . 125 GLOSSARIAL INDEX - .... 151 vii 'Nay he dooth, as if your iourney should lye through a fayre Vineyard, at the first give you a cluster of Grapes ; that full of that taste, you may long to passe further.' SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. THE MILTON EPOCH INTBODUCTION The Epic. To have produced a Shakespeare would be glory enough for most nations, but to have produced a Milton in the next generation is the peculiar achievement of English literature. The drama Shakespeare exhausted : its decay set in before his death. In. lyric verse, also, he touched the highest ; but there was one department of poetry which he left to his successors to perfect. That department was the jjjnc, and the challenge was almost immediately accepted. Milton stands, with Homer, Vergil, and Dante, among the great epic poets of the world. Now, the conditions of epic poetry are these : It must be large in scope and treatment ; it must tell a story ; it must have a hero, and its hero must be heroic. Moreover, as epics are rare, so they are commonly occasioned by some great stirring of national feeling as Homer by the triumph of the Achaean race, Vergil by the new and hopeful creation of the Roman Empire, Dante by the glory of reawakened Florence. And so the occasion of Milton's work was the vast religious and political upheaval which asserted English liberty against the encroachments of the Stuarts. Roundhead and Cavalier. The contents of this book are typical of the history of its period. Here, also, Catholic and Puritan jostle one another, Cavalier and Roundhead strive 1 2 THE MILTON EPOCH for the mastery. Herrick, for example, balances his sportive Hesperides with his Noble Numbers. But certainly here also the religious poets prevail. Beside Milton and Herrick, we have here nearly all the best religious poets of our literature : George Herbert, Henry Vaughan, Crashaw, King, Quarles, Habington, and Wither. All these, on one side or the other, bear witness to the fact that the ferment which was going on in the State was essentially a matter of religion. Religion and politics have ever been closely linked in English history, and even to-day religious questions are at the root of most of our political differences. The fact is a commonplace of history, but in reviewing the literature of this important period it is especially brought home to us by the character of the literature. Our first .epoch was rpmajitic ; our second, amorous ; our third, dramatic ; this is religious. Milton. JOHN MILTON was born in Bread Street, a narrow thoroughfare which crosses Cheapside almost under the shadow of St. Paul's. It is close to the famous Mermaid Tavern, and Milton as a boy must have seen its doors open to admit the happy, nimble witted Shakespeare, with that erudite giant his friend Ben Jonson. John Milton was born in the year 1608, the third child of a prosperous and religious scrivener, who very soon perceived the talents of his son and spared no pains to improve them. He was taught at St. Paul's School, and his tutor at home was Thomas Young, for whom he conceived a life-long admiration. From St. Paul's he went, at the age of sixteen, to Christ's College, Cambridge, already an accom- plished scholar who wrote Latin almost as a native language, a boy of such purity and personal beauty that he was nick- named " The-JLady of Christ's." Seven years he spent in study on the banks of " Camus, reverend sire." At this time he was intended for the Church. " My father," he says, " destined me while yet a little boy to the study of humane letters ; which I seized with so much eagerness that from the INTRODUCTION 3 twelfth year of my age I scarcely ever went from my lessons to bed before midnight." Of his character at this time he wrote : "A certain reservedness of nature, an honest haughti- ness and self-esteem kept me still above those low descents of the mind." He was, indeed, not the typical but the ideal.. ^Puritan^with whose strict morals and sturdy love of liberty there mingled tjie^jiuman love of beauty and joy which ca_me to_ him, as disciple of Spenser and Shakespeare, as the last of the Elizabethans. He took the degree of M.A. in 1632, but he could not bring himself to accept the Articles of the Church or a ministry "bought and begun with servitude and forswear- ing." He hated prelatry ; he feared Rome the "grim wolf with privy paw " as the mass of his countrymen distrusted the Papist Queen and the High Church principles of Laud. He therefore betook himself to his father's place of retirement at Horton, in Buckinghamshire, and gave himself up to the art of poetry, the study of literature in all languages, and the practice of music and mathematics. He had written poetry at ten years old ; some of his noble translations from the Psalms were the product of his school-days. At Cambridge, when he was eighteen, he wrote a fine Latin elegy to his old tutor Thomas Young, the beautiful lament for his niece, On the Death of a Fair Infant, the college masque called At a Vacation Exercise, the magnificent ode On the Morning of Christ's Nativity, and perhaps two of the best known of his shorter poems V Allegro and II Penseroso, though the latter were not published until 1648. Comus. Milton was, as has been said, a keen lover of music, and among his friends was the famous lutenist Henry Lawes, then master of music to the Earl of Bridgewater, who was Lord of Ludlow Castle and President of Wales. It was at the request of Lawes that Milton wrote, in 1634, the masque of Comus. About the nature of masques we have already spoken in the previous volume. The masque is essentially a personal form of literature. It is designed to 12 4 THE MILTON EPOCH nouour a great man, and therefore it must be laudatory, hyperbolic, and artificial in character. Its chief element is personification the allegorical presentment of virtues and vices or of local and historical facts in dramatic form. Per- sonification is always a somewhat frigid literary device ; nor had Milton the least dramatic instinct. It is therefore in- teresting to see how he approached his difficult task. When we have read the poem we appreciate how skilfully the thing is done. The praise is the praise of virtue rather than the Earl of Bridgewater. Comus and his monster-headed rout represent the vices and follies of the Court ; yet with its beautiful lyric songs and exquisite natural imagery the result is the masque transfigured into something really poetical. It is for this reason because it shows the power of Milton as a literary craftsman that Comus is given here in full, to the exclusion of poems far better known. His Foreign Travels. Three years later the death by drowning on the Irish passage of a dear college friend, Edward King, drew from Milton the exquisite lament of Lycidas, the most beautiful elegy in our language. Here, while he follows in a far nobler strain the style of Vergil's tenth eclogue, he suddenly turns aside to lash the false prelates of the English Church. This is the first symptom of that bitter spirit of religious controversy which spoilt the life and marred much of the work of Milton. In 1637 his mother died, the household at Horton broke up, and Milton went abroad to France and Italy. Like Chaucer, three hundred years before, he profited much from his visit ; he learnt to love the work of Tasso and Ariosto, as he was already devoted to Dante and Petrarch. In Italy he met face to face the aged martyr to scientific truth, Galileo^ Honoured everywhere for his learning and his genim, the beauty and the art of Italy sank deep into his soul. He purposed to visit Greece, but news of the differences between King and Parliament summoned him home to take his part in the struggle. j INTRODUCTION 5 His Polemical Prose. He was now (1639) thirty-one years old and had spent much of his patrimony. He therefore betook himself to London, and, first at a house in St. Bride's Churchyard and then in Aldersgate, earned a livelihood by taking private pupils. Now for twenty years his Muse was silent but for a few rare blasts of his "trumpet," as Wordsworth finely calls the Sonnets. He wrote indeed, but he wrote in prose as champion of the " Independent " cause against the Bishops. These controversial tracts and pamphlets, marked at times by an almost incredible scurrility and bitter- ness, we need not remember nor enumerate. His first wife, Mary Powel, the daughter of a Cavalier squire, deserted him, and Milton wrote three pamphlets in favour of divorce, which greatly scandalized his Presbyterian friends and led to the author's appearance before the House of Lords. As a matter of fact, Mary came back to her husband soon afterwards, and was given a warm welcome not only herself, but her family also. She bore him three daughters and then died. In 1649 he was appointed Latin Secretary to the new Parliamentary Council of State, and in that capacity replied with his Iconoclastes to the famous defence of Charles I. called Eikon Basilike. Again, when theL-greajL. JFrench scholar- SalmaBJus was hired by the ftiri)iMi finy^iaf^ fn defend the executed King, Milton attacked and destroyed his arguments in a brilliant but violent pamphlet which secured European renown for his scholarship, but cost the poet the sight of his eyes. Observe that Milton knew what he was about. This great poet gave to the cause of liberty, as he understood it, twenty years of his prime and the most precious of all his powers, his eyesight. This terrible infliction was borne by him with Christian fortitude. What it meant to him we see in the magnificent Sonnet on his Blindness, and the bitter cry of Samson Agonistes. His daughters continued reluctantly to write and read for him. Paradiso Lost. He now began to work courageously upon 6 THE MILTON EPOCH three great undertakings a Latin Dictionary, a History of England, and a great Epic. The first two were never com- pleted ; with the third we now have to deal. Long ago the germs of the idea had occurred to him. He had considered and rejected the legends of King Arthur as a subject, and had long intended to present the Fall and Redemption of Man in the form of a sacred drama. But now that he had definitely sided with the Puritan hatred of the theatre, and had, indeed, reproached the dead King for his love of Shakespeare in his IconoclasteSj the drama was impossible for him. The death of Oliver Cromwell and the restoration of Charles II. in 1660 brought the champion of the Puritans into danger of his life. Though Charles II. showed no desire for revenge and suffered the poet to go free, he was forced to live for the remainder of his life in poverty and obscurity, in a world where he had to see his cherished principles one by one cast into oblivion and derision. During these years his employment and his consola- tion was the writing of Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained. The former was finished in 1665, at Chalfont, in Buckingham- shire, whither the poet had fled for refuge from the great plague. When it was finished he sold the copyright for 5 (to be paid for each edition), and received in all for the work the sum of 23. Paradise Lost is designed, as the poet tells us, " to justify the ways of God to man." It is the history of the creation of man, of his happy state in Eden, of his temptation and fall, and finally of God's promises for his redemption. But behind this human drama we are permitted to see the war in heaven, the craft and rebellion of the evil spirits over- come by the majesty and glory of the angels. It was, of course, a subject that had long cried out for epic treatment, and once adequately treated it was done for ever. There can be no second epic upon that theme. "Thou hast said much here of Paradise Lost, but what hast thou to say of Paradise Found?" was the comment of young Elwood, his Quaker INTRODUCTION 7 secretary. Milton supplied the answer in Paradise Regained, which he published in 1671. This poem is of equal majesty, and its author is said to have preferred it ; but as it contains more of the rhetoric and less of the musical descriptive poetry of Paradise Lost, it is much less admired to-day. Samson Agonistes, a sacred drama, a pure Greek tragedy in spirit, and often in language, was published in the same year. We can see the sympathy that led to the choice of its hero. Milton, too, was a blind giant, a captive prey to the Philistines of his age. These were his last utterances. In July, 1674, he fell ill, and in November, on a Sunday night, he passed quietly away, at the age of sixty-eight. He was buried in the churchyard of St. Giles, Cripplegate, where a statue has lately been erected to his memory. The history of his reputation is rather curious. Dryden, who was forty-three at Milton's death, has written a well-known epitaph : " Three poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. The first in loftiness of thought surpassed, The next in majesty, in both the last ; The force of Nature could no further go ; To make a third she joined the former two." But in spite of this tribute, his memory was almost forgotten, when Addison in the Spectator rediscovered the great work. Since then the greatest of men have been inspired by his work. Lord Macaulay knew the whole of Paradise Lost by heart. The Character of his Work. If we take a gifted nature keenly alive to the sense of beauty, if we take the eye of an artist and the ear of a musician, if to this we add the influence of Spenser and the Elizabethan humanists, a strict and scholarly training in the masterpieces of Greek and Latin literature, especially in Vergil, and inform the whole with a burning zeal for religion and a devotion to Puritan principles, we shall have the ingredients, if we may use the term, which 8 THE MILTON EPOCH went to the making of John Milton. These influences alter- nately predominate. L Allegro is as little Puritan as Paradise Regained is Elizabethan. There is a poem to Charles Diodati, in which he conveys in the Latin tongue a keen appreciation of the beaux yeux of London misses. That a poet could have written Iconoclastes seems as impossible as that a Cromwellian pamphleteer could have written Arcades. Only the classical spirit never deserts him. His illustrations, his rhetoric, his dignity, his self-restraint, his very constructions and vocabulary, are derived from the classics. One would say he thought in Latin and Greek. Vergil is the only poet who has written a great work with the same unbending gravity and unfailing harmony of style. His Blank Verse. Milton made of blank verse a magical instrument. By the masterly arrangement of its pauses and csesurae, by his consummate skill in what is called phrasing, he has contrived in all the length of his poem to avoid monotony. This is what he says by way of apology for his choice of metre, in the preface to his edition of 1669 : " The measure is English Heroic Verse without* Rime, as that of Homer in Greek, and of Virgil in Latin ; Rime being no necessary Adjunct or true Ornament of Poems or good Verse, in longer Works especially, but the Invention of a barbarous Age, to set off wretched Matter and lame Meeter ; grac't indeed since by the use of some famous modern Poets, carried away by Custom, but much to their own vexation, hindrance, and constraint, to express many things otherwise, and for the most part worse, then [than] else they would have exprest them. Not without cause, therefore, some both Italian and Spanish Poets of prime note, have rejected Rime both in longer and shorter Works, as have also, long since, our best English Tragedies, as a thing of itself, to all judicious eares, triveal and of no true musical delight ; which consists only in apt Numbers, fit quantity of Syllables, and the sense variously drawn out from one verse into another, not in the INTRODUCTION 9 jingling sound of like endings, a fault avoided by the learned Ancients both in Poetry and all good Oratory. This neglect then of Rime, so little is to be taken for a defect, though it may seem so perhaps to vulgar readers, that it is rather to be esteemed an example set, the first in English, of ancient liberty recovered to Heroic Poem from the troublesom and modern bondage of Rimeing." Blank verse had been introduced from Italy by the Earl of Surrey about 1545 in his translations from Vergil. It had been very much improved by Marlowe and Shakespeare, in whose hands it had gained an almost excessive ease and liberty, but as the vehicle of sustained epic majesty it is, as Milton claims, his own discovery. Milton's Prose. Of Milton's voluminous prose works only two are now commonly read his Tractate on Education, in which he sketches a course of reading which would stagger even Macaulay's " schoolboy," and his Areopagitica, or defence of the liberty of the Press. His prose is eloquent, majestic and harmonious to the highest degree. He is a master of striking metaphors : " I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue." " I endure not an instructor that comes to me under the worship of an overseeing fist." " Methinks I see her as an eagle mewing her mighty youth, and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full mid-day beam ; purging and unsealing her long-abused sight at the fountain itself of heavenly radiance ; while the whole noise of timorous and flocking birds, with those also that love the twilight, flutter about amazed at what she means." The faults of his prose (and, indeed, sometimes of his poetry) are the length of his involved periods and the weakness for alien classical constructions or words^ as : "If we have only escaped the ferula to come under the fescue of an imprimatur." " I lastly proceed from the no good it can do to the ..." (a Greek construction). 10 THE MILTON EPOCH Sir Thomas Browne. Milton stands so far in front of his contemporaries that it is hard to know whom to place next to him. SIR THOMAS BROWNE, in his scholarship and religious bent, in the faults of his beautiful prose style (long sentences and many Latinisms) seems to come nearest. He was born in 1605, and died in 1682. He was a Londoner by birth and an Oxonian by education. Then he travelled much and studied medicine at the famous Dutch University of Leyden. His life was spent quietly in medical practice and scientific experiments at Norwich. He was a Fellow of the newly -established Royal Society, and received the honour of knighthood from that patron of science Charles II. He is known to us by three books, Religio Medici (which, one may observe, is the Latin for " The Faith of a Doctor," and requires no Italian pronuncia- tion) was, curiously enough, the work of his youth. Its charm is the kind and tolerant spirit which it reveals, a spirit all the more remarkable when we consider the atmosphere in which it grew. His Hydriotaphia, or Urn-burial, a very short treatise which includes discursive reflections on the vanity of life, is a most notable example of learning delightfully displayed. It is the best of all his work, and carries a fragrance of choice phrases quite indescribable. Both Doctor Johnson and Charles Lamb, men of very different types, were profoundly influenced in mind, and even in style, by Sir Thomas Browne. His third book, An Enquiry into Vulgar Errors, is a solemn discussion of all sorts of quaint superstitions. Observe that the quality we now have to praise is not genius but charm. Izaak Walton. Here, too, it is not genius but charm, the charm of a delightful character expressed with gentle egoism. In his youth he was a comfortable Fleet Street ironmonger, not debarred by his occupation either from intellectual pursuits or distinguished society. Sir Henry Wotton, the ambassador, the wit, the poet, the Provost of Eton, was linked to him by the great brotherhood of rod and line. No prose INTRODUCTION 11 classic is more widely read or more tenderly loved than the Compleat Angler, with its quaint sympathy, wide enough to include the worm or the tortured frog on the hook and the fish in the basket, its pleasant erudition, its delightful glimpses of river-side scenery, and the quiet, contemplative enthusiasm for his art. WALTON was born in 1593, and lived to the age of ninety. In his later years he retired to the country to practise his art and avoid the troubles of his times. He was a sturdy Royalist at heart, and on one occasion carried a jewel from the King in hiding to a friend. He wrote, with the same ease and charm, the Lives of Church Dignitaries, among them Dr. Donne and Richard Hooker, both conspicuous figures in literature. There is no pleasanter companion than Izaak Walton. Robert Herrick. Charm, again, is eminently the feature of Herrick's muse. HERRICK is the best of minor poets ; he has attempted nothing great, but he has written much that people know and love. There are two sides to the man and his work. He lived from about 1591 to 1674, was educated at Cambridge, and spent his youth in London, a companion of Ben Jonson and the brilliant circle of the Mermaid Tavern. He had a keen eye for beauty in flowers and women. No one could turn a happier quatrain in honour of a lady. It is true that the Hesperides (daughters of the West), as he called his collection of sportive pieces, contains a good deal that should not have been thought and a great deal more which need not have been published, but there are gems which are common to every anthology. It is the quaintness of his fancy and the simplicity of his music which delights us. Consider the word liquefaction, by which he describes the silken gown of his Julia. "UPON JULIA'S CLOTHES. " When in silks my Julia goes, Then, then (me thinks) how sweetly flows That liquefaction of her clothes. 12 THE MILTON EPOCH " Next, when I cast mine eyes and see That brave Vibration each way free ; how that glittering taketh me !" Slight, even unto tenuity, but eminently pretty. By 1648, in which year he published both the Hesperides and the Noble Numbers, he was the Rev. Robert Herrick, vicar of a Devonshire parish, lamenting the lot which had cast him amongst such savages. The Noble Numbers are a sort of literary penance for the sportive freedom of the Hesperides. There we see exactly the same curious fancy at play among religious things. A fanciful critic might detect the flavour of Devonshire cream in all Herrick's work. Qeorge Wither. The quantity and slightness of Herrick's verse suggests cheap paper and ink and a great facility in rhyming. Rhyme had, indeed, become fatally easy by this time, and GEORGE WITHER is a victim to facility. He was a Hampshire man, educated at Oxford. He was sent to prison for his political satires, Abuses Stript and Whipt, but wrote the more during his imprisonment. He sold his patrimony to provide troops for the Parliamentary cause. A good story is told of his capture by the Royalists, when Sir John Denham, the Royalist poet, interfered to save him, pleading only "So long as he lives, I am not the worst poet in England." The sacred poetry contained in his Hallelujah, the pleasant description of Alresford Pool in his Philarete, and the inde- pendent note of his song Shall I wasting in Despair, are the most distinguished features of his work. Andrew Marvell. MARVELL was, like Milton, a Puritan. He was educated at Cambridge, and travelled much. Milton perceived his abilities, and recommended him to the favour of Cromwell, who secured for him the post of assistant secretary to Milton as the Government's Foreign Secretary. After the Restoration, as member for Hull, he showed considerable INTRODUCTION 13 courage in attacking the Government. His dates are 1620 to 1678. His poetry falls into two distinct categories. From 1650 to 1652 he was writing delightful lyrics the Garden Poems profoundly influenced by the lighter style of Milton. Later in life he gave up the love of his garden to satirize his fellow-men, and became one of the forerunners of Dryden and the satiric school. Indeed, he may be said to have initiated the use of the heroic couplet which dominated English poetry for more than a hundred years. In this second capacity Andrew Mar veil belongs to our next epoch. But we must not fail to notice here his great Horatian Ode upon the Return of Cromwell from Ireland in 1650, in which his fine spirit of upright independence is shown by his allusion to the martyred King in the famous lines 11 From thence the Royal actor borne The tragic scaffold might adorn ; While round the armed bands Did clap their bloody hands. He nothing common did nor mean Upon that memorable scene, But with his keener eye The axe's edge did try. Nor called the gods with vulgar spite, To vindicate his helpless right ; But bowed his comely head Down, as upon a bed." Noble words, indeed, to appear in a panegyric by a Puritan office-seeker to the Lord Protector ! Religious Poets. For some obscure reason the religious lyric appears commonly to attract the worst kind of poets. Our hymn-books are degraded by a great deal of very poor verse commonplace ideas, wanting in any real fervour and expressed for the most part in vague, commonplace metaphors. But the age of which we are speaking produced all the best work of that kind which we possess ; *\or is the secret of this far to seek. The religious poems of Crashaw, Herbert, Vaughan, and Habington are simple Elizabethan love poems 14 THE MILTON EPOCH with a religious bent. They are really the outpourings of a personal devotion. The very phrases of love poetry occur "My Dear," "My Best Beloved," "Thy fair Eyes." Indeed, but for the capital letters and the titles we might be excused for forgetting that the motive is now religious. GEORGE HERBERT, born 1593, was a brother of the famous Lord Herbert of Cherbury, was educated at Cambridge, where he became Public Orator, and spent his life peacefully at a vicarage near Salisbury. His book of poems, The Temple, was long and widely popular. HENRY VAUGHAN'S medita- tions are deeper, and are combined with a love of Nature. His Sacred Poems were published in 1651. The Divine Emblems of FRANCIS QUARLES were long popular in the cottages of the poor, but are now, I think, quite forgotten. RICHARD CRASHAW, born about 1613, transcends them all in his moments of passion, though his work is often commonplace enough. Yet the finale of his Flaming Heart, the address to St. Theresa, is a thing of astonishing beauty and deep inspira- tion. He was deprived of his fellowship at Cambridge by reason of his Popish leanings, and eventually became a Roman Catholic, and died in 1650, in the monastery of Loretto. ABRAHAM COWLEY and EDMUND WALLER might from their dates find a place here, but as the forerunners of Dryden they have been reserved for the next epoch. Cavalier Poets. SIR JOHN SUCKLING was born in 1609, his father being a member of the Court of King James I. In his youth he served in the army of Gustavus Adolphus, and in the early years of Charles I. was the principal wit of London. He wrote several comedies and tragedies. He spent all his fortune .12,000 in the King's cause, and in his chagrin at the result retired to France, where he died tragically and mysteriously in 1642. Wit is the prevailing characteristic of his charming lyrics. RICHARD LOVELACE is like him in style, character, and INTRODUCTION 15 career. He was born in 1618, and died about 1659, just too early to see the Restoration, which he ardently desired. An account of the imprisonments which he turned to so good literary advantage will be found in the notes. His utterance " I could not love thee, dear, so much Loved I not honour more " is perhaps the best-known thing in this book. These two are sufficient to lend support to the popular ideal of the Cavalier captain as a gay and accomplished gentleman. But the balance of intellect, so far as literature is concerned, remains upon the other side ; and, above all, there is nothing here to vitiate our important thesis that it is great intellect, arid not great passion, which produces great poetry. Some Important Omissions. In addition to Milton's prose, which has been omitted here merely because the claims of his poetry are so great, the most important omissions are three prose writers Robert Burton (1577-1640), Jeremy Taylor (1613-1667), and Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679) none of whom have been considered suitable for selection. ROBERT BURTON'S Anatomy of Melancholy is a work of colossal learn- ing, brilliant wit, and much eloquence. So numerous and so obscure, indeed, are the quotations and allusions that no one of our generation is qualified to write notes to it. The student may get an idea of his style by imagining that of Sir T. Browne with a Latin quotation thrust in between every pair of sentences. JEREMY TAYLOR, who suffered for his adherence to the King's side, but received an Irish bishopric at the Restoration, was a preacher and writer of singularly poetical rhetoric. His Holy Living and Holy Dying are still widely read and loved. THOMAS HOBBES was one of the greatest of English philosophers. His style, clear but unadorned, is in striking contrast to the long sentences and elaborate cadences of contemporary prose. His great work is the Leviathan, 16 THE MILTON EPOCH which is a learned and ably -reasoned plea for the cause of the King, his main contention, being that, as the King's power is delegated to him by the people, and as the Sovereign is but the executive of the nation's will, the Sovereign can do no wrong in his official capacity. Of Fuller's Worthies of England (1661) and Baxter's Saints' Everlasting Rest (1650), though both have had enormous vogue, we have no space here to speak. Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress is the greatest prose masterpiece of Stuart times, but as it was not published until 1678 it belongs to the next epoch SIR THOMAS BROWNE. (i.) EELIGIO MEDICI. FOR my Religion, though there be several Circumstances that might perswade the World I have none at all, (as the general scandal of my Profession, the natural course of my Studies, the indifferency of my Behaviour and Dis- course in matters of Religion, neither violently Defend- 5 ing one, nor with that common ardour and contention Opposing another ;) yet, in despight hereof, I dare with- out usurpation assume the honourable Stile of a Christian. Not that I meerely owe this Title to the Font, my Educa- tion, or the clime wherein I was born, (as being bred up 10 either to confirm those Principles my Parents instilled into my unwary Understanding, or by a general consent proceed in the Religion of my Country ;) but having in my riper years and confirmed Judgment seen and ex- amined all, I find my self obliged by the Principles of 15 Grace, and the Law of mine own Reason, to embrace no other Name but this. Neither doth herein my zeal so far make me forget the general Charity I owe unto Humanity, as rather to hate than pity Turks, Infidels, and (what is worse,) Jews ; rather contenting my self to 20 enjoy that happy Stile, than maligning those who refuse so glorious a Title. But, because the Name of a Christian is become too general to express our Faith, (there being a Geography 17 2 18 THE MILTON EPOCH of Religions as well as Lands, and every Clime dis- 25 tinguished not only by their Laws and Limits, but circumscribed by their Doctrines and Rules of Faith ;) to be particular, I am of that Reformed new-cast Religion, wherein I dislike nothing but the Name ; of the same belief our Saviour taught, the Apostles disseminated, the 30 Fathers authorized, and the Martyrs confirmed ; but by the sinister ends of Princes, the ambition and avarice of Prelates, and the fatal corruption of times, so decayed, impaired, and fallen from its native Beauty, that it re- quired the careful and charitable hands of these times to 35 restore it to its primitive Integrity. Now the accidental occasion whereupon, the slender means whereby, the low and abject condition of the Person by whom so good a work was set on foot, which in our Adversaries beget contempt and scorn, fills me with wonder, and is the 40 very same Objection the insolent Pagans first cast at Christ and His Disciples. Yet have I not so shaken hands with those desperate Resolutions, (who had rather venture at large their de- cayed bottom, than bring her in to be trimm'd in the 45 Dock ; who had rather promiscuously retain all, than abridge any, and obstinately be what they are, than what they have been,) as to stand in Diameter and Swords point with them. We have reformed from them, not against them ; for (omitting those Improperations 50 and Terms of Scurrility betwixt us, which only difference our Affections, and n6t our Cause,) there is between us one common Name and Appellation, one Faith and neces- sary body of Principles common to us both; and therefore I am not scrupulous to converse and live with them, to 55 enter their Churches in defect of ours, and either pray with them or for them. I could never perceive any rational Consequence from those many Texts which pro hibit the Children of Iirael to pollute themselves with SIR THOMAS BROWNE 19 the Temples of the Heathens ; we being all Christians, 60 and not divided by such detested impieties as might prophane our Prayers, or the place wherein we make them ; or that a resolved Conscience may not adore her Creator any where, especially in places devoted to His Service ; where, if their Devotions offend Him, mine may 65 please Him; if theirs prophane it, mine may hallow it. Holy -water and Crucifix (dangerous to the common people,) deceive not my judgment, nor abuse my de- votion at all I am, I confess, naturally inclined to that which misguided zeal terms Superstition. My common 70 conversation I do acknowledge austere, my behaviour full of rigour, sometimes not without morosity; yet at my Devotion I love to use the civility of my knee, my hat, and hand, with all those outward and sensible motions which may express or promote my invisible 75 Devotion. I should violate my own arm rather than a Church ; nor willingly deface the name of Saint or Martyr. At the sight of a Cross or Crucifix I can . dispense with my hat, but scarce with the thought or memory of my Saviour. I cannot laugh at, but rather 80 pity, the fruitless journeys of Pilgrims, or contemn the miserable condition of Fryars ; for, though misplaced in Circumstances, there is something in it of Devotion. I could never hear the Ave-Mary Bell without an eleva- tion ; or think it a sufficient warrant, because they erred 85 in one circumstance, for me to err in all, that is, in silence and dumb contempt. Whilst, therefore, they directed their Devotions to Her, I offered mine to God, and rectified the Errors of their Prayers by rightly ordering mine own. At a solemn Procession I have wept 90 abundantly, while my consorts, blind with opposition and prejudice, have fallen into an excess of scorn and laughter. There are, questionless, both in Greek, Roman, and African Churches, Solemnities and Ceremonies, where- 22 20 THE MILTON EPOCH of the wiser zeals do make a Christian use, and stand 95 condemned by us, not as evil in themselves, but as allure- TD&KM and baits of superstition to those vulgar heads that look asquint on the face of Truth, and those unstable Judgments that cannot consist in the narrow point and centre of Virtue without a reel or stagger to the 100 Circumference. As there were many Reformers, so likewise many Reformations ; every Country proceeding in a particular way and method, according as their national Interest, together with their Constitution and Clime, inclined 105 them ; some angrily, and with extremity ; others calmly, and with mediocrity ; not rending, but easily dividing the community, and leaving an honest possibility of a reconciliation ; which though peaceable Spirits do desire, and may conceive that revolution of time and the mercies no of God may effect, yet that judgment that shall consider the present antipathies between the two extreams, their contrarieties in condition, affection, and opinion, may with the same hopes expect an union in the Poles of Heaven. But (to difference my self nearer, and draw into a 115 lesser Circle,) there is no Church whose every part so squares unto my Conscience ; whose Articles, Constitu- tions, and Customs seem so consonant unto reason, and as it were framed to my particular Devotion, as this whereof I hold my Belief, the Church of England; to 120 whose Faith I am a sworn Subject, and therefore in a double Obligation subscribe unto her Articles, and endeavour to observe her Constitutions. Whatsoever is beyond, as points indifferent, I observe according to the rules of my private reason, or the humour and fashion of 125 my Devotion ; neither believing this, because Luther affirmed it, or disproving that, because Calvin hath dis- avouched it. I condemn not all things in the Council of Trent, nor approve all in the Synod of Dort. In brief, SIK THOMAS BROWNE 21 where the Scripture is silent, the Church is my Text; 130 where that speaks, 'tis but my Comment : where there is a joynt silence of both, I borrow not the rules of my Religion from Rome or Geneva, but the diotates of my own reason. It is an unjust scandal of our adversaries, and a gross errour in our selves, to compute the Nativity 135 of our Religion from Henry the Eighth, who, though he rejected the Pope, refus'd not the faith of Rome, and effected no more than what his own Predecessors desired and assayed in Ages past, and was conceived the State of Venice would have attempted in our days. It is as 140 uncharitable a point in v& to fall upon those popular scurrilities and opprobrious scoffs of the Bishop of Rome, to whom, as a temporal Prince, we owe the duty of good language. I confess there is cause of passion between us : by his sentence I stand excommunicated ; Heretick is the 145 best language he affords me ; yet can no ear witness I ever returned him the name of Antichrist, or Man of Sin. It is the method of Charity to suffer without reaction : those usual Satyrs and invectives of the Pulpit may per- chance produce a good effect on the vulgar, whose ears 150 are opener to Rhetorick than Logick ; yet do they in no wise confirm the faith of wiser Believers, who know that a good cause needs not to be patron'd by passion, but can sustain it self upon a temperate dispute. I could never divide my self from any man upon 155 the difference of an opinion, or be angry with his judg- ment for not agreeing with me in that from which perhaps within a few days I should dissent myself. I have no Genius to disputes in Religion, and have often thought it wisdom to decline them, especially upon a disadvantage, 160 or when the cause of Truth might suffer in the weakness of my patronage. Where we desire to be informed, 'tis good to contest with men above our selves ; but to confirm and establish our opinions, 'tis best to argue with judg- 22 THE MILTON EPOCH ments below our own, that the frequent spoils and 165 Victories over their reasons may settle in ourselves an esteem and confirmed Opinion of our own. Every man is not a proper Champion for Truth, nor fit to take up the Gauntlet in the cause of Verity ; many, from the ignor- ance of these Maximes, and an inconsiderate zeal unto 170 Truth, have too rashly charged the Troops of Error, and remain as Trophies unto the Enemies of Truth. A man may be in as just possession of Truth as of a City, and yet be forced to surrender; 'tis therefore far better to enjoy her with peace, than to hazzard her on a battle. If, 1 75 therefore, there rise any doubts in my way, I do forget them, or at least defer them till my better settled judge- ment and more manly reason be able to resolve them; for I perceive every man's own reason is his best (Edipus, and will, upon a reasonable truce, find a way to loose 180 those bonds wherewith the subtleties of error have enchained our more flexible and tender judgements. In Philosophy, where Truth seems double-fac'd, there is no man more Paradoxical than my self : but in Divinity I love to keep the Koad ; and, though not in an implicite, 185 yet an humble faith, follow the great wheel of the Church, by which I move, not reserving any proper Poles or motion from the Epicycle of my own brain. By this means I leave no gap for Heresies, Schismes, or Errors, of which at present I hope I shall not injure Truth to say 190 I have no taint or tincture. * * * * * I hold there is a general beauty in the works of God, and therefore no deformity in any kind or species of creature whatsoever. I cannot tell by what Logick we call a Toad, a Bear, or an Elephant ugly ; they being 1 95 created in those outward shapes and figures which best express the actions of their inward forms, and having past that general Visitation of God, Who s.aw that all SIR THOMAS BROWNE 25 that He had made was good, that is, conformable to His Will, which abhors deformity, and is the rule of order 200 and beauty. There is no deformity but in Monstrosity ; wherein, notwithstanding, there is a kind of Beauty; Nature so ingeniously contriving the irregular parts, as they become sometimes more remarkable than the principal Fabrick. To speak yet more narrowly, there 205 was never any thing ugly or mis-shapen, but the Chaos ; wherein, notwithstanding, (to speak strictly,) there was no deformity, because no form ; nor was it yet impreg- nant by the voice of God. Now Nature is not at variance with Art, nor Art with Nature, they being both servants 210 of His Providence. Art is the perfection of Nature. Were the World now as it was the sixth day, there were yet a Chaos. Nature hath made one World, and Art another. In brief, all things are artificial ; for Nature is the Art of God. 215 This is the ordinary and open way of His Providence, which Art and Industry have in a good part discovered ; whose effects we may foretel without an Oracle : to fore- shew these, is not Prophesie, btit Prognostication. There is another way, full of Meanders and Labyrinths, whereof 220 the Devil and Spirits have no exact ephemerides; and that is a more particular and obscure method of His Providence, directing the operations of individuals and single Essences : this we call Fortune, that serpentine and crooked line, whereby He draws those actions His Wisdom 223 intends, in a more unknown and secret way. This cryptick and involved method of His Providence have I ever admired ; nor can I relate the History of my life, the occurrences of my days, the escapes of dangers, and hits of chance, with a Bezo las Manos to Fortune, or a 230 bare Gramercy to my good Stars. Abraham might have thought the Ram in the thicket came thither by accident ; reason would have said that meer cbance QOO- 24 THE MILTON EPOCH veyed Moses in the Ark to the sight of Pharaoh's Daughter : what Labyrinth is there in the story of 235 Joseph, able to convert a Stoick ! Surely there are in every man's Life certain rubs, doublings, and wrenches, which pass a while under the effects of chance, but at the last, well examined, prove the meer hand of God. Twas not dumb chance, that, to discover the Fougade or 240 Powder-plot, contrived a miscarriage in the Letter. I like the Victory of '88 the better for that one occurrence, which our enemies imputed to our dishonour and the partiality of Fortune, to wit, the tempests and contrariety of Winds. King Philip did not detract from the Nation, 245 when he said, he sent his Armado to fight with men, and not to combate with the Winds. Where there is a manifest dis- proportion between the powers and forces of two several agents, upon a Maxim e of reason we may promise the Victory to the Superiour ; but when unexpected accidents 250 slip in, and unthought of occurrences intervene, these must proceed from a power that owes no obedience to those Axioms ; where, as in the writing upon the wall, we may behold the hand, but see not the spring that moves it. The success of that petty Province of Holland 255 (of which the Grand Seignour proudly said, if they should trouble him as they did the Spaniard, he would send his men with shovels and pick-axes, and throw it into the Sea,) I can- not altogether ascribe to the ingenuity and industry of the people, but the mercy of God, that hath disposed 260 them to such a thriving Genius ; and to the will of His Providence, that disposeth her favour to each Country in their preordinate season. All cannot be happy at once ; for, because the glory of one State depends upon the ruine of another, there is a revolution and vicissitude of 265 their greatness, and must obey the swing of that wheel, not moved by Intelligences, but by the hand of God, whereby all Estates arise to their Zenith and Vertical SIR THOMAS BROWNE 25 points according to their predestinated periods. For the lives, not only of men, but of Commonwealths, and the 270 whole World, run not upon a Helix that still enlargeth, but on a Circle, where, arriving to their Meridian, they decline in obscurity, and fall under the Horizon again. ***** Now for that other Virtue of Charity, without which Faith is a meer notion, and of no existence, I have ever 275 endeavoured to nourish the merciful disposition and humane inclination I borrowed from my Parents, and regulate it to the written and prescribed Laws of Charity. And if I hold the true Anatomy of my self, I am delineated and naturally framed to such a piece of virtue; 280 for I am of a constitution so general, that it consorts and sympathiseth with all things. I have no Antipathy, or rather Idiosyncrasie, in dyet, humour, air, any thing. I wonder not at the French, for their dishes of Frogs, Snails and Toadstools, nor at the Jews for Locusts and 285 Grasshoppers ; but being amongst them, make them my common Viands, and I find they agree with my Stomach as well as theirs. I could digest a Salad gathered in a Church-yard, as well as in a Garden. I cannot start at the presence of a Serpent, Scorpion, Lizard, or Sala- 290 mander : at the sight of a Toad or Viper, I find in me no desire to take up a stone to destroy them. I feel not in my self those common Antipathies that I can discover in others : those National repugnances do not touch me, nor do I behold with prejudice the French, Italian, Spaniard, 295 or Dutch : but where I find their actions in balance with my Countrymen's, I honour, love, and embrace them in the same degree. I was born in the eighth Climate, but seem for to be framed and constellated unto all. I am no Plant that will not prosper out of a Garden. All 300 places, all airs, make unto me one Countrey; I am in England every where, and under any Meridian. I have 6 THE MILTON EPOCH been ship wrackt, yet am not enemy with the Sea or Winds ; I can study, play, or sleep in a Tempest. In brief, I am averse from nothing : my Conscience would 305 give me the lye if I should say I absolutely detest or hate any essence but the Devil ; or so at least abhor any thing, but that we might come to composition. If there be any among those common objects of hatred I do contemn and laugh at, it is that great enemy of Reason, Virtue and 310 Religion, the Multitude : that numerous piece of mon- strosity, which, taken asunder, seem men, and the reason- able creatures of God ; but, confused together, make but one great beast, and a monstrosity more prodigious than Hydra. It is no breach of Charity to call these FooU ; it 315 is the style all holy Writers have afforded them, set down by Solomon in Canonical Scripture, and a point of our Faith to believe so. Neither in the name of Multitude do I onely include the base and minor sort of people ; there is a rabble even amongst the Gentry, a sort of 320 Plebeian heads, whose fancy moves with the same wheel as these ; men in the same Level with Mechanick, though their fortunes do somewhat guild their infirmities, and their purses compound for their follies. But as, in cast- ing account, three or four men together come short in 325 account of one man placed by himself below them; so neither are a troop of these ignorant Doradoes of that true esteem and value, as many a forlorn person, whose con- dition doth place him below their feet. Let us speak like Politicians : there is a Nobility without Heraldry, a 330 natural dignity, whereby one man is ranked with another, another filed before him* according to the quality of his Desert and preheminence of his good parts. Though the corruption of these times and the byas of present practice wheel another way, thus it was in the first and primitive 335 Commonwealths, and is yet in the integrity and Cradle gf well-order'd Polities, till corruption getteth ground; SIR THOMAS BROWNE 27 ruder desires labouring after that which wiser considera- tions contemn, every one having a liberty to amass and heap up riches, and they a licence or faculty to do or 340 purchase any thing. (ii.) URN-BURIAL. To be nameless in worthy deeds, exceeds an infamous history, The Canaanitish woman lives more happily without a name, than Herodias with one. And who had not rather been the good thief than Pilate ? But the iniquity of oblivion blindly scattereth her 5 poppy, and deals with the memory of men without dis- tinction to merit or perpetuity. Who can but pity the founder of the pyramids? Herostratus lives that burnt the temple of Diana, he is almost lost that built it. Time hath spared the epitaph of Adrian's horse, con- 10 founded that of himself. In vain we compute our felicities by the advantage of our good names, since bad have equal durations, and Thersites is like to live as long as Agamemnon. Who knows whether the best of men be known, or whether there be not more remarkable ^5 persons forgot, than any that stand remembered in the known account of time 1 Without the favour of the ever- lasting register, the first man had been as unknown as the last, and Methuselah's long life had been his only chronicle. 20 Oblivion is not to be hired. The greater part must be content to be as though they had not been, to be found in the register of God, not in the record of man. Twenty- seven names make up the first story, and the recorded names ever since contain not one living century. The 25 number of the dead long exceedeth all that shall live. The night of time far surpasseth the day, and who knows when was the equinox 1 Every hour adds unto that 28 THE MILTON EPOCH current arithmetick, which scarce stands one moment. And since death must be the Lucina of life, and even 30 Pagans could doubt, whether thus to live were to die; since our longest sun sets at right descensions, and makes but winter arches, and therefore it cannot be long before we lie down in darkness, and have our light in ashes; since the brother of death daily haunts us with 35 dying mementos, and time that grows old in itself, bids us hope no longer duration ; diuturnity is a dream and folly of expectation. Darkness and light divide the course of time, and oblivion shares with memory a great part even of our 40 living beings ; we slightly remember our felicities, and the smartest strokes of affliction leave but short smart upon us. Sense endureth no extremities, and sorrows destroy us or themselves. To weep into stones are fables. Afflictions induce callosities \ miseries are slippery, or fall 45 like snow upon us, which notwithstanding is no unhappy stupidity. To be ignorant of evils to come, and forgetful of evils past, is a merciful provision in nature, whereby we digest the mixture of our few and evil days, and, our delivered senses not relapsing into cutting remembrances, 50 our sorrows are not kept raw by the edge of repetitions. A great part of antiquity contented their hopes of sub- sistency with a transmigration of their souls, a good way to continue their memories, while having the ad- vantage of plural successions, they could not but act 55 something remarkable in such variety of beings, and enjoying the fame of their passed selves, make accumula- tion of glory unto their last durations. Others, rather than be lost in the uncomfortable night of nothing, were content to recede into the common being, and make one 60 particle of the public soul of all things, which was no more than to return into their unknown and divine original again. Egyptian ingenuity was more unsatisfied, GEORGE HERBERT 29 contriving their bodies in sweet consistencies, to attend the return of their souls. But all was vanity, feeding the 65 wind, and folly. The Egyptian mummies, which Cam- by ses or time hath spared, avarice now consumeth. Mummy is become merchandise, Mizraim cures wounds, and Pharaoh is sold for balsams. II. GEORGE HERBERT. THE PULLEY. WHEN God at first made man, Having a glass of blessings standing by ; Let us, said He, pour on him all we can, Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie, Contract into a spanne. 5 So strength first made a way ; Then beautie flow'd, then wisdom, honoure, pleasure : When almost all was out, God made a staye, Perceiving that alone of all his treasure Rest at the bottom laye. 10 For if I should, said he, Bestowe this jewel also on my creature, He would adore my gifts instead of me And rest in Nature, not the God of nature, So both should losers be. 15 Yet let him keepe the rest, But keepe them with repining restlessness, Let him be rich and wearie, that at least If goodness lead him not, yet weariness May toss him to my breast. 20 30 THE MILTON EPOCH III. MILTON. COMUS. A MASK PRESENTED AT LUDLOW CASTLE, 1634. The First Scene discovers a wild wood. The attendant Spirit descends or enters. BEFORE the starry threshold of Jows 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, 5 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 enthroned gods on sainted seats. Yet some there be that by due steps aspire To lay their just hands on that Golden Key That opes the Palace of Eternity : To such my errand is, and but for such, 1 5 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, MILTON 31 Which he to grace his tributary gods By course commits to several government, 25 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 this 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 his fair off-spring nurs't in princely lore, Are coming to attend their father's state 35 And new-entrusted Sceptre, but their way Lies through the perplex't paths of this drear wood, The nodding horror of whose shady brows Threats the forlorn and wand'ring passenger. And here their tender age might suffer peril, 40 But that by quick command from Sovereign Jove I was dispatcht for their defence, and guard ; And listen why, for I will tell ye now What never yet was heard in tale or song From old or modern bard in hall or bow'r. 45 Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape Crush't the sweet poison of mis-used 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 ? Whose charmed cup Whoever tasted, lost his upright shape, And downward fell into a groveling swine) This Nymph that gaz'd upon his clustring locks, With ivy berries wreath'd, and his blithe youth, 55 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, 32 THE MILTON EPOCH 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 embowr'd, Excels his mother at her mighty art, OfFring to every weary traveller, His orient liquor in a crystal glass, To quench the drouth of Phoebus, which as they taste (For most do taste through fond intemperate thirst) Soon as the potion works, their human countenance, Th' express resemblance of the gods, is chang'd Into some brutish form of wolf, or bear, Or ounce, or tiger, hog, or bearded goat, All other parts remaining as they were, And they, so perfect is their misery, Not once perceive their foul disfigurement, But boast themselves more comely than before And all their friends, and native home forget To roll with pleasure in a sensual sty. Therefore when any favoured of high Jove Chances to pass through this adventurous glade, Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star, I shoot from Heav'n to give him safe convoy, 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 Of this occasion. But I hear the tread Of hateful steps . I must be viewless now, MILTON 33 . 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 glistring, they come in making a riotous and unruly noise, with Torches in their hands. Comus. The star that bids the shepherd fold, Now the top of Heav'n doth hold, And the gilded car of Day, 95 His glowing axle doth allay In the steep Atlantic stream, And the slope Sun his upward beam Shoots against the dusky pole, Pacing toward the other goal 100 Of his chamber in the East. Meanwhile welcome Joy and Feast, Midnight shout and revelry, Tipsy dance and Jollity. Braid your locks with rosy twine 105 Dropping odours, dropping wine. Eigour now is gone to bed, And Advice with scrupulous head, Strict Age and sour Severity, With their grave saws in slumber lie. no 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 115 Now to the Moon in wavering Morrice move And on the tawny sands and shelves, Trip the pert Fairies and the dapper Elves ; By dimpled brook and fountain brim, The Wood-Nymphs deckt with daisies trim, 120 Their merry wakes and pastimes keep : What hath night to do with sleep 1 3 34 THE MILTON EPOCH Night hath better sweets to prove, Venus now wakes, and wak'ns Love. Come let us our rights begin, 125 ; Tis only day-light that makes sin Which these dun shades will ne'er report. Hail Goddess of nocturnal sport Dark-veild Coiytto, t' whom the secret flame Of mid-night torches burns ; mysterious Dame 130 That ne'er art call'd, but when the dragon womb Of Stygian darkness spets her thickest gloom, And makes one blot of all the air, Stay thy cloudy ebon chair, Wherein thou rid'st with Hecat?, and befriend 135 Us thy vow'd Priests, till utmost end Of all thy dues be done, and none left out, Ere the blabbing eastern scout, The nice Morn, on th' Indian steep From her cabin'd loop-hole peep, 140 And to the tell-tale Sun descry Our conceal'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, 145 Of some chaste footing near about this ground. Run to your shrouds, within these brakes and trees, Our number may affright : some virgin sure (For so I can distinguish by mine art) Benighted in these woods. Now to my charms, 150 And to my wily trains, I shall ere long Be well stock't with as fair a herd as graz'd About my mother Circe. Thus I hurl My dazzling spells into the spongy air, Of power to cheat the eye with blear illusion, 155 And give it false presentments, lest the place MILTON 35 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, 160 And well plac't words of glozing courtesy Baited with reasons not unplausible Wind me into the easy -hearted man, And hug him into snares. When once her eye Hath met the virtue of this magic dust, 1 65 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. Lady. This way the noise was, if mine ear be true, 170 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 unlettered hinds, When for their teeming flocks, and granges full 175 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 tangl'd 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 185 To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit As the kind hospitable woods provide. They left me then, when the gray-hooded Ev ? n Like a sad votarist in palmer's weed 32 36 THE MILTON EPOCH Rose from the hindmost wheels of Plwebus' wain. 190 But where they are, and why they came not back, Is now the labour of my thoughts. 'Tis likeliest They had engag'd their wand'ring steps too far, And envious darkness, ere they could return, Had stole them from me. Else O thievish Night 195 Why shouldst thou, but for some felonious end, In thy dark lantern thus close up the stars, That nature hung in Heav'n, and fill'd their lamps With everlasting oil, to give due light To the misled and lonely Traveller 1 200 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 might this be ? A thousand fantasies 205 Begin to throng into my memory Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire, And airy tongues, that syllable men's names On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses. These thoughts may startle well, but not astound 210 The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended By a strong siding champion Conscience. welcome pure ey'd Faith, white-handed Hope, Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings, And thou unblemish't form of Chastity, 215 1 see ye visibly, and now believe That he, the Supreme Good, t' whom all things ill Are but as slavish officers of vengeance, Would send a glist'ring 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 1 I did not err, there does a sable cloud Turn forth her silver lining; on the night, MILTON 37 And casts a gleam over this tufted grove. 225 I cannot hallo to my brothers, but Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest Til venture, for my new enliv'nd spirits Prompt me ; and they perhaps are not far off. SONG. Sweet Echo, sweetest Nymph, that liv'st unseen 230 Within thy airy shell By slow Meander's margent grew, 4nd in the violet-embroider 'd vale Where the love-lorn Nightingale Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well : 235 Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair That likest thy Narcissus are ? if thou have Hid them in some fl&w'ry cave, Tell me but where 240 Sweet Queen of Parley, Daughter of the Sphere, So matfst thou be translated to the skies, And give resounding grace to all Heav'n's harmonies. Com. 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 hidd'n residence ; How sweetly did they float upon the wings Of silence, through the empty- vaulted night 250 At every fall smoothing the raven down Of darkness till it smiPd : I have oft heard My mother Circe with the Sirens three, Amid'st the flow'ry-kirtl'd Naiades Culling their Potent herbs, and bale ? ul drugs, 255 Who as they sung, would take the prison'd soul, 38 THE MILTON EPOCH And lap it in Elysium, Scylla wept, And chid her barking waves into attention,. And fell Charybdis murmur J d soft applause : Yet they in pleasing slumber lull'd the sense, 260 And in sweet madness robb'd it of itself, But such a sacred, and home-felt delight, Such sober certainty of waking bliss I never heard till now. I'll speak to her And she shall be my queen. Hail foreign wonder 265 Whom certain these rough shades did never breed Unless the Goddess that in rural shrine Dwell'st here with Pan, or Silvan, by blest song Forbidding every bleak unkindly fog To touch the prosperous growth of this tall wood. 270 La. Nay, gentle Shepherd, ill is lost that praise That is addrest to unattending ears, Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift How to regain my sever'd company CompelPd me to awake the courteous Echo 275 To give me answer from her mossy couch. Co. What chance, good Lady, hath bereft you thus ? La. Dim darkness, and this leafy labyrinth. Co. Could that divide you from near-ushering guides 1 La. They left me weary on a grassy turf. 280 Co. By falsehood, or discourtesy, or why ? La. To seek i' the valley some cool friendly spring. Co. And left your fair side all unguarded, Lady ? La. They were but twain, and purposed quick return. Co. Perhaps forestalling night prevented them. 285 La. How easy my misfortune is to hit ! Co. Imports their loss, beside the present need ? La. No less than if I should my brothers lose. Co. Were they of manly prime, or youthful bloom ? La. As smooth as Hebe's their unrazor'd lips. 290 Co. Two such I saw, what time the laboured ox MILTON 39 In his loose traces from the furrow came, And the swink't hedger at his supper sate ; I saw them under a green mantling vine That crawls along the side of yon small hill, 295 Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots ; 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' th' plighted clouds. I was awe-struck, And as I past, I worshipt : if those you seek, It were a journey like the path to Heav'n, To help you find them. La. Gentle villager What readiest way would bring me to that place ? 305 Co. Due west it rises from this shrubby point. La. 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. 310 Co. 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 attendance be yet lodg'd, 3 1 5 Or shroud within these limits, I shall know Ere morrow wake, or the low-roosted lark From her thatch't pallet rouse, if otherwise I can conduct you, Lady, to a low But loyal cottage, where you may be safe 320 Till further quest. La. 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 40 THE MILTON EPOCH And 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. Enter the two Brothers. Elder Brother. Unmuffle, ye faint stars, and thou fair Moon That wontst to love the travellers, benison, 332 Stoop thy pale visage through an amber cloud, And disinherit Chaos, that reigns here In double night of darkness, and of shades ; Or if your influence be quite damm'd up 336 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, 340 And thou shalt be our star of Arcady, Or Tyrian Cynosure. Second Brother. 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, 350 Where may she wander now, whether betake her From the chill dew, amongst rude burrs and thistles ? 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. MILTON 41 Or while we speak within the direful grasp Of savage hunger, or of savage heat ? Eld. Bro. Peace, brother, be not over- exquisite To cast the fashion of uncertain evils ; 360 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 unprincipl'd 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) 370 Could stir the constant mood of her calm thoughts, And put them into mis-becoming 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 375 Oft seeks to sweet retired Solitude, Where with her best nurse Contemplation She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings That in the various bustle of resort Were all to-ruffTd, and sometimes impaired. 380 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. 2. Bro. 'Tis most true 385 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, 390 42 THE MILTON EPOCH His few books, or his beads, or maple dish, Or do his gray hairs any violence 1 But beauty like the fair Hesperian tree Laden with blooming gold, had need the guard Of dragon watch with unenchanted eye, 395 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 miser's treasure by an outlaw's den, And tell me it is safe, as bid me hope 400 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. Eld. Bro. 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 410 Does arbitrate th > 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. 2. Bro. What hidden strength, Unless the strength of Heav'n, if you mean that ? Eld. Bro. I mean that too, but yet a hidden strength Which if Heav'n gave it, may be term'd her own : 'Tis chastity, my brother, chastity : 420 She that has that, is clad in complete steel, And like a quiver'd nymph with arrows keen May trace huge forests, and unharbour'd heaths, MILTON 43 Infamous hills, and sandy perilous wilds, Where, through the sacred rays of Chastity, 425 No savage fierce, bandit, 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't majesty, 430 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 meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost, That breaks his magic chains at cur feu time, 435 No goblin, or swart faery of the mine, 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 ? 440 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 445 Fear'd her stern frown, and she was queen o' th' 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, 450 And noble grace that dash't brute violence With sudden adoration, and blank awe. So dear to Heav'n is saintly Chastity, That when a soul is found sincerely so, A thousand liveried Angels lackey her, 455 Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, And in clear dream and solemn vision Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear, 44 THE MILTON EPOCH Till oft converse with heav'nly habitants Begin to cast a beam on th' outward shape, 460 The unpolluted temple of the mind, And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence, Till all be made immortal : but when lust By unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk, But most by lewd and lavish act of sin, 465 Lets in defilement to the inward parts, The soul grows clotted by contagion, Imbodies, and imbrutes, till she quite lose The divine property of her first being, Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp 470 Oft seen in charnel vaults, and sepulchres Lingering, and sitting by a new-made grave, As loth to leave the body that it lov'd, And link't itself by carnal sensuality To a degenerate and degraded state. 475 2. Era. How charming is divine Philosophy ! Not harsh, and crabbed as dull fools suppose, But musical as is Apollo's lute, And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets, Where no crude surfeit reigns. Eld. Bro. List, list, I hear 480 Some far-off hallo break the silent air. 2. Bro. Methought so too ; what should it be ] Eld. Bro. For certain Either some one like us night founder'd here, Or else some neighbour wood-man, or at worst, Some roving robber calling to his fellows. 485 2. Bro. Heav'n keep my sister ! Again, again, and near ! Best draw, and stand upon our guard. Eld. Bro. I'll hallo. If he be friendly, he comes well, if not, Defence is a good cause, and Heav'n be for us. MILTON 45 Enter the attendant Spirit habited like a shepherd. That hallo I should know, what are you ? speak ; 490 Come not too near, you fall on iron stakes else. Spir. What voice is that, my young Lord ? speak again. 2. Bro. O brother, 'tis my father's shepherd sure. Eld. Bro. Thyrsis ? Whose artful strains have oft delay'd The huddling brook to hear his madrigal, 495 And sweeten'd every musk-rose of the dale, How cam'st thou here, good swain 1 hath any ram Slip't from the fold, or young kid lost his dam, Or straggling wether the pent flock forsook ? How couldst thou find this dark sequester'd nook ? 500 Spir. my lov'd master's heir, and his next joy, I came not here on such a trivial toy As a stray'd ewe, or to pursue the stealth Of pilfering wolf, not all the fleecy wealth That doth enrich these downs, is worth a thought 505 To this my errand, and the care it brought. But my virgin Lady, where is she ? How chance she is not in your company 1 Eld. Bro. To tell thee sadly, Shepherd, without blame, Or our neglect, we lost her as we came. 510 Spir. Ay me unhappy ! then my fears are true. Eld. Bro. What fears, good Thyrsis ? Pry thee briefly shew. Spir. I'll tell ye, 'tis not vain or fabulous, (Though so esteem 'd by shallow ignorance) What the sage Poets taught by th' heav'nly Muse, 515 Storied of old in high immortal verse Of dire Chimeras and enchanted isles, And rifted rocks whose entrance leads to hell, For such there be, but unbelief is blind. Within the navel of this hideous wood, 520 Immur'd in cypress shades a sorcerer dwells Of Bacchus and of Circe born, great Comus, Deep skill'd in all his mother's witcheries, 46 THE MILTON EPOCH And here to -every thirsty wanderer, By sly enticement gives his baneful cup, 525 With many murmurs mixt, 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' th' hilly crofts, That brow this bottom glade, whence night by night He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl Like stabl'd wolves, or tigers at their prey, Doing abhorred rites to Hecate 535 In their obscured haunts of inmost bowers. Yet have they many baits, and guileful spells To inveigle and invite th' unwary sense Of them that pass unweeting by the way. This evening late by then the chewing flocks 540 Had ta'en their supper on the savoury herb Of knot-grass dew-besprent, and were in fold, I sate me down to watch upon a bank With ivy canopied, and interwove With flaunting honeysuckle, and began 545 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 filPd the air with barbarous dissonance, 550 At which I ceas't, 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 555 Rose like a stream of rich aistill'd perfumes, And stole upon the air, that even Silence Was took ere she was ware, and wish't she might MILTON 47 Deny her nature, and be never more, Still to be so displac't. I was all ear, 560 And took in strains that might create a soul Under the ribs of Death, but 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, 565 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 oft'n trod by day, Till guided by mine ear I found the place 570 Where that damn'd wizard 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't prey, Who gently ask't if he had seen such two, 575 Supposing him some neighbour villager ; Longer I durst not stay, but soon I guesst Ye were the two she meant, with that I sprung Into swift flight, till I had found you here, But further know I not. 2. Bro. O night and shades, 580 How are ye join'd with hell in triple knot Against th' unarmed weakness of one virgin Alone, and helpless ! Is this the confidence You gave me, Brother ? Eld. Bro. Yes, and keep it still, Lean on it safely, not a period 585 Shall be unsaid for me : 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, 48 THE MILTON EPOCH 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 settl'd to itself 565 It shall be in eternal restless change Self-fed, and self-consumed, if this fail, The pillar'd firmament is rottenness, And earth's base built on stubble. But, come, let's on. Against th' opposing will and arm of Heav'n 600 May never this just sword be lifted up, But for that damn'd magician, let him be girt With all the grisly legions that troop Under the sooty flag of Acheron, Harpies and Hydras, or all the monstrous forms 605 Twixt Africa and Ind, I'll find him out, And force him to restore his purchase back, Or drag him by the curls, to a foul death, Curs'd as his life. S} And you a statue ; or as Daphne was Root-bound, that fled Apollo. La. Fool, do not boast. Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind With all thy charms, although this corporal rind Thou hast immanacPd, while Heav'n sees good. 665 Co. Why are you vext, 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 670 Brisk as the April buds in primrose-season. And first behold this cordial julep here That flames, and dances in his crystal bounds With spirits of balm, and fragrant syrups mixt. Not that Nepenthes which the wife of Thone, 675 In Egypt gave to /0t>e-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 received on other terms, Scorning the unexempt condition 685 By which all mortal frailty must subsist, Refreshment after toil, ease after pain, MILTON 51 That have been tir'd all day without repast, And timely rest have wanted, but, fair Virgin, This will restore all soon. La. 'Twill not, false traitor, 690 Twill not restore the truth and honesty That thou hast banish't from thy tongue with lies. Was this the cottage, and the safe abode Thou told'st me of ? What grim aspects are these, These oughly-headed Monsters ? Mercy guard me ! 695 Hence with thy brew'd enchantments, foul deceiver, Hast thou betray'd my credulous innocence With visor'd falshood, 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 \pould 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-go vern'd and wise appetite. 705 Co. O foolishness of men ! that lend their ears To those budge doctors of the Stoic fur, And fetch their precepts from the Cynic tub, Praising the lean and sallow Abstinence. Wherefore did Nature pour her bounties forth, 710 With such a full and unwithdrawing hand, Covering the earth with odours, fruits, and flocks, Thronging the seas with spawn innumerable, But all to please, and sate the curious taste ? And set to work millions of spinning worms, 715 That in their green shops weave the smooth-haired silk To deck her sons, and that no corner might Be vacant of her plenty, in her own loins She huteh't th' all-worshipt ore, and precious gems To store her children with ; if all the world 720 Should in a pet of temperance feed on pulse, 42 52 THE MILTON EPOCH Drink the clear stream, and nothing wear but frieze, Th' All-giver would be unthank't, would be unprais'd, Not half his riches known, and yet despis'd, And we should serve him as a grudging master, 725 As a penurious niggard of his wealth, And live like Nature's bastards, not her sons, Who would be quite surcharged with her own weight, And strangled with her waste fertility ; Th' earth cumber'd, and the wing'd air dark't with plumes, The herds would over-multitude their lords, 731 The sea o'erfraught would swell, and th 'unsought diamonds Would so emblaze the forehead of the deep, And so bestud with stars, that they below Would grow inur'd to light, and come at last 735 To gaze upon the sun with shameless brows. List, Lady, be not coy, and be not cozen'd With that same vaunted name Virginity. Beauty is nature's coin, must not be hoarded, But must be current, and the good thereof 740 Consists in mutual and partak'n bliss, Unsavoury in th' enjoyment of itself. If you let slip time, like a neglected rose It withers on the stalk with languish't head. Beauty is nature's brag, and must be shown 745 In courts, at feasts, and high solemnities Where most may wonder at the workmanship ; It is for homely features to keep home, They had their name thence ; coarse complexions And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply 750 The sampler, and to teaze the housewife's wool. What need a vermeil-tinctured lip for that Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the morn 1 There was another meaning in these gifts, Think what, and be advis'd, you are but young yet. 755 La I had not thought to have unlockt my lips MILTON 53 In this unhallow'd air, but that this juggler Would think to charm my judgment, as mine eyes, Obtruding false rules prankt in reason's garb. I hate when vice can bolt her arguments, 760 And virtue has no tongue to check her pride : Impostor ! do not charge most innocent Nature, As if she would her children should be riotous With her abundance. She, good cateress Means her provision only to the good 765 That live according to her sober laws, And holy 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 770 Now heaps upon some few with vast excess, Nature's full blessings would be well dispens't In unsuperfluous even proportion, And she no whit encumbered with her store, And then the giver would be better thank't, 775 His praise due paid. For swinish gluttony Ne'er looks to Heav'n amidst his gorgeous feast, But with besotted base ingratitude Crams, and blasphemes his feeder. Shall I go on ? Or have I said enough 1 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 ear nor soul to apprehend The sublime notion and high mystery 785 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 790 That hath so well been taught her dazzling fence, 54 THE MILTON EPOCH Thou art not fit to hear thyself convinc't ; Yet should I try, the uncontrolled worth Of this pure cause would kindle my rapt spirits To such a flame of sacred vehemence, 795 That dumb things would be mov'd to sympathise, 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. Co. She fables not, I feel that I do fear 800 Her words set off by some superior power ; And though not mortal, yet a cold shudd'ring dew Dips m6 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, 805 And try her yet more strongly. Come, no more, This 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 ; 8 1 o 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 wake sign o/ resistance, but are all driven in; The attendant SPIRIT comes in. Spir. What, have you let the false enchanter scape ? O ye mistook, ye should have snatcht his wand 8 1 5 And bound him fast ; without his rod revers't, And backward mutters of dissevering power, We cannot free the Lady that sits here In stony fetters fixt, and motionless ; Yet stay, be not disturbed, now I bethink me, 820 Some, other means I have, which may be us'd ? MILTON 55 Which once of Meliboeus old I learnt The soothest Shepherd that ere pip't on plains. There is a gentle Nymph not far from hence, That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream, 825 Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure, Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine, That had the Sceptre from his father Brute. The guiltless damsel flying the mad pursuit Of her enraged stepdam Guendolen, 830 Commended her fair innocence to the flood That stay'd 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, 835 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 845 That the shrewd meddling Elf 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 850 Of pansies, pinks, and gaudy daffodils. And, as the old swain said, she can unlock The clasping charm, and thaw the numbing spell, If she be right invok't in warbled song, For maidenhood she loves, and will be swift 855 To aid a virgin, such as was her self 56 THE MILTON EPOCH In hard besetting need, this will I try And add the power of some adjuring verse. SONG. Sabrina fair, Listen where thou art sitting 860 Under the glassy, cool, translucent waw; In twisted braids of lilies knitting The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair, Listen for dear honours sake, Goddess of the silver lake, 865 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 wi sard's hook, By scaly Triton's winding shell, And old sooth-saying Glaucus' spell, By Leucothea's lovely hands, 875 And her son that rules the strands, By Thetis' tinsel-slipper'd feet, And the Songs of Sirens sweet, By dead Parthenope's dear tomb, And fair Ligea's golden comb, 880 Wherewith she sits on diamond rocks 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 885 From thy coral- pav'n bed, And bridle in thy headlong wave, Till thou our summons answered have. Listen and save ! MILTON 57 SABRINA rises, attended by Water-Nymphs, and sings. By the rushy-fringed bank, 890 Where grows the willow and the osier dank, My sliding chariot stays, Thick set with agate, and the azurn sheen Of turkis blue, and Em'rald green That In the channel strays, 895 Whilst from off the waters fleet Thus I set my printkss feet O'er the cowslip's velvet head, That bends not as I tread, Gentle swain, at thy request, 900 / am here. Spir. Goddess dear, We implore thy powerful hand To undo the charmed band Of true Virgin here distrest, 905 Through the force, and through the wile Of unblest enchanter vile. Sab. Shepherd, 'tis my office best To help ensnared chastity ; Brightest Lady, look on me, 910 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, 915 Next this marble venom 'd seat Smear'd with gums of glutinous beat I touch with chaste palms moist and cold, Now the spell hath lost his hold ; And I must haste ere morning hour 920 To wait in Amphitrites bow'r. 58 THE MILTON EPOCH SABRINA descends, and the LADY rises out of her seat. Spir. Virgin, daughter of Locrine, Sprung of old Anchise's line, May thy brimmed waves for tnis Their full tribute never miss 925 From a thousand petty rills, That tumble down the snowy hills : Summer drouth, or singed air Never scorch thy tresses fair, Nor wet Octobers torrent flood 930 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, 935 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 940 With some other new device. Not a waste, or needless sound Till we come to holier ground, I shall be your faithful guide Through this gloomy covert wide, 945 And not many furlongs thence Is your father's residence, Where this night are met in state Many a friend to gratulate His wish't presence, and beside 950 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 ; 955 MILTON 59 Come, let us haste, the stars grow high, But night sits monarch yet in the mid sky. The Scene changes, presenting Ludlow Town and the President's Castle ; then come in COUNTRY-DANCERS, after them the attendant SPIRIT, with the two BROTHERS and the LADY. SONG. Spir. Back, Shepherds, back, enough your play, Till next sunshine holiday, Here be without duck or nod 960 Other trippings to be trod Of lighter toes, and such court guise As Mercury did first devise With the mincing Dryades On the Lawns, and on the Leas. 965 This second Song presents them to their father and mother. Noble Lord, and Lady bright, I have brought ye new delight, Here behold so goodly grown Three fair branches of your own, Heav'n hath timely trid their youth, 970 Their faith, their patience, and their truth. And sent them here through hard assays With a crown of deathless praise, To triumph in victorious dance O'er sensual folly, and intemperance. 975 The dances ended, the SPIRIT epiloguizes. Spir. To the Ocean now I fly, And those happy climes that lie Where day never shuts his eye, Up in the broad fields of the sky : There I suck the liquid air 980 AH amidst the Gardens fajr 60 THE MILTON EPOCH Of Hesperus, and his daughters three That sing about the golden tree : Along the crisped shades and bowers Revels the spruce and jocund Spring, 985 The Graces, and the rosie-bosom'd Hours, Thither all their bounties bring, That there eternal Summer dwells, And West winds, with musky wing About the cedarn alleys fling 990 Nard, and Cassia's balmy smells. Iris there with humid bow, Waters the odorous banks that blow Flowers of more mingled hue Than her purfl'd scarf can shew, 995 And drenches with Elysian dew (List mortals, if your ears be true) Beds of Hyacinth, and roses Where young Adonis oft reposes, Waxing well of his deep wound 1000 In slumber soft, and on the ground Sadly sits th' Assyrian Queen ; But far above in spangled sheen Celestial Cupid, her fam'd son, advanc't, Holds his dear Psyche sweet intranc't 1005 After her wand'ring labours long, Till free consent the gods among Make her his eternal Bride, And from her fair unspotted side Two blissful twins are to be born, 1010 Youth and Joy ; so Jove hath sworn. But now my task is smoothly done, I can fly, or I can run Quickly to the green earth's end, Where the bow'd welkin slow doth bend, 1015 MILTON 61 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 then the Sphery chime ; Or if Virtue feeble were, Heav'n itself would stoop to her. IV. MILTON. PARADISE LOST. (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 ending, 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 open- ing, they leap down with horror 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 unpursu'd Through Heav'n's wide champaign held his way, till Morn Wak't 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, 5 Where light and darkness in perpetual round Lodge and dislodge by turns, which makes through Heav'n Grateful vicissitude, like day and night ; Light issues forth, and at the other door 62 THE MILTON EPOCH Obsequious darkness enters, till her hour 10 To veil the Heav'n, though darkness there might well Seem twilight here ; and now went forth the morn, Such as in highest Heav'n, array'd in gold Empyreal ; from before her vanisht night, Shot through with orient beams : when all the plain 1 5 Cover'd with thick embattled squadrons bright, Chariots and flaming arms, and fiery steeds Reflecting blaze on blaze, first met his view : War he pereeiv'd, war in procinct, and found Already known what he for news had thought 20 To have reported : gladly then he mixt Among those friendly Powers who him received With joy and acclamations loud, that one That of so many myriads fall'n, yet one Returned not lost : on to the sacred hill 25 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 fought The better fight, who single hast maintained 30 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 35 To stand approved 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 returi? Than scorn'd thou didst depart, and to subdue 40 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, Midiael, of celestial armies prince, MILTON 68 And thou in military prowess next 45 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 50 Fearless assault, and to the brow of Heav'n 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. 55 So spake the sovran voice, and clouds began To darken all the hill, and smoke to roll In dusky wreaths reluctant flames, the sign Of wrath awak't : nor with less dread the loud Ethereal trumpet from on high gan blow : 60 At which command the powers militant, That stood for Heav'n, 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 65 Heroic ardour to advent'rous 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 divides 70 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 summon'd over Eden to receive 75 Their names of thee ; so over many a tract Of Heav'n they march'd, and many a province wide Tenfold the length of this terrene : at last Far in th' horizon to the north appear'd 64 THE MILTON EPOCH From skirt to skirt a fiery region, stretcht 80 In battailous aspect, and nearer view Bristl'd with upright beams innumerable Of rigid spears, and helmets throng'd, and shields Various, with boastful Argument portray 'd, The banded powers of Satan hasting on 85 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 90 In the mid way : though strange to us it seem'd 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 95 Hymning th' 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 Th 1 apostate in his Sun-bright Chariot sate 100 Idol of majesty divine, enclosed With flaming cherubim, and golden shields ; Then lighted from his gorgeous throne, for now 'Twixt Host and Host but narrow space was left, A dreadful interval, and front to front 105 Presented stood in terrible array Of hideous length : before the cloudy van, On the rough edge of battle ere it join'd, Satan with vast and haughty strides advane't, Came tow'ring, ann'd in adamant and gold ; no Abdiel that sight endur'd not, where he stood Among the mightiest, bent on highest deeds, And thus his own undaunted heart explores. Heav'n ! that such resemblance of the Highest MILTON 65 Should yet remain, where faith and realty 1 15 Remain not ; wherefore should not strength and might There fail where virtue fails, or weakest prove Where boldest ; though to sight unconquerable 1 His puissance, trusting in th' Almighty's aid, I mean to try, whose reason I have tri'd 120 Unsound and false ; nor is it aught but just, That he who in debate of truth hath won, Should win in arms, in both disputes alike Victor ; though brutish that contest and foul, When reason hath to deal with force, yet so 125 Most reason is that reason overcome. So pondering, and from his armed peers Forth stepping opposite, half-way he met His daring foe, at this prevention more Incens't, and thus securely him defi'd. 130 Proud, art thou met ? thy hope was to have reacht The height of thy aspiring unoppos'd, The throne of God unguarded, and his side Abandoned at the terror of thy power Or potent tongue ; fool, not to think how vain 135 Against th' Omnipotent to rise in arms ; Who out of smallest things could without end Have rais'd incessant armies to defeat Thy folly ; or with solitary hand Reaching beyond all limit, at one blow 140 Unaided could have finisht thee, and whelm'd Thy legions under darkness ; but thou seest All are not of thy train ; there be who faith Prefer, and piety to God, though then To thee not visible, when I alone 145 Seemed in thy world erroneous to dissent From all : my sect thou seest, now learn too late How few sometimes may know, when thousands err, Whom the grand foe, with scornful eye askance, 5 66 THE MILTON EPOCH Thus answer'd. Ill for thee, but in wisht hour 150 Of my revenge, first sought for thou return'st From flight, seditious Angel, to receive Thy merited reward, the first assay Of this right hand provok't, since first that tongue Inspired with contradiction durst oppose 155 A third part of the gods, in synod met Their deities to assert, who while they feel Vigour divine within them, can allow Omnipotence to none. But well thou comst Before thy fellows, ambitious to win 160 From me some plume, that thy success may show Destruction to the rest : this pause between (Unanswer'd lest thou boast) to let thee know ; At first I thought that liberty and Heav'n To heav'nly souls had been all one ; but now 165 I see that most through sloth had rather serve, Minist'ring spirits, trained up in feast and song ; Such hast thou arm'd, the minstrelsy of Heav'n, Servility with freedom to contend, As both their deeds compar'd this day shall prove. 170 To whom in brief thus Abdiel stern repli'd. Apostate still thou err'st, nor end wilt find Of erring, from the path of truth remote : Unjustly thou deprav'st it with the name Of Servitude to serve whom God ordains, 175 Or Nature ; God and Nature bid the same, When he who rules is worthiest, and excels Them whom he governs. This is servitude, To serve th' unwise, or him who hath rebell'd Against his worthier, as thine now serve thee, 180 Thy self not free, but to thy self enthralPd ; Yet lewdly dar'st our minist'ring upbraid. Eeign thou in hell thy kingdom, let me serve In Heav'n God ever blest, and his divine MILTON 67 Behests obey, worthiest to be obey'd, 185 Yet chains in hell, not realms expect : meanwhile 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 190 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 recoil'd ; the tenth on bended knee His massy spear upstaid ; as if on earth 195 Winds under ground or waters forcing way Sidelong, had pusht a mountain from his seat Half sunk with all his pines. Amazement seiz'd The rebel thrones, but greater rage to see Thus foil'd their mightiest : ours joy fill'd, and shout, 200 Presage of victory and fierce desire Of battle : whereat Michael bid sound Th' arch-angel trumpet ; through the vast of heav'n It sounded, and the faithful armies rung Hosanna to the Highest : nor stood at gaze 205 The adverse legions, nor less hideous join'd The horrid shock : now storming fury rose, And clamour such as heard in Heav'n till now Was never, arms on armour clashing bray'd Horrible discord, and the madding wheels 210 Of brazen chariots rag'd ; dire was the noise Of conflict ; over head the dismal hiss Of fiery darts in flaming volleys flew, And flying vaulted either host with fire. So under fiery cope together rush'd 215 Both battles main, with ruinous assault And inextinguishable rage ; all Heav'n Eesounded, and had earth been then, all earth Had to her centre shook. What wonder ? when 52 68 THE MILTON EPOCH Millions of fierce encountering angels fought 220 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, 225 Though not destroy, their happy native seat ; Had not th' Eternal King omnipotent From his strong hold of Heav'n high over-rul'd And limited their might ; though numbered such As each divided legion might have seem'd 230 A numerous host, in strength each armed hand A legion ; led in fight, yet leader seem'd Each warrior single as in chief, expert When to advance or stand, or turn the sway Of battle, open when, and when to close 235 The ridges of grim war ; no thought of flight^ None of retreat, no unbecoming deed That argu'd fear ; each on himself reli'd, As only in his arm the moment lay Of victory ; deeds of eternal fame 240 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 fire : long time in even scale 245 The battle hung ; till Satan, who that day Prodigious power had shewn, 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 250 Squadrons at once, with huge two-handed sway Brandisht aloft the horrid edge came down Wide wasting ; such destruction to withstand He hasted, and oppos'd the rocky orb MILTON 69 Of tenfold adamant, his ample shield 255 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 Heav'n, the arch foe subdu'd Or captive dragg'd in chains, with hostile frown 260 And visage all enflam'd first thus began. Author of evil, unknown till thy revolt, Unnam'd in Heav'n, now plenteous, as thou seest These acts of hateful strife, hateful to all, Though heaviest by just measure on thy self 265 And thy adherents : how hast thou disturb'd Heav'n'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 270 And faithful, now prov'd false. But think not here To trouble holy rest ; Heav'n casts thee out From all her confines. Heav'n the seat of bliss Brooks not the works of violence and war. Hence then, and evil go with thee along 275 Thy offspring, to the place of evil, hell, Thou and thy wicked crew ; there mingle broils, Ere this avenging sword begin thy doom, Or some more sudden vengeance wing'd from God Precipitate thee with augmented pain. 280 So spake the Prince of Angels ; to whom thus The Adversary. Nor think thou with wind Of airy threats to aw6 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 285 Unvanquisht, easier to transact with me That thou shouldst hope, imperious, and with threats To chase me hence *? err not that so shall end The strife which thou call'st evil, but we style 70 THE MILTON EPOCH The strife of Glory : which we mean to win, 290 Or turn this Heav'n 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. 295 They ended parle, and both addrest 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 300 Of godlike power : for likest gods they seemed, Stood they or mov'd, in stature, motion, arms, Fit to decide the empire of great Heav'n. Now wav'd thir fiery swords, and in the air Made horrid circles ; two broad suns their shields 305 Blaz'd opposite, while expectation stood In horror ; from each hand with speed retired Where erst was thickest fight, th' angelic throng And left large field unsafe within the wind Of such commotion ; such as, to set forth 310 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. 3 1 5 Together both, with next to almightie 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 320 Of Michael from the armoury of God Was giv'n him tempered so, that neither keen Nor solid might resist that edge : it met The sword of Satan with steep force to smite MILTON 71 Descending, and in half cut sheer, nor stay'd, 325 But with swift wheel reverse, deep entering shar'd All his right side ; then Satan first knew pain, And writh'd him to and fro convolved ; so sore The griding sword with discontinuous wound Pass'd through him, but th' ethereal substance clos'd 330 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, erewhile so bright. Forthwith on all sides to his aid was run 335 By angels many and strong, who interposed Defence, while others bore him on their shields Back to his chariot ; where it stood retired From off the files of war : there they him laid Gnashing for anguish and despite and shame 340 To find himself not matchless, and his pride Humbl'd 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 345 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, 350 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, 355 And with fierce ensigns pierc'd the deep array Of Moloch, furious King, who him defi'd, And at his Chariot wheels to drag him bound Threaten'd, nor from the Holy One of Heav'n 72 THE MILTON EPOCH Refrain'd his tongue blasphemous ; but anon 360 Down clov'n to the waist, with shattered 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, Vanquished Adramdech> and Asmodai, 365 Two potent thrones, that to be less than gods Disdain'd, but meaner thoughts learn'd in their flight, MangPd with gastly wounds through plate and mail. Nor stood unmindful Abdiel to annoy The Atheist crew, but with redoubl'd blow 370 Ariel and Arioc, and the violence Of Ramiel scorcht and blasted overthrew. I might relate of thousands, and their names Eternise here on earth ; but those elect Angels contented with their fame in Heav'n 375 Seek not the praise of men ; the other sort In might though wondrous and in acts of war Nor of renown less eager, yet by doom CanceFd from Heav'n and sacred memory, Nameless in dark oblivion let them dwell. 380 For strength from truth divided and from just, Illaudable, naught merits but dispraise And ignominy, yet to glory aspires Vainglorious, and through infamy seeks fame : Therefore Eternal silence be their doom. 385 And now their mightiest quell'd, the battle swerv'd, 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 overturn'd 390 And fiery foaming steeds ; what stood, recoil'd Overwearied, through the faint satanic host Defensive scarce, or with pale fear surprised, Then first with fear surprised and sense of pain MILTON 73 Fled ignominious, to such evil brought 395 By sin of disobedience, till that hour Not liable to fear or flight or pain. Far otherwise th' inviolable saints In cubic phalanx firm advanc't entire, Invulnerable, impenetrably arm'd : 400 Such high advantages their innocence Gave them above their foes, not to have sinn'd, Not to have disobey 'd ; in fight they stood Unwearied, unobnoxious to be pain'd By wound, though from their place by violence mov'd. 405 Now Night her course began, and over Heav'n Inducing darkness, grateful truce impos'd, And silence on the odious din of war : Under her cloudy covert both retired, Victor and vanquisht : on the foughten field 410 Michael and his Angels prevalent Encamping, plac'd in guard their watches round, Cherubic waving fires : on th' other part Satan with his rebellious disappear'd, Far in the dark dislodg'd, and void of rest, 415 His potentates to council call'd by night ; And in the midst thus undismay'd began. O now in danger tri'd, now known in arms Not to be overpowered, companions dear, Found worthy not of liberty alone, 420 Too mean pretence, but what we more affect Honour, dominion, glory, and renown, Who have sustain'd one day in doubtful fight, (And if one day, why not eternal days ?) What Heaven's Lord had powerfullest to send 425 Against us from about his throne, and judg'd Sufficient to subdue us to his will, But proves not so : then fallible, it seems, Of future we may deem him, though till now 74 THE MILTON EPOCH Omniscient thought. True is, less firmly arm'd, 430 Some disadvantage we endur'd and pain, Till now not known, but known, as soon contemn'd, Since now we find this our empyreal form Incapable of mortal injury, Imperishable, and though pierc'd with wound, 455 Soon closing, and by native vigour heal'd. Of evil then so small as easy think The remedy ; perhaps more valid arms, Weapons more violent, when next we meet, May serve to better us, and worse our foes, 440 Or equal what between us made the odds, In nature none : if other hidden cause Left them superior, while we can preserve Unhurt our minds, and understanding sound, Due search and consultation will disclose. 445 He sat ; and in th 7 assembly next upstood Nisroch, of Principalities the prime ; As one he stood escap't from cruel fight, Sore toil'd, his riv'n arms to havoc hewn, And cloudy in aspect thus answering spake : 450 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 455 Ruin must needs ensue ; for what avails Valour or strength, though matchless, quell'd with pain Which all subdues, and makes remiss the hands Of mightiest. Sense of pleasure we may well Spare out of life perhaps, and not repine, 460 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 MILTON 75 With what more forcible we may offend 465 Our yet unwounded enemies, or arm Our selves with like defence, to me deserves No less than for deliverance what we owe. Whereto with look composed Satan replied. Not uninvented that, which thou aright 470 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 Heav'n, adorn'd With plant, fruit, flower ambrosial, gems and gold, 475 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 toucht With Heaven's ray, and temper'd they shoot forth 480 So beauteous, op'ning to the ambient light 1 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 th' other bore with touch of fire 485 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 disarmed 490 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 despaired. 495 He ended, and his words their drooping cheer Enlightn'd, and their languisht hope revived. Th 7 invention all admir'd, and each, how he To be th' inventer miss'd, so easy it seem'd 76 THE MILTON EPOCH Once found, which yet unfound most would have thought 500 Impossible : yet haply of thy race In future days, if malice should abound, Some one intent on mischief, or inspired With dev'lish machination might devise Like instrument to plague the sons of men 505 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 510 Th' originals of nature in their crude Conception ; sulphurous and nitrous foam They found, they mingl'd, and with subtle art, Concocted and adusted they redue'd To blackest grain, and into store convey'd : 515 Part hidd'n 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. 520 So all ere day-spring, under conscious night Secret they finished, and in order set, With silent circumspection unespi'd. Now when fair morn orient in Heav'n appeared Up rose the victor angels, and to arms 525 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, 530 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 MILTON 77 Zophiel, of Cherubim the swiftest wing, 535 Came flying, and in mid air aloud thus cri'd. 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 thick a cloud He comes, and settl'd in his face I see 540 Sad resolution and secure : let each His adamantine coat gird well, and each Fit well his helm, grip fast his orbed shield, Borne even or high, for this day will pour down, If I conjecture aught, no drizzling show'r, 545 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 move embattled ; when, behold ! 550 Not distant far, with heavy pace the foe Approaching gross and huge ; in hollow cube Training his devilish enginry, impal'd On every side with shadowing squadrons deep, To hide the fraud. At interview both stood 555 A while, but suddenly at head appeared 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 560 Stand ready to receive them, if they like Our overture, and turn not back perverse ; But that I doubt, however witness Heaven, Heav'n witness thou anon, while we discharge Freely our part : ye who appointed stand 565 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 78 THE MILTON EPOCH Divided, and to either flank retir'd. 570 Which to our eyes discovered 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) 575 Brass, iron, stony mould, had not their mouths With hideous orifice gap't on us wide, Portending hollow truce ; at each behind A Seraph stood, and in his hand a reed Stood waving tipt with fire ; while we, suspense, 580 Collected stood within our thoughts amus'd, Not long, for Budden all at once their reeds Put forth, and to a narrow vent appli'd With nicest touch. Immediate in a flame, But soon obscur'd with smoke, all Heav'n appear'd, 585 From those deep-throated engines belcht, whose roar Embowelled with outrageous noise the air, And all her entrails tore, disgorging foul Their devilish glut, chain J d thunderbolts and hail Of iron globes, which on the victor host 590 Level'd, with such impetuous fury smote, That whom they hit, none on their feet might stand, Though standing else as rocks, but down they fell By thousands, angel on arch-angel roll'd ; The sooner for their arms, unarm'd they might 595 Have easily as spirits evaded swift By quick contraction or remove ; but now Foul dissipation followed and f orc't rout ; Nor serv'd it to relax their serried files. What should they do? if on they rusht, repulse 34 ; 600 Repeated, and indecent overthrow DoubPd, would render them yet more despis'd, And to their foes a laughter ; for in view Stood rankt of Seraphim another row MILTON 79 In posture to displode their second tier 605 Of thunder : back defeated to return They worse abhorr'd. Satan beheld their plight, And to his mates thus in derision call'd. O Friends, why come not on these victors proud ? Ere while they fierce were coming, and when we, 610 To entertain them fair with open front And breast, (what could we more ?) propounded 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'd 615 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 mood. 620 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 stumbl'd many, who receives them right. Had need from head to foot well understand ; 625 Not understood, this gift they have besides, They shew 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 630 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 A while in trouble ; but they stood not long, Rage prompted them at length, and found them arms 635 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 80 THE MILTON EPOCH (For earth hath this variety from Heav'n 640 Of pleasure situate in hill and dale) Light as the lightning-glimpse they ran, they flew, From their foundations loos'ning to and fro They pluckt the seated hills with all their load, Rocks, waters, woods, and by the shaggy tops 645 Uplifting bore them in their hands. Amaze, Be sure, and terror seized the rebel host, When coming towards them so dread they saw The bottom of the mountains upward turn'd, Till on those cursed engines' triple row 650 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 opprest whole legions arm'd, 655 Their armour help'd their harm, crusht in and bruis'd 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, 660 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 encountered hills HuiTd to and fro with jaculation dire, 665 That under ground they fought in dismal shade ; Infernal noise ; war seem'd a civil game To this uproar ; horrid confusion heapt Upon confusion rose : and now all Heav'n Had gone to wrack, with ruin overspread, 670 Had not th' Almighty Father where he sits Shrin'd in his Sanctuary of Heav'n secure, Consulting on the sum of things, foreseen This tumult, and permitted all, advis'd : MILTON 81 That his great purpose he might so fulfil, 675 To honour his Anointed Son aveng'd Upon his enemies, and to declare All power on him transferred : whence to his Son Th' assessor of his throne he thus began. Effulgence of my Glory, Son belov'd, 680 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 Heav'n, 685 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, 690 Save what sin hath impaired, which yet hath wrought 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, 695 And to disordered rage let loose the reins, With mountains as with weapons arm'd, which makes Wild work in Heav'n, and dangerous to the main. Two days are therefore past, the third is thine ; For thee I have ordain'd it, and thus far 700 Have sufier'd, that the glory may be thine Of ending this great war, since none but Thou Can end it. Into thee such virtue and grace Immense I have transfus'd, that all ma> know In Heav'n and Hell thy power above compare, 705 And this perverse commotion governed thus, To manifest thee worthiest to be Heir Of all things, to be Heir and to be King By sacred unction, thy deserved right. 82 THE MILTON EPOCH Go then thou Mightiest in thy Father's might, 710 Ascend my chariot, guide the rapid wheels That shake Heav'n's basis, bring forth all iny war, My bow and thunder, my almighty arms Gird on, and sword upon thy puissant thigh ; Pursue these sons of Darkness, drive them out 715 From all HeavVs bounds into the utter deep : There let them learn, as likes them, to despise God and Messiah his anointed King. He said, and on his Son with rays direct Shone full, he all his Father full exprest 720 Ineffably into his face received, And thus the filial Godhead answering spake. O Father, Supreme of heav'nly Thrones, First, Highest, Holiest, Best, thou always seek'st To glorify thy Son, I always thee, 725 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, 730 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 terrors, as I put thy mildness on, 735 Image of thee in all things ; and shall soon, Arm'd with thy might, rid heav'n of these rebelFd To their prepar'd ill mansion driven down To chains of darkness, and th' undying worm, That from thy just obedience could revolt, 740 Whom to obey is happiness entire. Then shall thy Saints unmixt, and from th' impure Far separate, circling thy holy mount Unfeigned Halleluiahs to thee sing, MILTON 83 Hymns of high praise, and I among them chief. 745 So said, he o'er his sceptre bowing, rose From the right hand of glory where he sate, And the third sacred morn began to shine Dawning through Heav'n : forth rush'd with whirl-wind sound The chariot of paternal Deity, 750 Flashing thick flames, wheel within wheel undrawn, Itself instinct with Spirit, but convoy'd By four Cherubic shapes : four faces each Had wondrous, as with stars their -bodies all And wings were set with eyes, with eyes the wheels 755 Of beryl, and careering fires between ; Over their heads a crystal firmament, Whereon a Sapphire throne, inlaid with pure Amber, and colours of the show'ry arch. He in celestial panoply all arm'd 760 Of radiant Urim, work divinely wrought, Ascended, at his right hand Victory Sate eagle-wing'd, beside him hung his bow And quiver with three-bolted thunder stor'd, And from about him fierce effusion rolPd 765 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 : 770 He on the wings of Cherub rode sublime On the crystalline sky, in sapphire thron'd. Illustrious far and wide, but by his own First seen, them unexpected joy surpris'd, When the great ensign of Messiah blaz'd 775 Aloft by Angels born, his sign in Heav'n : Under whose conduct Michael soon reduced His army, circumfus'd on either wing, Under their head embodied all in one. 62 84 THE MILTON EPOCH Before him Power Divine his way prepared ; 780 At his command the uprooted hills retir'd Each to his place, they heard his voice and went Obsequious, Heav'n his wonted face renewed, And with fresh flow'rets hill and valley smil'd. This saw his hapless foes, but stood obdur'd, 785 And to rebellious fight rallied their powers Insensate, hope conceiving from despair. In heav'nly Spirits could such perverseness dwell ] But to convince the proud what signs avail, Or wonders move th* obdurate to relent ? 790 They hard'nd more by what might most reclaim, Grieving to see his glory, at the sight Took envy, and aspiring to his height, Stood re-embattl'd fierce, by force or fraud Weening to prosper, and at length prevail 795 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. 800 Stand still in bright array ye Saints, here stand Ye Angels arm'd, this 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 805 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 810 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, t' whom in Heav'n supreme MILTON 85 Kingdom and Power and Glory appertains, 815 Hath honoured me according to his will. Therefore to me their doom he hath assigned ; 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 820 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 terror chang'd His count'nance too severe to be beheld 825 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. 830 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 835 Grasping ten thousand thunders, which he sent Before him, such as in their souls infix'd Plagues ; they astonisht all resistance lost, All courage ; down their idle weapons dropp'd ; O'er shields and helms, and helmed heads he rode 840 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, 845 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 86 THE MILTON EPOCH Among th' accurst, that wither'd all their strength, 850 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 Heav'n : 855 The overthrown he rais'd, and as a herd Of goats or timorous flocks together throng'd Drove them before him thunder-struck, pursu'd With terrors and with furies to the 'bounds And crystal wall of Heav'n, which op'ning wide, 860 Eoll'd inward, and a spacious gap disclos'd Into the wasteful deep ; the monstrous sight Struck them with horror backward, but far worse Urg'd them behind ; headlong themselves they threw Down from the verge of Heav'n, eternal wrath 865 Burnt after them to the bottomless pit. Hell heard th' unsufferable noise, Hell saw Heav'n ruining from Heav'n, and would have fled Affrighted ; but strict Fate had cast too deep Her dark foundations, and too fast had bound. 870 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 received them whole, and on them clos'd, 875 Hell their fit habitation fraught with fire Unquenchable, the house of woe and pain. Disburd'nd Heav'n rejoic'd, and soon repair'd Her mural breach, returning whence it roll'd. Sole victor from th' expulsion of his foes 880 Messiah his triumphal chariot turn'd : To meet him all his Saints, who silent stood Eye witnesses of his almighty acts, With jubilee $c[vanc'd ; and as they went, MILTON 87 Shaded with branching palm, each order bright, 885 Sung triumph, and him sung Victorious King,. Son, Heir, and Lord, to him dominion giv'n, Worthiest to reign : he celebrated rode Triumphant through mid Heav'n, into the courts And temple of his mighty Father thron'd 890 On high ; who into Glory him receiv'd, Where now he sits at the right hand of bliss. Thus measuring things in Heav'n by things on earth At thy request, and that thou mayst beware By what is past, to thee I have reveal'd 895 What might have else to human race been hid : The discord which befell, and war in Heav'n Among th' Angelic Powers, and the deep fall Of those too high aspiring, who rebell'd With Satan, he who envies now thy state, 900 Who now is plotting how he may seduce Thee also from obedience, that with him Bereav'd of happiness thou mayst partake His punishment, eternal misery ; Which would be all his solace and revenge, 905 As a despite done against the most High, Thee once to gain companion of his woe. But list'n not to his temptations, warn Thy weaker ; let it profit thee to have heard By terrible example the reward 910 Of disobedience ; firm they might have stood, Yet fell ; remember, and fear to transgress. 88 THE MILTON EPOCH V. MILTON. SAMSON BLIND. 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 ; 5 Why am I thus bereav'd thy prime decree 1 The Sun to me is dark And silent as the Moon, When she deserts the night Hid in her vacant interlunar cave. 10 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 th' eye confin'd? 15 So obvious and so easy to be quench 't, And not as feeling through all parts diffus'd, That she might look at will through every pore 1 Then had I not been thus exiPd from light ; As in the land of darkness yet in light, 20 To live a life half dead, a living death, And buried ; but yet more miserable ; Myself, my Sepulchre, a moving grave, Buried, yet not exempt By privilege of death and burial 25 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. 30 MILTON 89 VI. MILTON. ON SHAKESPEAR (1630). WHAT needs my Shakespear for his honour'd Bones, The labour of an age in piled stones, Or that his hallow'd reliques should be hid Under a Star-ypointing Pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of Fame, 5 What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name ? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a live-long Monument. For whilst to th' shame of slow-endeavouring art, Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart 10 Hath from the leaves of thy unvalu'd book, Those Delphic lines with deep impression took, Then thou our fancy of itself bereaving, Dost make us marble with too much conceiving ; And so sepulchred in such pomp dost lie, 15 That kings for such a tomb would wish to die. VII MILTON. SONNETS. (i.) WRITTEN ON HIS DOOR WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED TO THE CITY. CAPTAIN or Colonel, or Knight in Arms, Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize, If ever deed of honour did thee please, Guard them, and him within protect from harms, 90 THE MILTON EPOCH He can requite thee, for he knows the charms That call Fame on such gentle acts as these, And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas, Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms. Lift not thy spear against the Muse's Bower, The great JEmathian Conqueror bid spare The house of Pindarus, when Temple and Tower Went to the ground : and the repeated air Of sad Electrons Poet had the power To save th' Atkenim Walls from ruin bare. (ii.) ON TETKACHOKDON. A Book was writ of late caird Tetrachordon ; And wov'n close, both matter, form and style ; The subject new : it walk'd the town a while, Numb'ring good intellects ; now seldom por'd on. Cries the stall-reader, bless us ! what a word on 5 A title page is this ! and some in file Stand spelling false, while one might walk to Mile- End Green. Why is it harder, Sirs, than Gordon, Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or Galasp ? Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek 10 That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp. Thy age, like ours, O Soul of Sir John Cheek, Hated not Learning worse than toad or asp ; When thou taught'st Cambridge and King Edward Greek. (iii.) ON HIS BLINDNESS. When I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide, Jxxlg'd with me useless, though my soul more MILTON 91 To serve therewith my Maker, and present 5 My true account, lest he returning chide. Doth God exact day-labour, light denied, I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies : God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts : who best 10 Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state Is kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed And post o'er land and ocean without rest : They also serve who only stand and wait. (iv.) ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT. Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold, Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old When all our Fathers worshipt stocks and stones, Forget not : in thy book record their groans 5 Who were thy sheep and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piemontese that rolPd Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills, and they To Heav'n. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow 10 O'er all th' Italian fields where still doth sway The triple Tyrant : that from these may grow A hundred-fold, who having learnt thy way Early may fly the Babylonian woe. VIII. ROBERT HERRICK. (i.) THE CHEAT OF CUPID : OR, THE UNGENTLE GUEST. ONE silent night of late, When every creature rested, Came one unto my gate, And knocking, me molested. 92 THE MILTON EPOCH Who's that (said I) beats there, 5 And troubles thus the sleepie ? Cast off (said he) all feare, And let not Locks thus keep ye. For I a Boy am, who By Moonlesse nights have swerved 10 And all with showrs wet through, And e'en with cold half starved. I pitifull arose, And soon a Taper lighted ; And did my selfe disclose 15 Unto the lad benighted. I saw he had a Bow, And Wings too, which did shiver. And looking down below, I spy'd he had a Quiver. 20 I to my Chimney's shine Brought him (as Love professes) And chaf'd his hands with mine, And dry'd his dropping Tresses. But when he felt him warm'd, 25 Let's try this bow of ours, And string, if they be harm'd, Said he, with these late showrs. Forthwith his bow he bent, And wedded string and arrow, 30 And struck me that it went Quite through my heart and marrow. Then laughing loud, he flew Away, and thus said flying, Adieu mine Host, Adieu, 35 lie leave thy heart a dying. ROBERT HERRICK 93 (ii.) DIVINATION BY A DAFFADILL. When a Daffadill I see, Hanging down his head t' wards me Guesse I may, what I must be : First, I shall decline my head ; Secondly, I shall be dead ; 5 Lastly, safely buryed. (Ui.) HIS POETRIE HIS PILLAE. Onely a little more I have to write Then Tie give o're And bid the world Good-night. 'Tis but a flying minute, 5 That I must stay, Or linger in it ; And then I must away. O time that cut'st down all ! And scarce leav'st here 10 Memoriall Of any men that were. How many lye forgot In Vaults beneath 1 And piece-meale rot 15 Without a fame in death ? Behold this living stone, I reare for me, Ne'r to be thrown Downe, envious Time, by thee. 20 Pillars let some set up, (If so they please) Here is my hope, And my Pyramided. 94 THE MILTON EPOCH (iv.) COMFORT TO A YOUTH THAT HAD LOST HIS LOVE. What needs complaints, When she a place Has with the race Of Saints'? In endlesse mirth, 5 She thinks not on What's said or done In earth : She sees no teares, Or any tone 10 Of thy deep grone She heares : Nor do's she minde, Or think on't now, That ever thou 15 Wast kind. But chang'd above, She likes not there, As she did here, Thy Love. 20 Forbeare therefore, And lull asleepe v/-*. Thy woes, and weep No more. (v.) TO PRIMROSES FILL'D WITH MORNING DEW. Why doe ye weep, sweet Babes 1 can Tears Speak griefe in you, Who were but borne Just as the modest Morne Teem'd her refreshing dew ? ROBERT HERRICK 95 Alas, you have not known that shower, That marres a flower ; Nor felt th' unkind Breath of a blasting wind ; Nor are ye worne with yeares ; 10 Or warpt, as we, Who think it strange to see, Such pretty flowers, (like to Orphans young,) To speak by Teares, before ye have a Tongue. Speak, whimpering Younglings, and make known 1 5 The reason, why Ye droop, and weep ; Is it for want of sleep 1 Or childish Lullabie ? Or that ye have not seen as yet 20 The Violet 1 Or brought a kisse From that Sweet-heart, to this 1 No, no, this sorrow shown By your teares shed, 25 Wo'd have this Lecture read : That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, Conceiv'd with grief are, and with teares brought forth. (viii.) THE PILLAK OF FAME. FAME'S pillar here, at last, we set, Out-during Marble, Brasse, or Jet, Charm'd and enchanted so, As to withstand the blow, Of overthrow, 5 Nor shall the seas, Or OUTRAGES Of storms orebear What we up-rear: Tho Kingdoms fal, 10 This pillar never shall Decline or waste at all ; But stand for ever by his owne Firme and well-fixt foundation. (ix.) FINIS. To his Book's end this last line he'd have plac't, Jocond his Muse was ; but his Life was chast. ROBERT HERRICK 97 (x.) GRACES FOR CHILDREN. What God gives, and what we take, Tis a gift for Christ His sake : Be the meale of Beanes and Pease, God be thank'd for those, and these : Have we flesh, or have we fish, 5 All are Fragments from His dish. He His Church save, and the King, And our Peace here, like a Spring, Make it ever flourishing. (xi.) ANOTHER GRACE FOR A CHILD. Here a little child I stand, Heaving up my either hand ; Cold as Paddocks though they be, Here I lift them up to Thee, For a Benizon to fall 5 On our meat, and on us all. Amen. (xii.) HIS PRAYER FOR ABSOLUTION For those my unbaptized Rhimes, Writ in my wild unhallowed Times ; For every sentence, clause, and word, That's not inlaid with Thee, (my Lord) Forgive me, God, and blot each Line 5 Out of my book that is not Thine. But if, 'mongst all, Thou find'st here. one Worthy thy Benediction ; That One of all the rest, shall be The Glory of my Work, and Me. i o (xiii.) GOD'S ANGER WITHOUT AFFECTION. God when He's angry here with any one, His wrath is free from perturbation ; And when we think His looks are soure and grim, The alteration is in us, not Hira. 7 98 THE MILTON EPOCH (xiv.) A THANKSGIVING TO GOD, FOR HIS HOUSE. Lord, Thou hast given me a cell Wherein to dwell ; A little house, whose humble Roof Is weather-proof ; Under the sparres of which I lie 5 Both soft, and drie ; Where Thou my chamber for to ward Hast set a Guard Of harmlesse thoughts, to watch and keep Me, while I sleep. 10 Low is my porch, as is my Fate, Both void of state ; And yet the threshold of my doore Is worn by th' poore, Who thither come and freely get 15 Good words, or meat : Like as my Parlour, so my Hall And Kitchin's small : A little Butterie, and therein A little Byn, 20 Which keeps my little loafe of Bread Unchipt, unflead : Some brittle sticks of Thome or Briar Make me a fire, Close by whose living coale I sit, 25 And glow like it. Lord, I confesse too, when I dine, The Pulse is Thine, And all those other Bits, that bee There plac'd by Thee ; 30 The Worts, the Purslain, and the Messe Of water-cresse, Which of Thy kindnesse Thou hast sent ; And my content EGBERT HERRICK 99 Makes those and my beloved Beet, 35 To be more sweet. Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering Hearth With guiltlesse mirth ; And giv'st me Wassaile Bowles to drink, Spic'd to the brink. 40 Lord, 'tis thy plenty -dropping hand, That soiles my land ; And giv'st me, for my Bushel sowne, Twice ten for one : Thou mak'st my teeming Hen to lay 45 Her egg each day : Besides my healthfull Ewes to beare Me twins each yeare : The while the conduits of my Kine Run Creame, (for Wine.) 50 All these, and better Thou dost send Me, to this end, That I should render, for my part, A thankful heart ; Which, fir'd with incense, I resigne 55 As wholly Thine ; But the acceptance, that must be, My Christ, by Thee. IX. GEORGE WITHER. THE AUTHOR'S RESOLUTION. SHALL I wasting in despair Die because a woman's fair ] Or make pale my cheeks with care 'Cause another's rosy are 1 7-2 100 THE MILTON EPOCH Be she fairer than the day, 5 Or the flowery meads in May, If she think not well of me, What care I how fair she be ? Shall my seely heart be pined 'Cause I see a woman kind? 10 Or a well-disposed nature Joined with a lovely feature ? Be she meeker, kinder than Turtle-dove or pelican, If she be not so to me, 15 What care I how kind she be ? Shall a woman's virtues move Me to perish for her love ? Or her well-deservings known Make me quite forget mine own 1 20 Be she with that goodness blest Which may merit name of best, If she be not such to me, What care I how good she be ? 'Cause her fortune seems too high, 25 Shall I play the fool and die ? She that bears a noble mind, If not outward helps she find, Thinks what with them he would do That without them dares her woo ; 30 And unless that mind I see What care I how great she be 1 Great, or good, or kind, or fair, I will ne'er the more despair : If she love me, this believe, 35 I will die, ere she shall grieve : HENRY KING 101 If she slight me when I woo I can scorn and let her go, For if she be not for me, What care I for whom she be ? 40 X. HENRY KING. THE DIRGE. WHAT is th' existence of man's life, But open war, or slumber'd strife ; Where sickness to his sense presents The combat of the elements ; And never feels a perfect peace 5 Till Death's cold hand signs his release t It is a storme, where the hot blood Outvies in rage the boiling flood ; And each loose passion of the minde Is like a furious gust of winde, 10 Which beats his bark with many a wave, Till he casts anchor in the grave. It is a flowre, which buds and grows, And withers as the leaves disclose ; Whose spring and fall faint seasons keep, 15 Like fits of waking before sleep ; Then shrinks into that fatal mould Where its first being was unroll'd. It is a dreame, whose seeming truth Is morahVd in age and youth ; 20 Where all the comforts he can share As wandering as his fancies are ; Till in a mist of dark decay, The dreamer vanish quite away. 102 THE MILTON EPOCH It is a dial, which points out 25 The sunset, as it moves about ; And shadows out in lines of night The subtle stages of time's flight ; Till all-obscuring earth hath laid The body in perpetual shade. 30 It is a wearie interlude, Which doth short joys, long woes include ; The world the stage, the prologue tears, The acts vain hope and varied fears ; The scene shuts up with loss of breath, 35 And leaves no epilogue but death. XI. SIR JOHN SUCKLING. THE INCONSTANT LOYER. OUT upon it, I have loved Three whole days together ! And am like to love three more If it prove fair weather. Time shall moult away his wings 5 Ere he shall discover In the whole wide world again Such a constant lover. But the spite on't is, no praise Is due at all to me : 10 Love with me had made no stays, Had it any been but she. Had it any been but she, And that very face, There had been at least ere this 15 A dozen dozen in her place. EICHAKD LOVELACE 103 XII. RICHARD LOVELACE. (i.) TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS. TELL me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, 5 The first foe in the field ; . And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore ; 10 I could not love thee, Dear, so much, Loved I not Honour more. (ii.) TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON. When Love with unconfine'd wings Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the grates ; When I lie tangled in her hair 5 And fetter'd to her eye The birds that wanton in the air Know no such liberty. When flowing cups run swiftly round With no allaying Thames, 10 Our careless heads with roses crown'd, Our hearts with loyal flames ; When thirsty grief in wine we steep, When healths and draughts go free Fishes that tipple in the deep 15 Know no such liberty. 104 THE MILTON EPOCH When, linnet-like confined, I With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty And glories of my King ; 20 When I shall voice aloud how good He is, how great should be, Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, Know no such liberty. Stone walls do not a prison make, 25 NOP iron bars a cage ; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage : If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, 30 Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty. XIII. THOMAS CAREW. (i.) SONG. ASK me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose ; For in your beauty's orient deep These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. Ask me no more whither do stray 5 The golden atoms of the day ; For in pure love heaven did prepare Those powders to enrich your hair. Ask me no more whither doth haste The nightingale when May is past ; 10 For in your sweet dividing throat She winters and keeps warm her note. THOMAS CAKEW 105 Ask me no more where those stars 'light That downwards fall in dead of night ; For in your eyes they sit, and there 15 Fixed become as in their sphere. Ask me no more if east or west The Phoenix builds her spicy nest ; For unto you at last she flies, And in your fragrant bosom dies. 20 (ii.) IN BLISS. Brave spirits whose adventurous feet Have to the mountain's top aspir'd, Where fair desert and honour meet : Here, from the toiling press retir'd, Secure from all disturbing evil, 5 For ever in my temple revel. With wreaths of stars circled about, Gild all the spacious firmament. And smiling on the panting rout That labour in the steep ascent, 10 With your resistless influence guide Of human change th' uncertain tide. XIV. RICHARD CRASHAW. THE WEEPER. HAIL, sister springs, Parent of silver-footed rills ! Ever bubbling things, Thawing crystal, snowy hills ! Still spending, never spent ; I mean Thy fair eyes, sweet Magdalene. 106 THE MILTON EPOCH Heavens thy fair eyes be ; Heavens of ever-falling stars ; 'Tis seed-time still with thee, And stars thou sow'st whose harvest dares 10 Promise the earth to countershine Whatever makes Heaven's forehead fine. Every morn from hence A brisk cherub something sips Whose soft influence 15 Adds sweetness to his sweetest lips ; Then to his music : and his song Tastes of this breakfast all day long. When some new bright guest Takes up among the stars a room, 20 And Heaven will make a feast, Angels with their bottles come, And draw from these full eyes of thine Their Master's water, their own wine. The dew no more will weep 25 The primrose's pale cheek to deck ; The dew no more will sleep Nuzzled in the lily's neck : Much rather would it tremble here, And leave them both to be thy tear. 30 When sorrow would be seen In her brightest majesty, For she is a Queen Then is she drest by none but thee : Then and only then she wears 35 Her richest pearls I mean thy tears RICHARD CRASHAW 107 Not in the evening's eyes, When they red with weeping are For the Sun that dies, Sits Sorrow with a face so fair. 40 Nowhere but here did ever meet Sweetness so sad, sadness so sweet. Does the night arise ? Still thy tears do fall and fall. Does night lose her eyes *? 45 Still the fountain weeps for all. Let day and night do what they will, Thou hast thy task, thou weepest still. Not So long she lived Will thy tomb report of thee ; 50 But So long she grieved : Thus must we date thy memory. Others by days, by months, by years, Measure their ages, thou by tears. Say, ye bright brothers, 55 The fugitive sons of those fair eyes, Your fruitful mothers, What make you here 1 What hopes can 'tice You to be born ? What cause can borrow You from those nests of noble sorrow ] 60 Whither away so fast 1 ? For sure the sordid earth Your sweetness cannot taste, Nor does the dust deserve your birth, Sweet, whither haste you then ? O say, 65 Why you trip so fast away 1 108 THE MILTON EPOCH We go not to seek The darlings of Aurora's bed, The rose's modest cheek, Nor the violet's humble head. 70 No such thing : we go to meet A worthier object our Lord's feet. XV. HENRY VAUGHAN. DEPARTED FRIENDS. THEY are all gone into the world of light ! And I alone sit lingering here ! Their very memory is faire and bright, And my sad thoughts doth clear. It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast 5 Like stars upon some gloomy grove, Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest After the Sun's remove. I see them walking in an air of glorie, Whose light doth trample on my days ; 10 My days, which are at best but dull and hoarie, Mere glimmering and decays. O holy Hope ! and high Humility ! High as the Heavens above ; These are your walks, and you have shew'd them me To kindle my cold love. 1 6 Dear, beauteous death ; the Jewel of the Just ! Shining nowhere but in the dark ; What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, Could man outlook that mark ! 20 HENKY VAUGHAN 109 He that hath found some fledg'd bird's nest may know At first sight if the bird be flown ; But what fair dell or grove he sings in now, That is to him unknown. And yet as Angels in some brighter dreams 25 Call to the soul when man doth sleepe, So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, And into glory peepe. If a star were confin'd into a tombe, Her captive flames must needs burn there ; 30 But when the hand that lockt her up gives roome She'll shine through all the spheare. O Father of eternal life, and all Created glories under thee ! Kesume thy spirit from this world of thrall 35 Into true libertie ! Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill My perspective still as they passe : Or else remove me hence unto that hill, Where I shall need no glasse. 40 XVI. JAMES SHIRLEY. DEATH THE LEVELLER. THE glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against Fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and Crown 5 Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 110 THE MILTON EPOCH Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill : But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow ; Then boast no more your mighty deeds ! Upon Death's purple altar now See where the victor-victim bleeds. Your heads must come To the cold tomb : Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in their dust. XVII. ANDREW MARVELL. THE GARDEN. How vainly men themselves amaze, To win the palm, the oak, or bays, And their incessant labours see Crowned from some single herb, or tree, Whose short and narrow-verged shade Does prudently their toils upbraid, While all the flowers, and trees, do close, To weave the garlands of repose ! Fair Quiet, have I found thee here, And Innocence, thy sister dear ? Mistaken long, I sought you then In busy companies of men. ANDREW MARYELL 111 Your sacred plants, if here below, Only among the plants will grow ; Society is all but rude 15 To this delicious solitude. Nor white nor red was ever seen So amorous as this lovely green. Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, Cut in these trees their mistress' name : 20 Little, alas ! they know or heed, How far these beauties her exceed ! Fair trees ! where'er your barks I wound, No name shall but your own be found. When we have run our passion's heat, 25 Love hither makes his best retreat. The gods, who mortal beauty chase, Still in a tree did end their race ; Apollo hunted Daphne so, Only that she might laurel grow ; 30 And Pan did after Syrinx speed, Not as a nymph, but for a reed. What wond'rous life is this I lead ! Ripe apples drop about my head ; The luscious clusters of the vine 35 Upon my mouth do crush their wine ; The nectarine and curious peach, Into my hands themselves do reach ; Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Insnared with flowers, I fall on grass. 4 Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less, Withdraws into its happiness ; The mind, that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find ; 112 THE MILTON EPOCH Yet it creates, transcending these, 45 Far other worlds, and other seas, Annihilating all that's made, To a green thought in a green shade. Here at the fountain's sliding foot, Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, 50 Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide : There, like a bird, it sits and sings, Then whets and claps its silver wings, And, till prepared for longer flight, 55 Waves in its plumes the various light. Such was that happy garden state, While man there walked without a mate : After a place so pure and sweet, What other help could yet be meet ! 5o But 'twas beyond a mortal's share To wander solitary there : Two paradises are in one, To live in Paradise alone. How well the skilful gardener drew 65 Of flow'rs, and herbs., this dial new, Where, from above, the milder sun Does through a fragrant zodiac run, And, as it works, the industrious bee Computes its time as well as we ! 70 How could such sweet and wholesome hours Be reckoned but with herbs and flowers ? BALLAD 113 XVIII. BALLAD. FAIR HELEN OF KIRCONNELL. I WISH I were where Helen lies, Night and day on me she cries, O that I were where Helen lies, On fair Kirconnell Lee ! Curst be the heart that thought the thought, 5 And curst the hand that fired the shot, When in my arms burd Helen dropt, And died to succour me. think na ye my heart was sair, When my love dropt down and spak nae mair, 10 There did she swoon wi' meikle care, On fair Kirconnell Lee. As I went down the water side, None but my foe to be my guide, None but my foe to be my guide, 15 On fair Kirconnell Lee. 1 lighted down, my sword did draw, I hacked him in pieces sma', I hacked him in pieces sma ; , For her sake that died for me. 20 O Helen fair, beyond compare, I'll make a garland of thy hair, Shall bind my heart for evennair, Untill the day I die. 114 THE MILTON EPOCH that I were where Helen lies, 25 Night and day on me she cries, Out of my bed she bids me rise, Says, " Haste, and come to me !" Helen fair ! Helen chaste ! If I were with thee I were blest, 30 Where thou lies low, and takes thy rest On fair Kirconnell Lee. 1 wish my grave were growing green, A winding-sheet drawn ower my e'en And I in Helen's arms lying 35 On fair Kirconnell Lee. I wish I were where Helen lies, Night and day on me she cries, And I am weary of the skies, For her sake that died for me. 40 XIX. IZAAK WALTON. THE COMPLEAT ANGLER. PISCATOR, VENATOR, PETER, CORIDON. PlSCATOR. My purpose was to give you some directions concerning ROACH and DACE, and some other inferior fish which make the angler excellent sport. For you know there is more pleasure in hunting the hare than in eating her : but I will forbear, at this time, to say IZAAK WALTON hs any more, because, you see, yonder come our brother Peter and honest Coridon. But I will promise you, that as you and I fish and walk to-morrow towards London, if I have now forgotten anything that I can then remem- ber, I will not keep it from you. 10 Well met, gentlemen ; this is lucky that we meet so, just together at this very door. Come, hostess, where are you ? is supper ready ? Come, first give us a drink ; and be as quick as you can, for I believe we are all very hungry. Well, brother Peter and Coridon, to you 15 both ! Come, drink : and then tell me what luck of fish. We two have caught but ten trouts, of which my scholar caught three. Look ! here's eight ; and a brace we gave away. We have had a most pleasant day for fishing and talking, and are returned home both weary and 20 hungry ; and now meat and rest will be pleasant. PETER. And Coridon and I have not had an un- pleasant day : and yet I have caught but five trouts ; for, indeed, we went to a good honest ale-house, and there we played at shovel-board half the day. All the 25 time that it rained we were there, and as merry as they that fished. And I am glad we are now with a dry house over our heads ; for, hark ! how it rains and blows. Come, hostess, give us more ale, and our supper with what haste you may : and when we have supped, let us 30 have your song, Piscator; and the catch that your scholar promised us, or else, Coridon will be dogged. PISCATOR. Nay, I will not be worse than my word; you shall not want my song, and I hope "I shall be perfect in it. 35 VENATOR. And I hope the like for my catch, which I have ready too : and therefore let's go merrily to supper, and then have a gentle touch at singing and drinking; but the last with moderation. CORIDON. Come, now for your song ; for we have 40 82 116 THE MILTON EPOCH fed heartily. Come, hostess, lay a few more sticks OP the fire. And now, sing when you will. PISCATOR. Well then, here's to you, Coridon ; and now for my song. the gallant Fisher's life, 45 It is the best of any ; Tis full of pleasure, void of strife, And 'tis beloved of many : Other joys Are but toys ; 50 Only this Lawful is ; For our skill Breeds no ill, But content and pleasure. 55 In a morning up we rise, Ere Aurora's peeping ; Drink a cup to wash our eyes ; Leave the sluggard sleeping : Then we go 60 To and fro, With our knacks At our backs, To such streams As the Thames, 65 If we have the leisure. When we please to walk abroad For our recreation, In the fields is our abode, Full of delectation : 70 Where in a brook : With a hook, Or a lake, Fish we take : There we sit, 75 For a bit, Till we fish entangle. We have gentles in a horn, We have paste and worms too ; We can watch both night and morn, 80 Suffer rain and storms too ; None do here Use to swear ; Oaths do fray Fish away ; 85 We sit still, And watch our quill ; Fishers must not wrangle. IZAAK WALTON 117 f If the sun's excessive heat Make our bodies swelter, 90 To an osier hedge we get For a friendly shelter ; Where, in a dike, Perch or Pike, Roach or Dace, 95 We do chase ; Bleak or Gudgeon, Without grudging ; We are still contented. Or we sometimes pass an hour 100 Under a green willow, That defends us from a shower, Making earth our pillow ; Where we may Think and pray 105 Stops our breath. Other joys Are but toys, And to be lamented. Io. CHALKHILL. VENATOR. Well sung, master ; this day's fortune and pleasure, and the night's company and song, do all make me more and more in love with angling. Gentlemen, my master left me alone for an hour this day; and I verily believe he retired himself from talking with me 115 that he might be so perfect in this song. Was it not, master 1 PISCATOR. Yes indeed, for it is many years since I learned it ; and having forgotten a part of it, I was forced to patch it up with the help of mine own invention, who 120 am not excellent at poetry, as my part of the song may testify ; but of that I will say no more, lest you should think I mean, by discommending it, to beg your com- mendations of it. And therefore, without replications, let's hear your catch, scholar; which I hope will be a 125 good one, for you are both musical and have a good fancy to boot, 118 THE MILTON EPOCH VENATOR. Marry, and that you shall ; and as freely as I would have my honest master tell me some more secrets of fish and fishing, as we walk and fish towards 130 London to-morrow. But, master, first let me tell you, that very hour which you were absent from me, I sat down under a willow tree by the water-side, and con- sidered what you had told me of the owner of that pleasant meadow in which you then left me ; that he had 135 a plentiful estate, and not a heart to think so ; that he had at this time many law-suits depending; and that they both damped his mirth, and took up so much of his time and thoughts, that he himself had not leisure to take the sweet content that I, who pretended no title to them, 140 took in his fields. For I could there sit quietly ; and looking on the water, see some fishes sport themselves in the silver streams, others leaping at flies of several shapes and colours ; looking on the hills, I could behold them spotted with woods and groves; looking down the 145 meadows, could see, here a boy gathering lilies and lady- smocks, and there a girl cropping culverkeys and cow- slips, all to make garlands suitable to this present month of May. These, and many other field flowers, so per- fumed the air, that I thought that very meadow like 150 that field in Sicily of which Diodorus speaks, where the perfumes arising from the place make all dogs that hunt in it to fall off, and to lose their hottest scent. I say, as I thus sat, joying in my own happy condition, and pitying this poor rich man that owned this and many 155 other pleasant groves and meadows about me, I did thankfully remember what my Saviour said, that the meek possess the earth ; or rather, they enjoy what the * others possess and enjoy not; for anglers and meek quiet-spirited men are free from those high, those rest- 160 less thoughts, which corrode the sweets of life; and they, and they only, can say, as the poet has happily exprest it IZAAK WALTON 119 Hail ! blest estate of lowliness ; Happy enjoyments of such minds As, rich in self-contentedness, 165 Can, like the reeds, in roughest winds, By yielding make that blow but small At which proud oaks and cedars fall. There came also into my mind at that time, certain verses in praise of a mean estate and humble mind: 170 they were written by Phineas Fletcher, an excellent divine, and an excellent angler; and the author of excellent Piscatory Eckgues, in which you shall see the picture of this good man's mind : and I wish mine to be like it. 175 No empty hopes, no courtly fears him fright ; No begging wants his middle fortune bite : But sweet content exiles both misery and spite. His certain life, that never can deceive him, Is full of thousand sweets, and rich content ; 180 The smooth-leav'd beeches in the field receive him, With coolest shade, till noon-tide's heat be spent. His life is neither tost in boisterous seas, Or the vexatious world, or lost in slothful ease ; Pleas'd and full blest he lives, when he his God can please. 185 His bed, more safe than soft, yields quiet sleeps, While by his side his faithful spouse has place ; His little son into his bosom creeps, The lively picture of his father's face. His humble house or poor state ne'er torment him ; 190 Less he could like, if less his God had lent him ; And when he dies, green turfs do for a tomb content him. Gentlemen, these were a part of the thoughts that then possessed me. And I there made a conversion of a piece of an old catch, and added more to it, fitting 195 them to be sung by us anglers. Come, Master, you can sing well : you must sing a part of it, as it is in this paper : Man's life is but vain ; for 'tis subject to pain, And sorrow, and short as a bubble ; 200 "Pis a hodge-podge of business, and money, and care, And care, and money, and trouble, 120 THE MILTON EPOCH But we'll take no care when the weather proves fair ; Nor will we vex now though it rain ; We'll banish all sorrow, and sing till to-morrow, 205 And angle, and angle again. PETER. I marry, Sir, this is music indeed; this has cheer'd my heart, and made me remember six verses in praise of music, which I will speak to you instantly. Music ! miraculous rhetoric, thou speak'st sense 210 Without a tongue, excelling eloquence ; With what ease might thy errors be excus'd, Wert thou as truly lov'd as th' art abus'd ! But though dull souls neglect, and some reprove thee, I cannot hate thee, 'cause the Angels love thee. 215 VENATOR. And the repetition of these last verses of music has called to my memory what Mr. Edmund Waller, a lover of the angle, says of love and music. Whilst I listen to thy voice, Chloris ! I feel my heart decay ; 220 That powerful voice Calls my fleeting soul away : Oh ! suppress that magic sound, Which destroys without a wound. Peace, Chloris ! peace, or singing die, 225 That together you and I To heaven may go ; For all we know Of what the blessed do above, Is, that they sing, and that they love. 230 PISCATOR. Well remembered, brother Peter! These verses came seasonably, and we thank you heartily. Come, we will all join together, my host and all, and sing my scholar's catch over again ; and then each man drink the t'other cup, and to bed ; and thank God we 235 have a dry house over our heads. PISCATOR. Well, now good-night to everybody. PETER. And so say I. VENATOR. And so say I. Good-night to you all ; and I thank you. 240 BALLAD 121 THE FIFTH DAY. PlSGATOR. Good-morrow, brother Peter, and the like to you, honest Coridon. Come, my hostess says there is seven shillings to pay : let's each man drink a pot for his morning's draught, and lay down his two shillings, so that my hostess may not 245 have occasion to repent herself of being so diligent, and using us so kindly. PETER. The motion is liked by everybody, and so, hostess, here's your money : we anglers are all beholden to you ; it will not be long ere I'll see you again. And 250 now, brother Piscator, I wish you, and my brother your scholar, a fair day and good fortune. Come, Coridon, this is our way. XX. BALLAD. THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON. THERE was a youth, and a well-belov'd youth, And he was a squire's son, He loved the bailiff's daughter dear, That lived in Islington. She was coy, and she would not believe 5 That he did love her so, No, nor at any time she would Any countenance to him show. But when his friends did understand His fond and foolish mind, 10 They sent him up to fair London, An apprentice for to bind, 122 THE MILTON EPOCH And when he had been seven long years, And his love he had not seen, " Many a tear have I shed for her sake 15 When she little thought of me." All the maids of Islington Went forth to sport and play ; All but the bailiff's daughter dear : She silently stole away. 20 She put off her gown of gray And put on her puggish attire ; She's up to fair London gone, Her true-love to require. As she went along the road, 25 The weather being hot and dry, There was she aware of her true-love, At length came riding by. She stept to him, as red as any rose, And took him by the bridle-ring : 30 " I pray you, kind sir, give me one penny, To ease my weary limb." " I prithee, sweetheart, canst thou tell me Where that thou wast born ?" " At Islington, kind sir," said she, 35 " Where I have had many a scorn." " I prithee, sweetheart, canst thou tell me Whether thou dost know The bailiff's daughter of Islington 1" " She's dead, sir, long ago." 40 " Then I will sell my goodly steed, My saddle and my bow ; I will into some far country, Where no man doth me kngw," BALLAD 123 " O stay, O stay, thou goodly youth ! 45 She's alive, she is not dead ; Here she standeth by thy side, And is ready to be thy bride." " O farewell grief and welcome joy, Ten thousand times and more ! 50 For now I have seen my own true love, That I thought I should have seen no more.' NOTES I.-SIR THOMAS BROWNE. (i.) RELIGIO MEDICI. FOR general information about the author, see the Introduction. Fully to appreciate the flowing melody of the style, this work should be read aloud. 3. icandal of my Profession. There was a saying about doctors Vbi tres medici duo athei. 38. the Person by whom. Some say Luther is meant. 44. Resolutions means people of resolve, as in such phrases as 'choice spirits/ 'wits,* and 'great minds.' The 'desperate resolutions' are the Roman Catholics. This is a favourite usage with our author. Cf. ' zeals ' below. And the phrase ' shake hands with ' means 'say good-bye to.' 50. Improperations, taunts and insults. The word is t*ken from the Latin of the Vulgate (or Latin version of the New Testament). 63. resolved = free. From the Latin. 74. sensible, visible, perceptible, its more proper passive sense. 84. Ave-Mary bell, what we call the Angelus. It rings at six and twelve o'clock, summoning good Catholics to prayer, which is commonly the prayer ' Hail Mary, ' the salutation of the Angel at the Annunciation. 84. elevation, presumably metaphorical, an elevation of soul. 94. African Churches such as the Coptic Church of Egypt or the Church of Abyssinia. 115. to difference myself nearer, to define my views more closely. 126. Luther. It was in 1517 that Martin Luther nailed his Protestant Propositions to the door of the church at Wittenberg. 127. Calvin (1509-1564) was the great reformer of Geneva whose doctrines had so wide an effect in Scotland. His chief points were the assertion of predestination and original sin. 128. Council of Trent (1545-1563) was the answer of Rome to Luther. It formulated the doctrines of Roman Catholicism as they are now asserted. Trent is in Austria. 129. Synod of Dort, or Dordrecht in Holland, was helc in 1619. The assembled Protestant divines proclaimed their adherence to the teaching of Calvin. 125 126 THE MILTON EPOCH 139. State of Venice. In 1606 the republic of Venice, having quarrelled with Pope Paul V., threatened to secede. 149. Satyrs, he means 'satires.' The two words are quite distinct in origin. Satire (probably from Lat. lanx satura, a hodge-podge or mixed stew) was a form of literature developed by Horace and Juvenal into that severe style of criticism which we call by the tame. A satyr is a creature of mythology, half man, half goat, and the name enters into the history of literature only because the Greeks had a form of drama called ' satyric, ' because it dealt with these monsters as the servants of Bacchus. 179. CEdipus, the hero of the tragedies of Sophocles, is here introduced as the man who solved the riddle of the Sphinx ; it means, therefore, ' solver of problems. ' 184. Paradoxical. A paradox is that which is true in spite of appearances. A typical paradox of the Stoic philosophy is that ' only the philosopher is king.' 185. implicite has a meaning here very different from our use of 'implicit faith.' It means rather ' complicated,' as does the Lat. implicite. 188. epicycle is a small wheel having its centre on the circumference of a greater, meaning that he lets his own thoughts revolve with the motion of the Church. 208. impregnant, full of life. 216. this is the ordinary . . . way. His argument is that the providence of God works through nature, and not contrary to nature's laws. 219. not Propnesie but Prognostication, requires no inspiration, but may be inferred from visible signs. St. John prophesies the end of the world by revelation ; the scientist prognosticates it by deduction and argument. 220. Meanders and Labyrinths, crooked and obscure ways. Maeander was a river of Asia Minor famous for its windings. Labyrinth was the maze constructed by King Minos of Crete to house the Minotaur. The origin of the legend has recently been discovered by Mr. A. Evans in Crete, where he has laid bare the intricate ground-plan of an ancient palace. 221. ephemerides, journals or chronicles, an ancient Greek word nsed by the modern Greeks for a newspaper. The word was used especially for the astrologer's daily chart of the heavens, by which his prognostications were made. 224. Essences, beings, creatures. 230. Bezo las Manos (Spanish), ' I kiss the hands 'i.e., a salute. It is explained by the succeeding phrase, for ' Gramercy ' (grand merci) means ' Many thanks.' 237. rubs, a metaphor from the game of bowls, very common in Eliza- bethan writers e.g., Hamlet's 'Ay, there's the rub.' A 'rub' was made when one ball struck another and so was diverted from its course. Metaphorically it means 'obstacle.' Possibly the words 'doublings and 'wrenches' are metaphors of the same kind. 240 Fougade alludes to the famous Gunpowder Plot of 1605, then fresh in people's memory. The story of Lord Monteagle's anonymous letter is well known. The letter did miscarry, in a sense, for it was not intended to reach the King. NOTES 127 242. Victory of '88 is, of course, the defeat of the Spanish Armada. 256. the Grand Seignour, or the Grand Turk, is the Emperor of Turkey. 268. Zenith, the top-most point, originally the vertical centre of the sky ; as ' meridian ' below (1. 277). 271. Helix (Greek) is a spiral. 298. the eighth Climate. The climates (/cXi/iara) were spaces of latitude marked off on the earth's surface ; our modern sense arose from this. 299. constellated, adopted by the stars that ruled his birth. 315. Hydra, the many-headed snake killed by Hercules. 326. Doradoes. The dorado is a fish, possibly the gold-fish. By 'ignorant Doradoes ' he means ' gilded fools.' 332. preheminence. There is no justification for the insertion of this h. 333. byas is another bowling metaphor. (ii.) URN-BURIAL. The thought of death and burial has led our author to the vanity of ambition. Here he is discoursing upon the capricious bestowal of fame and glory. 4. had not been. This substitution of the more vivid pluperfect in- dicative for the pluperfect subjunctive ' would have been ' is a Latinism. 5. iniquity, unfairness ; another Latinism. 6. her poppy. The poppy, from its connection with opium, means * forgetfulness.' 7. without distinction to merit of perpetuity, without regard to the amount of fame that they have deserved. 8. the founder of the Pyramids. Research has, however, made known to us the name of Cheops and his works. 8. Herostratus was a foolish Ephesian who set fire to the Temple of Diana, the largest building in the world, in order to gain renown. The temple was several times rebuilt, and we may say that the original builder's name is quite lost. 10. Adrian's horse. Time has apparently already redressed the balance between Hadrian and his horse, for the epitaph of the horse is un- known to-day, while the address of Hadrian to his soul beginning Animula, vagula, blandula is one of the best-known things in later Latin. Dio Cassius tells us only this (LXIX. 10) : ' Borys- thenes, his horse, which he loved above all creatures, is a testimony to his love of animals. For when it died he actually built a tomb for it, and set up a gravestone, and wrote an epitaph upon it.' What that epitaph was is unknown to the editors, and the present editor has been unable to discover it. The works of Ausonius contain an epitaph to the horse of a later Emperor. Hadrian was Emperor of Rome from 117 to 138 A.D., and, if not hia epitaph, his tomb certainly survives, for it is the ' Castle of St. Angelo ' which forms such a conspicuous figure in modern Rome. 13. Ther sites was an ugly, peevish, and altogether disagreeable member of the Greek army at Troy. He is the only commoner named by Homer, and ia soundly buffeted by the Princes when he dares to 128 THE MILTON EPOCH criticise them. King Agamemnon was the leader of the army. 21. hired probably means bribed. Immortality cannot be bought. 24. twenty-seven names ; reckoning all the names that appear in the first five chapters of Genesis up to the Flood. The concluding part of this sentence means, I take it, that the whole number of recorded names ever since the Flood does not equal the number of people who live in one century. 28. equinox. Stripped of the metaphor, he means that the years past exceed the years to come in number, and who can tell when was the central point in the whole space of Time ? 30. Lucina was the Latin goddess of child-birth. Death is the gate of Life Morsjanua vitce. 31. Pagans could doubt ; referring to the famous paradox of Euripides, ' Who knows if death be life ?' 32. right descensions, an astronomical phrase. 33. makes but winter arches. The course of the sun is naturally a lower arc in the winter than in the summer. So our author speaks of our brief portion of life as a winter's day. 35. the brother of Death is Sleep. Vergil, ^Eneid, VI. 278 : Leti con- sanguineus Sopor. Vergil borrows this brilliant phrase from Homer, Iliad, XIV. 231. 37. diuturnity, length of days. 44. To weep into stones are fables, such as the story of Niobe, who turned into a rock through weeping for her slain children. The grammar of are is astonishing. 45. induce callosities, make a person callous. A callosity is one of Sir T. Browne's professional words ; it means a hardening of the skin. 53. transmigration, or the doctrine of metempsychosis, was the belief that after this life the soul passes into another body, possibly of an animal or a vegetable, according to its character. Pythagoras taught this doctrine ; it is also held by the Buddhists. 60. common being. This notion of a world-spirit or ' public soul ' which infuses itself into all things, and to which all souls return, is that of Plato in his Timceus and of Pythagoras also. The student will probably be acquainted with the passage in Vergil's Sixth ^Eneid, where he gives fine expression to this belief Mens agitat molem, etc. 64 sweet consistencies, the spicy substances of the embalmer. 66. Cambyses, King of the Medes, defeated and conquered Egypt. 68. Mizraim. ' Mummies ' appear in the Pharmacopeia, or list of medicines, of that date. * Mizraim ' is in the Hebrew a dual form, meaning Upper and Lower Egypt. Our author uses it as if it were a title of tne Pharaohs. II. GEORGE HERBERT. For all that need be known concerning the quiet life of this holy man, see the Introduction. He is a good example of a very common phenomenon in this book, the Elizabethan love-poet transformed into a poet of religion. His passion, his conceits, are those of the Elizabethan amourist. A NOTES 129 noticeable feature of him and his fellows is a love of curious titles. His book is called The Temple, and the title of this poem is far-fetched The desire for Rest is the pulley that is to draw man to God. THE PULLEY. 5. a spanne, the space of a hand's breadth. 16. the rest. The occurrence of this word in the sense of ' the remainder' in a poem which has for its central word ' Rest ' in the sense of quiet is a characteristic blemish. I do not believe that it was unintentional, but that it was intended, as a conceit, to echo with ' restlessness ' in the next line. III.-COMUS. In the Introduction we have already discussed the place of this poem among Milton's works. We may add that the poet was twenty-five years old at the time of its composition, and that it belongs to his period of retired contemplation at his father's country house. The persons of the masque are thus given : THE ATTENDANT SPIRIT, afterwards in the habit of THYRSIS. COMUS, with his Crew. THE LADY .... The Lady Alice Egerton. FIRST BROTHER . . . The Lord Brackley. SECOND BROTHER . . Mr. Thomas Egerton, his Brother. SABRINA, the Nymph. The principal actors here mentioned were the three children of the Earl of Bridge water, and the plot of the masque was suggested to the poet by the fact that they had recently, when on a visit to some friends in Herefordshire, been benighted in Hay wood Forest, and the Lady Alice for some time lost. The music was composed by Henry Lawes, a Vicar-Choral of Salisbury Cathedral, then Master of Music to the Earl of Bridgewater. Milton has a fine sonnet to him. He is said to have taken the part of the Spirit and Thyrsis in this performance. The masque is only in form a drama. It was not performed by actors in a theatre, and it is, therefore, absurd to complain that there is a want of dramatic power in the plot or characterization. The requirements of a masque are : Firstly, fine rhetoric for declamation ; secondly, complimen- tary allusions to the persons honoured ; and, thirdly, scope for music and scenic display. All these conditions are admirably fulfilled. Milton has, in addition, impressed the conventional masque with his own powerful character, and has turned what might have been a mere show into a majestic plea for the virtues of temperance and chastity. 7. pester'd, from Fr. empetrer, to picket or hobble a horse, shackled, pin- fold, originally pound-fold, a fold where stray cattle were impounded. 16. ambrosial weeds, the immortal garb of a spirit. Ambrosia is in Homer the food of the gods, and the meaning of the word is * immortal/ 20. high and nether Jove. According to Greek mythology, after the deposition of Cronos, Zeus (here called ' high Jove ') took possession of the sky, Poseidon, or Neptune, ruled the sea, and Pluto ( ' nether 9 130 THE MILTON EPOCH Jove ') the lower world of the dead, nether, as in ' the nether mill-stone ' and ' the Netherlands,' means ' lower.' 25. by course = in turns. 31. Peer, the Earl of Bridgewater, President of Wales, mickle, ' much ' or 1 great,' still used in Scotland, as in the proverb 4 Many a muckle makes a mickle ' ; and in Shakespeare we have it : ' mickle is the powerful grace that lies In herbs, and stones, and their true properties ' (Romeo and Juliet). 46. Milton is here adding, in Professor Masson's words, * a brand-new god, no less, to the classic Pantheon.' Comus is a GUeek word meaning * revelry.' Ben Jonson had used the name as synonymous with 'gluttony,' as in Dekker and Massinger. Milton makes him the offspring of Bacchus, representing sensual pleasure, and Circe, representing enchantment. 48. Tuscan mariners. Certain Etrurian or Tyrrhenian pirates with whom the god was sailing plotted to capture him and sell him as a slave. Bacchus turned them into dolphins. 49. Tyrrhene is the same as Tuscan, listed = chose. 50. Circe (two syllables) is the Enchantress of Homer's Odyssey, who turned the crew of Odysseus into swine. 59. frolic, as Ger. frohlich = happy, is here an adjective, its earlier use. 60. Celtic and Iberian i.e., through France and Spain. 66. the drouth of Phoebus, the thirst caused by the sun. 71. ounce, a leopard ; L&t. 9 felis uncia. 83. Iris' woof. Iris was the goddess of the rainbow, the messenger of the Greek gods, woof, the noun of the verb * weave,' means ' fabric.' 84. swain, rustic, shepherd. The lines that follow compliment the composer, Henry Lawes, who took this part. 93. Star, the evening star, Hesperus, whose rising is the signal for the shepherds to drive their sheep to the fold. This glorious song is now known to us in the fine setting of Dr. Arne. 96. The golden chariot of the sun quenches the heat of its axles in the high waves of the Atlantic. The mythological astronomy of this is purely classical. 98. slope sun. ' Slope ' is here an adjective ; the rays of the sun, which has sunk behind the sea, are oblique. 110. saws, ' wise saws,' maxims and proverbial philosophy. 116. Morrice, the Morris-dance, a favourite rustic dance in quaint costume. The word is properly * Moorish/ the dance having been introduced, like most dances, from Spain. 121. wakes, watchings, all-night merry-makings, origin-ally religious in character. The Irish 'wake,' often of a very jovial nature, is the watching at the bed of a corpse. 125. rights, a confusion with ' rites,' from Lat. ritus. 127. dun = dark. 129. Cotytto, originally a Thracian goddess, was associated in Greece with wild licentiousness of worship. 132. spets, spits. 134. chair, is here = car. 135. Hecat, a mysterious Greek goddess of night and witch-craft. Shake- speare introduces her in the Witch Scene of Macbeth, and also pronounces her name as a dissyllable. NOTES 131 139, nice morn here means ' fastidious.' The history of the word is curious. (1) Lat. nescius, ignorant; (2) fastidious; (3) dainty; (4) pleasant or good. Indian steep, on the mountains of the East. 144. light fantastic round ; the phrase, of course, reminds us of ' the light fantastic toe ' in L* Allegro. There are many similarities between these two poems, which were probably composed at proximate dates. 147. shrouds, coverts, brakes = bushes. 153. The actor at this point produces a scenic effect with some sort of fire- works or burning perfumes. 155. blear, as in ' blear-eyed/ the same word as ' blur/ Here an adjective. 169. There are two readings here. Beside that in the text, which is preferred by Mr. Beeching, the Errata to the 1673 edition reads, and Professor Masson adopts : ' And hearken, if I may her business hear.' 174. hinds, rustics. 177. thank the gods amiss. Here the Puritan in Milton rebukes the rustic merriment of the harvest-home. All such pleasures and ceremonies of country life were destroyed for ever by the Puritans, and the name ' Merrie England ' became once and for all inappropriate. 179. wassailers, from the Anglo-Saxon greeting of ' Waes hael,' 'Good health to you.' At Christmas the wassail-bowl was carried by revellers with songs and dances from house to house. This custom also was killed by the Puritans. 180. inform means to guide ; Lat. informare, to instruct. 187. This account does not quite agree with that in 1. 282. 189. in palmer's weed, in the dress of a pilgrim. A votarist is a person under a vow. 212. siding, standing at one's side to assist. 230. Echo is here the 'genius of sound.' She lives in a shell because of the resonant quality of shells. She loved Narcissus, according to Ovid, because Narcissus represents the quality of ' reflexion ' in sights, as she in sounds. Narcissus fell in love with his own image in a pool, and so was drowned. The mention of the river Meander, a river of Asia Minor, which from its sinuous course has given a word to our language, is not so easily explained. Probably the turns and twists of the river are considered appropriate to the echoing of sound. 241. Queen of Parley ; parley (Fr. parler) is here simply ' speech.' Daughter of the Sphere ; this refers (as do the phrases ' starry quire' in 1. 112, and 'sphery chime ' in 1. 1021) to an ancient belief that the planets in their revolutions emitted various notes, and together formed a harmony inaudible to the mortal ears of mankind. The idea was originally due to the ancient Greek philosopher Pythagoras, and the allusions to ' the music of the spheres ' are very numerous throughout literature (see especially Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, Act V., Scene 1, 1. 64). 253, 254. The Sirens were sea-nymphs who lured sailors to destruction by their song. Naiades are nymphs of river and spring. A kirtle is a skirt. 257. lap it in Elysium, enfold it in heaven. Scylla and Charybdis, like Circe and the Sirens, represent some of the perils which beset Ulysses in the Odyssey of Homer. Scylla was a female monster surrounded with barking dogs, doubtless personifying a rock with 92 132 THE MILTON EPOCH white breakers ; Charybdis was a whirlpool. They both guarded a dangerous passage, said to be the Straits of Messina between Italy and Sicily, which is, as a matter of fact, a broad passage between two perfectly safe sandy beaches. 262. home-felt, means * heart-felt,' as in such expressions as 'it struck home,' a ' home thrust,' ' to bring a thing home to a person.' 268. Pan, or Silvan. Pan was the Arcadian god of shepherds, Silvanus the deity of woods. 271. ill is lost, ' it is badly lost,' or (as Masson) ' there is little loss in losing. ' 277. This dialogue, consisting of complete single lines, is directly modelled on a usage of Greek drama. It is called Stichomuthia, and is frequently used to elicit a narrative. It is alien to the spirit of our language, and always sounds a little strange. Matthew Arnold is the only English poet who has used it to any extent, though it is found in the Elizabethan dramatists. The whole passage here reads like a literal translation from Sophocles. 286. ' How easy it seems to guess my trouble !' 290. Hebe was the cup-bearer of the Homeric gods ; her name means * Youthful prime.' 293. Bwink't ; to ' swink ' is to labour ; a common word in Chaucer and his period. 294. mantling, spreading ; the word properly means to cover, and is especially applied to a blush. 297. port, bearing. 299. element, here means ' air.' 301. plighted clouds, united, compact. 313. bosky and bushy are originally the same word. 315. stray attendance, attendants who have gone astray. 318. pallet, bed. Milton is guilty of a mistake in natural history if he supposes that the lark * roosts ' or sleeps in its nest on the ground. 329. square = fit or adjust, proportioned is also part of the predicate, a classical ' proleptic ' use. 341. Star of Arcady or Tyrian Cynosure. The research displayed in these ' learned epithets ' is typically classical, especially in Vergil. The constellation of the Lesser Bear was called in Greek Cynos Oura, ' the dog's tail, 1 from its shape. Both the Lesser and the Great Bear were associated by mythology with Arcadia. The Arcadian nymph Callisto was turned into the Great Bear, and Areas, her son, into the Lesser Bear. The Lesser Bear is called Tyrian, because the Phenicians of Tyre were the great sailors of antiquity, and steered by it. Milton uses the word ' Cynosure ' again in IS Allegro, whence it has passed into modern journalistic English in the phrase ' the Cynosure of all eyes. ' The whole phrase means, then, 'thou shalt be our guiding- star,' since the stars of the Bear point to the north. Doubtless Milton derives his information from this couplet of Ovid's Fasti (III. 107). Esse duas Arctos ; quorum Cynosura petatur Sidoniis, Helicen Gram carina notet. ' There are two Bears, whereof the men of Sid on steer for Cynosura, and the Greek vessel marks Helice (or the Great Bear).' NOTES 133 344. wattled cotes, sheep-folds made of wattles or hurdles. 345. pastoral reed with oaten stops. In the classical pastorals, such as Vergil's Eclogues, the shepherds perform their tunes upon pipes made variously of reeds, hemlock, or oat-straw, jointed with wax, like the modern pan-pipes. So in Lycidas, ' Scrannel pipes of wretched straw.' 359. exquisite, here = inquisitive. 360. cast, to calculate. 367. so to seek, so wanting. 375. Milton is here expressing his own feelings. He was at this time preparing for his life's mission in contemplative retirement at Horton. 380. to-ruffled : ' to ' is an old intensifying prefix, generally preceded by the word 'all.' Of. in The Chaucer Epoch, XIII. 269, * Were all to-hewn and sticked at the board.' 382. centre (or, as Milton and modern America spells it, ' center ') means the middle of the earth, in subterranean darkness. 393. Hesperian tree. According to Greek legend, in the islands of the Hesperides, far West beyond the Pillars of Hercules, there was a giant Atlas who bore up the heavens ; his daughters, the Hesperides, had the custody of a tree which bore the golden apples of Hera, and the tree itself was guarded by a dragon that slept neither day nor night. 401. wink on, shut its eyes at. 408. infer, argue. 413. squint, an adjective here : Suspicion with its sidelong glances ; a fine personification. 429. shagg'd, shaggy. 431. be it not, if it be not. 436. swart means dark ; of the mine, subterranean. 443. blinded, brindled, streaked with dark colour ; as in Macbeth : * Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed. ' 461. temple of the mind is the body. These lines may be paraphrased thus : Until frequent association with the angels begins to show its illuminating effect upon the outward shape, the pure body, and gradually transforms it into the immortal substance of which souls are made. Warton well compares a passage in Plato's Phcedo, 80 D, from which this is almost verbally translated. 468. imbodies and imbrutes, becomes material and brutal. 483. night-foundered, sunk or overwhelmed in the darkness. 495. Observe that these eighteen lines are rhymed couplets. 509. sadly, in the earlier sense of sad, ' seriously.' 51 7. Chimeras. Chimera was a monster of Greek mythology slain by the hero Bellerophon. ' In front a Lion, behind a Snake, in the middle a She-goat. ' 520. navel, centre. 526. murmurs, spells. 529. mintage, the stamp of a coin at the Mint. ' Character' has much the same meaning according to its Greek etymology. 531 . a croft is a small peasant's farm. 539. unweeting, unwitting, ignorant. 562. the ribs of Death, The metaphor is .taken from the story of Eve's 134 THE MILTON EPOCH creation out of Adam's rib. The phrase means c would make a dead man live/ 585. period = sentence. 604. Acheron, the river of Hades. Harpies were monstrous forms, half woman, half bird, who seized and denied the food of ^Eneas and his men in Vergil. Hydra was the many-headed water-snake killed by Hercules. 619. shepherd lad. The common idea that this refers to a special friend of Milton is, as I think, discounted by the succeeding line, which is far from complimentary. Could the poet have described Charles Diodati, the hero of his exquisite Latin elegy, Epitaphium Damoni, as ' not much to look at ' ? 635. clouted shoon, patched boots ; * shoon ' is an example of the older plural in n, which we have in oxen and brethren. 636. In this line the i of medicinal is to be pronounced very short. then = than, as commonly at this and all earlier periods. The words are originally the same, and this fact explains why ' than ' does not govern an objective case. Moly is the magical herb which the god Hermes gives to Ulysses to save him from the enchantments of Circe. ' At the root,' says Homer, ' it was black, but its flower was like milk ; the gods call it moly (/-tcDXu) but 'tis hard for mortal men to dig. Howbeit the gods can do all things ' (Odyssey. X. 304). 638. Hsemony. This name does not come into the original. Haemonia was, however, another name for Thessaly, <*nd Thessaly was famous for magic and drugs. 646. lime-twigs, snare, from the mode of caidhing birds by smearing bird- lime on twigs. 660. Alablaster, a misspelling, often repeated, of ' alabaster,' a kind of semi-transparent marble. 661. Daphne the nyrnph, pursued by Apollo, was transformed into a laurel- tree. 672. julep, a word of Eastern origin signifying originally rose-water ; came to be used for various cordial drinks. 675. According to Homer (Odyssey, IV. 221) Polydamna, wife of Thon, an Egyptian enchantress, gave a drug to Helen, daughter of Zeus, to bring forgetfulness. ' Nepenthes ' is a Greek adjective meaning 'sorrow-averting,' and is applied as an epithet to this drug in the passage quoted. 685. unexempt condition, a condition from which none are exempt. 695. oughly. I have retained Milton's strange spelling of ' ugly ' for the interesting light which it throws upon yet another pronunciation of the English * ough. ' There seems little doubt that Milton pro- nounced the word as we do. An older English form is ' ugsome.' The word is supposed to be derived from a root meaning 'fear.' 698. visor'd, masked. The ' visor ' was the face-covering of a helmet. 700. lickerish, delicate, dainty ; connected with Ger. lecker, dainty, and A.S. liccera, a glutton. The word will be found in the selection from Piers Plowman given in The Chanter Epoch. It has no con- nection whatever with ' liquor,' and is wrongly spelt ' liquorish' in modern texts. NOTES 135 707. budge. * Bogey ' or ' budge ' was a name given to lambskin or rabbit-fur (see The Chaucer Epoch, where it adorns the dress of young Paston). I believe the word here to have a scornful sense, like * shoddy,' 'budge' being a cheap kind of fur. By 'Stoick fur ' Milton makes reference to the furred hoods used at the Uni- versities (as now for the B.A. hood). The Stoics were a sect of philosophers founded by Zeno, the Greek, whose tenets e.g., that * Virtue is the only Good,' and that death is to be sought rather than feared were highly popular in ancient Rome. Comus, then, sneers at those false doctors who wear the garb of a Stoic philosopher. 708. Cynic tub, alluding to the story of Diogenes the Cynic philosopher, who, to show his contempt for luxury and the 'non-essentials,' lived in a tub, where he was visited by Alexander the Great. 721. a pet, a sudden fit. pulse is a kind of porridge made of beans ; so frieze is a coarse kind of cloth. 748. The sentiment is closely akin to that of Herrick's famous song (VIII. vi.); it is also the burden of many of Shakespeare's sonnets. 750. grain, means originally 'dye,' hence 'colour.' teaze, a technical term for the carding or combing of wool. 760. bolt, to sift or refine (a technical term of the mill) ; here metaphorical for ' chopping logic. ' 805. Saturn's crew. Saturn (or Cronos) was the father of Jove (or Zeus) according to the mythologists. He really represents the deity of an older race, and the poets make Saturn and his crew the Earth- born Giants, or Titans, rise in revolt against the usurper. The wrath of Jove threatens them with his thunder and a return to their imprisonment in the place of Darkness (Erebos). 808. canon laws. He speaks as if Comus and his motley rout were boun by the regulations of a college or monastery. 816. ' Unless we reverse his rod and mutter backwards spells to break the power of his magic we cannot set the lady free.' backward mutters : it is an essential part of magic that a prayer or a blessing uttered backwards has the effect of a curse ; and con- trariwise here the spell uttered backwards will break the spell. 822. Meliboeus, like Thyrsis, is one of Vergil's names for shepherds. 823. soothest= truest, as in the phrases ' in sooth ' and ' forsooth.' 826. According to the legend told by Geoffrey of Monmouth and Layamon in his Brut and other earlier chroniclers who designed to link the obscure early history of this island with the heroic stories of Vergil and Homer, Brutus, the great-grandson of tineas, made his way to Britain and founded Trinovantum, or New Troy, afterwards London. One of his sons was Locrine, who became King of England and conquered Humber, King of the invading Huns. From Humber he captured a fair German maid, Estrilidis, loved her, and, secretly marrying her, had a daughter Sabra. But he was pledged to Gwendolen, the daughter of a Cornish king Corineus, and through reasons of State married her. When Corineus died, Locrine divorced Gwendolen and made Estrilidis his queen. The ' enraged stepdame ' gathered an army, defeated and \illed Locrine ? and threw her rival Estrilidis, with the fair 136 THE MILTON EPOCH maid Sabra, into the river which was called after her, Sabrina or Severn. Thus the story is told by Milton himself in his History of Britain. It is, of course, wholly mythological, and the name Sabrina is as clearly formed out of Severn as Corineus from Corn- wall and Trinovantum from the tribe of the Trinobantes (see The Spenser Epochs I.). 836. lank, slender. Here it means something like ' languid.' We use * lanky ' = tall and slender. 838. necbar'd layers, baths fragrant with nectar. The asphodel is a Greek flower, not adequately identified, but common in the poets. 845. urchin blasts. The urchin is strictly the echimis, or hedgehog, which was believed to have fatal powers against cattle. 847. precious-vial'd, liquors contained in precious vials. It appears to me necessary to insert the hyphen, otherwise * vial'd ' is almost meaningless. 863. amber-dropping, as 'dropping odours, dropping wine' above. Liquid amber was a kind of perfume. 868, etc. The Spirit invokes Sabrina in the name of all the sea-deities of Greek mythology. 869 earth-shaking is Homer's constant epithet for Poseidon. His mace is the 'trident,' originally a fish-spear, but afterwards an emblem of sea-power, and therefore a property of our Britannia. 870. Tethys was the wife of Oceanus. 872. Carpathian wizard's hook. Proteus, the old man of the sea, lived in a cave in the Carpathian gulf, with his herd of seals (whence the ' hook ') ; he was capable of transforming himself into all shapes (whence our adjective ' protean ') and knew all secrets. See Vergil, Georgic IV., 381, etc. 873. winding shell, the conch, upon which he would 'wind* or blow trumpet notes. 875. Leucothea was formerly Ino. She brought up the young Bacchus, child of Zeus and Semele. Hera in jealousy punished her by driving her mad, and she flung herself and her own son Melicerta into the sea. Ino was transformed into a sea-nymph under the title of Leucothea, and Melicerta into a sea-god. See Vergil, Georgic IV. 877. tinsel-slippered is Milton's beautiful variant of Homer's ' silver- footed Thetis.' 878. Sirens (see 1. 253). There are many different accounts of their number and their names. Ligea (shrill), is merely one of the sea- nymphs in Vergil, Georgic IV., which Milton seems here to be following. Parthenope was one of the Sirens who flung herself into the sea for love of Ulysses, and was cast up dead at Naples, which is her * dear tomb ' and was called Parthenope after her. It was Vergil's home and burying- place. This fact probably accounts for the epithet ' dear.' 902. Observe the art of the rhymes. Sabrina and the Spirit take up and repeat one another's rhymes. 917. glutinous, sticky. 923. Anchises was the father of -ffineas and, therefore, great-great-grand- father of Brutus, and seventh in line of ancestry from Sabrina. NOTES 137 934. Her head is to be ' crowned round ' (Greek irtpiarktyu} with towers and terraces as in many ancient statues the deity of a town or place wears a crown of towers ; further her banks are to be ' crowned upon ' (Greek 7n