BOOK XII._The Poetical Works of John Milton

PARADISE REGAIN'D.

The First Book.

The Second Book.

The Third Book.

The Fourth Book.

SAMSON AGONISTES

Of that sort of Dramatic Poem which is call'd Tragedy.

The Argument.

APPENDIX.

ON TIME

PREFACE by the Rev. H. C. Beeching, M. A.

This edition of Milton's Poetry is a reprint, as careful as Editor and

Printers have been able to make it, from the earliest printed copies of

the several poems. First the 1645 volume of the Minor Poems has been

printed entire; then follow in order the poems added in the reissue of

1673; the Paradise Lost, from the edition of 1667; and the Paradise

Regain'd and Samson Agonistes from the edition of 1671.

The most interesting portion of the book must be reckoned the first

section of it, which reproduces for the first time the scarce small

octavo of 1645. The only reprint of the Minor Poems in the old

spelling, so far as I know, is the one edited by Mitford, but that

followed the edition of 1673, which is comparatively uninteresting since

it could not have had Milton's oversight as it passed through the press.

We know that it was set up from a copy of the 1645 edition, because it

reproduces some pointless eccentricities such as the varying form of the

chorus to Psalm cxxxvi; but while it corrects the errata tabulated in

that edition it commits many more blunders of its own. It is valuable,

however, as the editio princeps of ten of the sonnets and it contains

one important alteration in the Ode on the Nativity. This and all other

alterations will be found noted where they occur. I have not thought it

necessary to note mere differences of spelling between the two editions

but a word may find place here upon their general character. Generally

it may be said that, where the two editions differ, the later spelling

is that now in use. Thus words like goddess, darkness, usually written

in the first edition with one final s, have two, while on the other

hand words like vernall, youthfull, and monosyllables like hugg, farr,

lose their double letter. Many monosyllables, e.g. som, cours, glimps,

wher, vers, aw, els, don, ey, ly, so written in 1645, take on in 1673 an

e mute, while words like harpe, windes, onely, lose it. By a reciprocal

change ayr and cipress become air and cypress; and the vowels in daign,

vail, neer, beleeve, sheild, boosom, eeven, battail, travailer, and many

other words are similarly modernized. On the other hand there are a few

cases where the 1645 edition exhibits the spelling which has succeeded

in fixing itself, as travail (1673, travel) in the sense of labour; and

rob'd, profane, human, flood and bloody, forest, triple, alas, huddling,

are found where the 1673 edition has roab'd, prophane, humane, floud and

bloudy, forrest, tripple, alass and hudling. Indeed the spelling in

this later edition is not untouched by seventeenth century

inconsistency. It retains here and there forms like shameles, cateres,

(where 1645 reads cateress), and occasionally reverts to the

older-fashioned spelling of monosyllables without the mute e. In the

Epitaph on the Marchioness of Winchester, it reads--' And som flowers

and some bays.' But undoubtedly the impression on the whole is of a

much more modern text.

In the matter of small or capital letters I have followed the old copy,

except in one or two places where a personification seemed not plainly

enough marked to a modern reader without a capital. Thus in Il

Penseroso, l. 49, I print Leasure, although both editions read leasure;

and in the Vacation Exercise, l. 71, Times for times. Also where the

employment or omission of a capital is plainly due to misprinting, as

too frequently in the 1673 edition, I silently make the correction.

Examples are, notes for Notes in Sonnet xvii. l. 13; Anointed for

anointed in Psalm ii. l.12.

In regard to punctuation I have followed the old printers except in

obvious misprints, and followed them also, as far as possible, in their

distribution of roman and italic type and in the grouping of words and

lines in the various titles. To follow them exactly was impossible, as

the books are so very different in size.

At this point the candid reader may perhaps ask what advantage is gained

by presenting these poems to modern readers in the dress of a bygone

age. If the question were put to me I should probably evade it by

pointing out that Mr. Frowde is issuing an edition based upon this, in

which the spelling is frankly that of to-day. But if the question were

pressed, I think a sufficient answer might be found. To begin with, I

should point out that even Prof. Masson, who in his excellent edition

argues the point and decides in favour of modern spelling, allows that

there are peculiarities of Milton's spelling which are really

significant, and ought therefore to be noted or preserved. But who is

to determine exactly which words are spelt according to the poet's own

instructions, and which according to the printer's whim? It is

notorious that in Paradise Lost some words were spelt upon a deliberate

system, and it may very well happen that in the volume of minor poems

which the poet saw through the press in 1645, there were spellings no

less systematic. Prof. Masson makes a great point of the fact that

Milton's own spelling, exhibited in the autograph manuscript of some of

the minor poems preserved in Trinity College, Cambridge, does not

correspond with that of the printed copy. [Note: This manuscript,

invaluable to all students of Milton, has lately been facsimiled under

the superintendence of Dr. Aldis Wright, and published at the Cambridge

University press]. This is certainly true, as the reader may see for

himself by comparing the passage from the manuscript given in the

appendix with the corresponding place in the text. Milton's own

spelling revels in redundant e's, while the printer of the 1645 book is

very sparing of them. But in cases where the spelling affects the

metre, we find that the printed text and Milton's manuscript closely

correspond; and it is upon its value in determining the metre, quite as

much as its antiquarian interest, that I should base a justification of

this reprint. Take, for instance, such a line as the eleventh of Comus,

which Prof. Masson gives as:--

Amongst the enthroned gods on sainted seats.

A reader not learned in Miltonic rhythms will certainly read this

Amongst th' enthroned gods

But the 1645 edition reads:

Amongst the enthron'd gods

and so does Milton's manuscript. Again, in line 597, Prof.

Masson reads:

It shall be in eternal restless change

Self-fed and self-consumed. If this fail,

The pillared firmament is rottenness, &c.

But the 1645 text and Milton's manuscript read self-consum'd; after

which word there is to be understood a metrical pause to mark the

violent transition of the thought.

Again in the second line of the Sonnet to a Nightingale Prof. Masson

has:

Warblest at eve when all the woods are still

but the early edition, which probably follows Milton's spelling though

in this case we have no manuscript to compare, reads 'Warbl'st.' So the

original text of Samson, l. 670, has 'temper'st.'

The retention of the old system of punctuation may be less defensible,

but I have retained it because it may now and then be of use in

determining a point of syntax. The absence of a comma, for example,

after the word hearse in the 58th line of the Epitaph on the Marchioness

of Winchester, printed by Prof. Masson thus:--

And some flowers, and some bays

For thy hearse to strew thy ways,

but in the 1645 edition:--

And som Flowers, and som Bays,

For thy Hears to strew the ways,

goes to prove that for here must be taken as 'fore.

Of the Paradise Lost there were two editions issued during Milton's

lifetime, and while the first has been taken as our text, all the

variants in the second, not being simple misprints, have been recorded

in the notes. In one respect, however, in the distribution of the poem

into twelve books instead of ten, it has seemed best, for the sake of

practical convenience, to follow the second edition. A word may be

allowed here on the famous correction among the Errata prefixed to the

first edition: 'Lib. 2. v. 414, for we read wee.' This correction

shows not only that Milton had theories about spelling, but also that he

found means, though his sight was gone, to ascertain whether his rules

had been carried out by his printer; and in itself this fact justifies a

facsimile reprint. What the principle in the use of the double vowel

exactly was (and it is found to affect the other monosyllabic pronouns)

it is not so easy to discover, though roughly it is clear the

reduplication was intended to mark emphasis. For example, in the speech

of the Divine Son after the battle in heaven (vi. 810-817) the pronouns

which the voice would naturally emphasize are spelt with the double

vowel:

Stand onely and behold

Gods indignation on these Godless pourd

By mee; not you but mee they have despis'd,

Yet envied; against mee is all thir rage,

Because the Father, t'whom in Heav'n supream

Kingdom and Power and Glorie appertains,

Hath honourd me according to his will.

Therefore to mee thir doom he hath assign'd.

In the Son's speech offering himself as Redeemer (iii. 227-249) where

the pronoun all through is markedly emphasized, it is printed mee the

first four times, and afterwards me; but it is noticeable that these

first four times the emphatic word does not stand in the stressed place

of the verse, so that a careless reader might not emphasize it, unless

his attention were specially led by some such sign:

Behold mee then, mee for him, life for life

I offer, on mee let thine anger fall;

Account mee man.

In the Hymn of Creation (v.160-209) where ye occurs fourteen times, the

emphasis and the metric stress six times out of seven coincide, and the

pronoun is spelt yee; where it is unemphatic, and in an unstressed

place, it is spelt ye. Two lines are especially instructive:

Speak yee who best can tell, ye Sons of light (l. 160);

and

Fountains and yee, that warble, as ye flow,

Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise (l. 195).

In v. 694 it marks, as the voice by its emphasis would mark in

reading, a change of subject:

So spake the false Arch-Angel, and infus'd

Bad influence into th' unwarie brest

Of his Associate; hee (i. e. the associate) together calls,

&c.

An examination of other passages, where there is no antithesis, goes to

show that the lengthened form of the pronoun is most frequent before a

pause (as vii. 95); or at the end of a line (i. 245, 257); or when a

foot is inverted (v. 133); or when as object it precedes its verb (v.

612; vii. 747), or as subject follows it (ix. 1109; x. 4). But as we

might expect under circumstances where a purist could not correct his

own proofs, there are not a few inconsistencies. There does not seem,

for example, any special emphasis in the second wee of the following

passage:

Freely we serve.

Because wee freely love, as in our will

To love or not; in this we stand or fall (v. 538).

On the other hand, in the passage (iii. 41) in which the poet

speaks of his own blindness:

Thus with the Year

Seasons return, but not to me returns

Day, &c.

where, if anywhere, we should expect mee, we do not find it, though it

occurs in the speech eight lines below. It should be added that this

differentiation of the pronouns is not found in any printed poem of

Milton's before Paradise Lost, nor is it found in the Cambridge

autograph. In that manuscript the constant forms are me, wee, yee.

There is one place where there is a difference in the spelling of she,

and it is just possible that this may not be due to accident. In the

first verse of the song in Arcades, the MS. reads:

This, this is shee;

and in the third verse:

This, this is she alone.

This use of the double vowel is found a few times in Paradise Regain'd:

in ii. 259 and iv. 486, 497 where mee begins a line, and in iv. 638

where hee is specially emphatic in the concluding lines of the poem. In

Samson Agonistes it is more frequent (e.g. lines 124, 178, 193, 220,

252, 290, 1125). Another word the spelling of which in Paradise Lost

will be observed to vary is the pronoun their, which is spelt sometimes

thir. The spelling in the Cambridge manuscript is uniformly thire,

except once when it is thir; and where their once occurs in the writing

of an amanuensis the e is struck through. That the difference is not

merely a printer's device to accommodate his line may be seen by a

comparison of lines 358 and 363 in the First Book, where the shorter

word comes in the shorter line. It is probable that the lighter form

of the word was intended to be used when it was quite unemphatic.

Contrast, for example, in Book iii. l.59: His own works and their works

at once to view with line 113: Thir maker and thir making and thir Fate.

But the use is not consistent, and the form thir is not found at all

till the 349th line of the First Book. The distinction is kept up in

the Paradise Regain'd and Samson Agonistes, but, if possible, with even

less consistency. Such passages, however, as Paradise Regain'd, iii.

414-440; Samson Agonistes, 880-890, are certainly spelt upon a method,

and it is noticeable that in the choruses the lighter form is universal.

Paradise Regain'd and Samson Agonistes were published in 1671, and no

further edition was called for in the remaining three years of the

poet's lifetime, so that in the case of these poems there are no new

readings to record; and the texts were so carefully revised, that only

one fault (Paradise Regain'd, ii. 309) was left for correction later.

In these and the other poems I have corrected the misprints catalogued

in the tables of Errata, and I have silently corrected any other unless

it might be mistaken for a various reading, when I have called attention

to it in a note. Thus I have not recorded such blunders as Lethian for

Lesbian in the 1645 text of Lycidas, line 63; or hallow for hollow in

Paradise Lost, vi. 484; but I have noted content for concent, in At a

Solemn Musick, line 6.

In conclusion I have to offer my sincere thanks to all who have

collaborated with me in preparing this Edition; to the Delegates of the

Oxford Press for allowing me to undertake it and decorate it with so

many facsimiles; to the Controller of the Press for his unfailing

courtesy; to the printers and printer's reader for their care and pains.

Coming nearer home I cannot but acknowledge the help I have received in

looking over proof-sheets from my sister, Mrs. P. A. Barnett, who has

ungrudgingly put at the service of this book both time and eyesight. In

taking leave of it, I may be permitted to say that it has cost more of

both these inestimable treasures than I had anticipated. The last proof

reaches me just a year after the first, and the progress of the work has

not in the interval been interrupted. In tenui labor et tenuis gloria.

Nevertheless I cannot be sorry it was undertaken.

H. C. B.

YATTENDON RECTORY,

November 8, 1899.

Transcriber's note: Facsimile of Title page of 1645 edition

follows:

POEMS

Mr John Milton,

BOTH

ENGLISH and LATIN

Compos'd at several times.

------------------------------

Printed by his true copies.

------------------------------

The SONGS were set in Musick by

Mr. HENRY LAWES Gentleman of

the KINGS Chappel, and one

of His MAIESTIES

Private Musick.

--------Baccare frontem

Cingite, ne vace noceat mala lingua futuro,

Virgil, Eclog. 7.

-----------------------------------------

Printed, and Publish'd according to

ORDER.

-----------------------------------------

LONDON,

Printed by Ruth Raworth for Humphrey Moseley,

and are to be sold at the signe of the Princes

Arms in S. Pauls Church-yard. 1645.

Transcriber's note: Facsimile of Title page of 1673 edition

follows:

POEMS, &c.

UPON

Several Occasions.

--------------------------

Mr. John Milton:

--------------------------

Both ENGLISH and LATIN &c.

Composed at several times.

--------------------------

With a small tractate of

EDUCATION

To Mr. HARTLIB

--------------------------

LONDON.

Printed for Tho. Dring at the Blew Anchor

next Mitre Court over against Fetter

Lane in Fleet-street. 1673.

THE STATIONER TO THE READER.

It is not any Private respect of gain, Gentle Reader, for the slightest

Pamphlet is now adayes more vendible then the Works of learnedest men;

but it is the love I have to our own Language that hath made me diligent

to collect, and set forth such Peeces in Prose and Vers as may renew the

wonted honour and esteem of our tongue: and it's the worth of these both

English and Latin poems, not the flourish of any prefixed encomions that

can invite thee to buy them, though these are not without the highest

Commendations and Applause of the learnedst Academicks, both domestic

and forrein: And amongst those of our own Countrey, the unparalleled

attestation of that renowned Provost of Eaton, Sir Henry Wootton: I know

not thy palat how it relishes such dainties, nor how harmonious thy

soul is; perhaps more trivial Airs may please thee better. But

howsoever thy opinion is spent upon these, that incouragement I have

already received from the most ingenious men in their clear and

courteous entertainment of Mr. Wallers late choice Peeces, hath once

more made me adventure into the World, presenting it with these

ever-green, and not to be blasted Laurels. The Authors more peculiar

excellency in these studies, was too well known to conceal his Papers,

or to keep me from attempting to sollicit them from him. Let the event

guide it self which way it will, I shall deserve of the age, by bringing

into the Light as true a Birth, as the Muses have brought forth since

our famous Spencer wrote; whose Poems in these English ones are as

rarely imitated, as sweetly excell'd. Reader, if thou art Eagle-eied to

censure their worth, I am not fearful to expose them to thy exactest

perusal.

Thine to Command

HUMPH. MOSELEY.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

ON THE MORNING OF CHRISTS NATIVITY.

Compos'd 1629.

This is the Month, and this the happy morn

Wherin the Son of Heav'ns eternal King,

Of wedded Maid, and Virgin Mother born,

Our great redemption from above did bring;

For so the holy sages once did sing,

That he our deadly forfeit should release,

And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.

That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable,

And that far-beaming blaze of Majesty,

Wherwith he wont at Heav'ns high Councel-Table, 10

To sit the midst of Trinal Unity,

He laid aside; and here with us to be,

Forsook the Courts of everlasting Day,

And chose with us a darksom House of mortal Clay.

III

Say Heav'nly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein

Afford a present to the Infant God?

Hast thou no vers, no hymn, or solemn strein,

To welcom him to this his new abode,

Now while the Heav'n by the Suns team untrod,

Hath took no print of the approching light, 20

And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright?

See how from far upon the Eastern rode

The Star-led Wisards haste with odours sweet,

O run, prevent them with thy humble ode,

And lay it lowly at his blessed feet;

Have thou the honour first, thy Lord to greet,

And joyn thy voice unto the Angel Quire,

From out his secret Altar toucht with hallow'd fire.

The Hymn.

IT was the Winter wilde,

While the Heav'n-born-childe, 30

All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies;

Nature in aw to him

Had doff't her gawdy trim,

With her great Master so to sympathize:

It was no season then for her

To wanton with the Sun her lusty Paramour.

Only with speeches fair

She woo'd the gentle Air

To hide her guilty front with innocent Snow,

And on her naked shame, 40

Pollute with sinfull blame,

The Saintly Vail of Maiden white to throw,

Confounded, that her Makers eyes

Should look so near upon her foul deformities.

III

But he her fears to cease,

Sent down the meek-eyd Peace,

She crown'd with Olive green, came softly sliding

Down through the turning sphear

His ready Harbinger,

With Turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing, 50

And waving wide her mirtle wand,

She strikes a universall Peace through Sea and Land.

No War, or Battails sound

Was heard the World around,

The idle spear and shield were high up hung;

The hooked Chariot stood

Unstain'd with hostile blood,

The Trumpet spake not to the armed throng,

And Kings sate still with awfull eye,

As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by. 60

But peacefull was the night

Wherin the Prince of light

His raign of peace upon the earth began:

The Windes with wonder whist,

Smoothly the waters kist,

Whispering new joyes to the milde Ocean,

Who now hath quite forgot to rave,

While Birds of Calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.

The Stars with deep amaze

Stand fit in steadfast gaze, 70

Bending one way their pretious influence,

And will not take their flight,

For all the morning light,

Or Lucifer that often warned them thence;

But in their glimmering Orbs did glow,

Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.

VII

And though the shady gloom

Had given day her room,

The Sun himself with-held his wonted speed,

And hid his head for shame, 80

As his inferior flame,

The new enlightened world no more should need;

He saw a greater Sun appear

Then his bright Throne, or burning Axletree could bear.

VIII

The Shepherds on the Lawn,

Or ere the point of dawn,

Sate simply chatting in a rustic row;

Full little thought they than,

That the mighty Pan

Was kindly com to live with them below; 90

Perhaps their loves, or els their sheep,

Was all that did their silly thoughts so busie keep.

When such Musick sweet

Their hearts and ears did greet,

As never was by mortal finger strook,

Divinely-warbled voice

Answering the stringed noise,

As all their souls in blisfull rapture took:

The Air such pleasure loth to lose,

With thousand echo's still prolongs each heav'nly close. 100

Nature that heard such sound

Beneath the hollow round

of Cynthia's seat the Airy region thrilling,

Now was almost won

To think her part was don

And that her raign had here its last fulfilling;

She knew such harmony alone

Could hold all Heav'n and Earth in happier union.

At last surrounds their sight

A globe of circular light, 110

That with long beams the shame faced night arrayed

The helmed Cherubim

And sworded Seraphim,

Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displaid,

Harping in loud and solemn quire,

With unexpressive notes to Heav'ns new-born Heir.

XII

Such Musick (as 'tis said)

Before was never made,

But when of old the sons of morning sung,

While the Creator Great

His constellations set, 120

And the well-ballanc't world on hinges hung,

And cast the dark foundations deep,

And bid the weltring waves their oozy channel keep.

XIII

Ring out ye Crystall sphears,

Once bless our human ears,

(If ye have power to touch our senses so)

And let your silver chime

Move in melodious time;

And let the Base of Heav'ns deep Organ blow, 130

And with your ninefold harmony

Make up full consort to th'Angelike symphony.

XIV

For if such holy Song

Enwrap our fancy long,

Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold,

And speckl'd vanity

Will sicken soon and die,

And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould,

And Hell it self will pass away

And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. 140

Yea Truth, and Justice then

Will down return to men,

Th'enameld Arras of the Rain-bow wearing,

And Mercy set between

Thron'd in Celestiall sheen,

With radiant feet the tissued clouds down stearing,

And Heav'n as at som festivall,

Will open wide the gates of her high Palace Hall.

XVI

But wisest Fate sayes no,

This must not yet be so, 150

The Babe lies yet in smiling Infancy,

That on the bitter cross

Must redeem our loss;

So both himself and us to glorifie:

Yet first to those ychain'd in sleep,

The Wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep,

XVII

With such a horrid clang

As on Mount Sinai rang

While the red fire, and smouldring clouds out brake:

The aged Earth agast 160

With terrour of that blast,

Shall from the surface to the center shake;

When at the worlds last session,

The dreadfull Judge in middle Air shall spread his throne.

XVIII

And then at last our bliss

Full and perfect is,

But now begins; for from this happy day

Th'old Dragon under ground

In straiter limits bound,

Not half so far casts his usurped sway, 170

And wrath to see his Kingdom fail,

Swindges the scaly Horrour of his foulded tail.

XIX

The Oracles are dumm,

No voice or hideous humm

Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving.

Apollo from his shrine

Can no more divine,

With hollow shreik the steep of Delphos leaving.

No nightly trance, or breathed spell,

Inspire's the pale-ey'd Priest from the prophetic cell. 180

The lonely mountains o're,

And the resounding shore,

A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament;

From haunted spring, and dale

Edg'd with poplar pale

The parting Genius is with sighing sent,

With flowre-inwov'n tresses torn

The Nimphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.

XXI

In consecrated Earth,

And on the holy Hearth, 190

The Lars, and Lemures moan with midnight plaint,

In Urns, and Altars round,

A drear, and dying sound

Affrights the Flamins at their service quaint;

And the chill Marble seems to sweat,

While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat.

XXII

Peor, and Baalim,

Forsake their Temples dim,

With that twise-batter'd god of Palestine,

And mooned Ashtaroth, 200

Heav'ns Queen and Mother both,

Now sits not girt with Tapers holy shine,

The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn,

In vain the Tyrian Maids their wounded Thamuz mourn.

XXIII

And sullen Moloch fled,

Hath left in shadows dred,

His burning Idol all of blackest hue,

In vain with Cymbals ring,

They call the grisly king,

In dismall dance about the furnace Blue; 210

And Brutish gods of Nile as fast,

Isis and Orus, and the Dog Anubis hast.

XXIV

Nor is Osiris seen

In Memphian grove or green,

Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings loud;

Nor can he be at rest

Within his sacred chest,

Naught but profoundest Hell can be his shroud:

In vain with timbrel'd anthems dark

The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipp'd ark.

XXV

He feels from Juda's land

The dreaded Infant's hand,

The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn;

Nor all the gods beside

Longer dare abide,

Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine:

Our Babe, to show his Godhead true,

Can in his swaddling bands control the damned crew.

XXVI

So when the Sun in bed,

Curtain'd with cloudy red,

Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,

The flocking shadows pale

Troop to th'infernal jail,

Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave,

And the yellow-skirted fays

Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-lov'd maze.

XXVII

But see, the Virgin blest

Hath laid her Babe to rest:

Time is our tedious song should here have ending.

Heav'n's youngest-teemed star,

Hath fix'd her polish'd car,

Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending;

And all about the courtly stable,

Bright-harness'd Angels sit in order serviceable.

THE PASSION.

ERE-while of Musick, and Ethereal mirth,

Wherwith the stage of Ayr and Earth did ring,

And joyous news of heav'nly Infants birth,

My muse with Angels did divide to sing;

But headlong joy is ever on the wing,

In Wintry solstice like the shortn'd light

Soon swallow'd up in dark and long out-living night.

For now to sorrow must I tune my song,

And set my Harpe to notes of saddest wo,

Which on our dearest Lord did sease er'e long,

Dangers, and snares, and wrongs, and worse then so, 10

Which he for us did freely undergo.

Most perfect Heroe, try'd in heaviest plight

Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight.

III

He sov'ran Priest stooping his regall head

That dropt with odorous oil down his fair eyes,

Poor fleshly Tabernacle entered,

His starry front low-rooft beneath the skies;

O what a Mask was there, what a disguise!

Yet more; the stroke of death he must abide, 20

Then lies him meekly down fast by his Brethrens side.

These latter scenes confine my roving vers,

To this Horizon is my Phoebus bound,

His Godlike acts, and his temptations fierce,

And former sufferings other where are found;

Loud o're the rest Cremona's Trump doth sound;

Me softer airs befit, and softer strings

Of Lute, or Viol still, more apt for mournful things.

Note: 22 latter] latest 1673.

Befriend me night best Patroness of grief,

Over the Pole thy thickest mantle throw, 30

And work my flatterd fancy to belief,

That Heav'n and Earth are colour'd with my wo;

My sorrows are too dark for day to know:

The leaves should all be black wheron I write,

And letters where my tears have washt a wannish white.

See see the Chariot, and those rushing wheels,

That whirl'd the Prophet up at Chebar flood,

My spirit som transporting Cherub feels,

To bear me where the Towers of Salem stood,

Once glorious Towers, now sunk in guiltles blood; 40

There doth my soul in holy vision sit

In pensive trance, and anguish, and ecstatick fit.

VII

Mine eye hath found that sad Sepulchral rock

That was the Casket of Heav'ns richest store,

And here though grief my feeble hands up-lock,

Yet on the softned Quarry would I score

My plaining vers as lively as before;

For sure so well instructed are my tears,

They would fitly fall in order'd Characters.

VIII

I thence hurried on viewles wing, 50

Take up a weeping on the Mountains wilde,

The gentle neighbourhood of grove and spring

Would soon unboosom all their Echoes milde,

And I (for grief is easily beguild)

Might think th'infection of my sorrows bound,

Had got a race of mourners on som pregnant cloud.

Note: This subject the Author finding to be above the yeers he had,

when he wrote it, and nothing satisfi'd with what was begun,

left it unfinish'd.

ON TIME.

FLY envious Time, till thou run out thy race,

Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,

Whose speed is but the heavy Plummets pace;

And glut thy self with what thy womb devours,

Which is no more then what is false and vain,

And meerly mortal dross;

So little is our loss,

So little is thy gain.

For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb'd,

And last of all, thy greedy self consum'd, 10

Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss

With an individual kiss;

And Joy shall overtake us as a flood,

When every thing that is sincerely good

And perfectly divine,

With Truth, and Peace, and Love shall ever shine

About the supreme Throne

Of him, t'whose happy-making sight alone,

When once our heav'nly-guided soul shall clime,

Then all this Earthy grosnes quit, 20

Attir'd with Stars, we shall for ever sit,

Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee O Time.

Note: See the appendix for the manuscript version.

UPON THE CIRCUMCISION.

YE flaming Powers, and winged Warriours bright,

That erst with Musick, and triumphant song

First heard by happy watchful Shepherds ear,

So sweetly sung your Joy the Clouds along

Through the soft silence of the list'ning night;

Now mourn, and if sad share with us to bear

Your fiery essence can distill no tear,

Burn in your sighs, and borrow

Seas wept from our deep sorrow,

He who with all Heav'ns heraldry whileare 10

Enter'd the world, now bleeds to give us ease;

Alas, how soon our sin

Sore doth begin

His Infancy to sease!

O more exceeding love or law more just?

Just law indeed, but more exceeding love!

For we by rightfull doom remediles

Were lost in death, till he that dwelt above

High thron'd in secret bliss, for us frail dust

Emptied his glory, ev'n to nakednes; 20

And that great Cov'nant which we still transgress

Intirely satisfi'd,

And the full wrath beside

Of vengeful Justice bore for our excess,

And seals obedience first with wounding smart

This day, but O ere long

Huge pangs and strong

Will pierce more neer his heart.

AT A SOLEMN MUSICK.

BLEST pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav'ns joy,

Sphear-born harmonious Sisters, Voice, and Vers,

Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employ

Dead things with inbreath'd sense able to pierce,

And to our high-rais'd phantasie present,

That undisturbed Song of pure content,

Ay sung before the saphire-colour'd throne

To him that sits theron

With Saintly shout, and solemn Jubily,

Where the bright Seraphim in burning row 10

Their loud up-lifted Angel trumpets blow,

And the Cherubick host in thousand quires

Touch their immortal Harps of golden wires,

With those just Spirits that wear victorious Palms,

Hymns devout and holy Psalms

Singing everlastingly;

That we on Earth with undiscording voice

May rightly answer that melodious noise;

As once we did, till disproportion'd sin

Jarr'd against natures chime, and with harsh din 20

The fair musick that all creatures made

To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd

In perfect Diapason, whilst they stood

In first obedience, and their state of good.

O may we soon again renew that Song,

And keep in tune with Heav'n, till God ere long

To his celestial consort us unite,

To live with him, and sing in endles morn of light.

Note: 6 content] Manuscript reads concent as does the Second

Edition; so that content is probably a misprint.

AN EPITAPH ON THE MARCHIONESS OF WINCHESTER.

THIS rich Marble doth enterr

The honour'd Wife of Winchester,

A Vicounts daughter, an Earls heir,

Besides what her vertues fair

Added to her noble birth,

More then she could own from Earth.

Summers three times eight save one

She had told, alas too soon,

After so short time of breath,

To house with darknes, and with death. 10

Yet had the number of her days

Bin as compleat as was her praise,

Nature and fate had had no strife

In giving limit to her life.

Her high birth, and her graces sweet,

Quickly found a lover meet;

The Virgin quire for her request

The God that sits at marriage feast;

He at their invoking came

But with a scarce-wel-lighted flame; 20

And in his Garland as he stood,

Ye might discern a Cipress bud.

Once had the early Matrons run

To greet her of a lovely son,

And now with second hope she goes,

And calls Lucina to her throws;

But whether by mischance or blame

Atropos for Lucina came;

And with remorsles cruelty,

Spoil'd at once both fruit and tree: 30

The haples Babe before his birth

Had burial, yet not laid in earth,

And the languisht Mothers Womb

Was not long a living Tomb.

So have I seen som tender slip

Sav'd with care from Winters nip,

The pride of her carnation train,

Pluck't up by som unheedy swain,

Who onely thought to crop the flowr

New shot up from vernall showr; 40

But the fair blossom hangs the head

Side-ways as on a dying bed,

And those Pearls of dew she wears,

Prove to be presaging tears

Which the sad morn had let fall

On her hast'ning funerall.

Gentle Lady may thy grave

Peace and quiet ever have;

After this thy travail sore

Sweet rest sease thee evermore, 50

That to give the world encrease,

Shortned hast thy own lives lease;

Here besides the sorrowing

That thy noble House doth bring,

Here be tears of perfect moan

Weept for thee in Helicon,

And som Flowers, and som Bays,

For thy Hears to strew the ways,

Sent thee from the banks of Came,

Devoted to thy vertuous name; 60

Whilst thou bright Saint high sit'st in glory,

Next her much like to thee in story,

That fair Syrian Shepherdess,

Who after yeers of barrennes,

The highly favour'd Joseph bore

To him that serv'd for her before,

And at her next birth much like thee,

Through pangs fled to felicity,

Far within the boosom bright

of blazing Majesty and Light, 70

There with thee, new welcom Saint,

Like fortunes may her soul acquaint,

With thee there clad in radiant sheen,

No Marchioness, but now a Queen.

SONG ON MAY MORNING.

Now the bright morning Star, Dayes harbinger,

Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her

The Flowry May, who from her green lap throws

The yellow Cowslip, and the pale Primrose.

Hail bounteous May that dost inspire

Mirth and youth, and warm desire,

Woods and Groves, are of thy dressing,

Hill and Dale, doth boast thy blessing.

Thus we salute thee with our early Song,

And welcom thee, and wish thee long. 10

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,

What need'st thou such weak witnes of thy name?

Thou in our wonder and astonishment

Hast built thy self a live-long Monument.

For whilst to th'shame of slow-endeavouring art,

Thy easie numbers flow, and that each heart 10

Hath from the Leaves of thy unvalu'd Book,

Those Delphick lines with deep impression took,

Then thou our fancy of it self bereaving,

Dost make us Marble with too much conceaving;

And so Sepulcher'd in such pomp dost lie,

That Kings for such a Tomb would wish to die.

Notes: On Shakespear. Reprinted 1632 in the second folio

Shakespeare:

Title] An epitaph on the admirable dramaticke poet W.

Shakespeare

1 needs] neede

6 weak] dull

8 live-long] lasting

10 heart] part

13 it] her

ON THE UNIVERSITY CARRIER WHO SICKN'D IN THE TIME OF HIS

VACANCY, BEING FORBID TO GO TO LONDON, BY REASON OF THE

PLAGUE.

HERE lies old Hobson, Death hath broke his girt,

And here alas, hath laid him in the dirt,

Or els the ways being foul, twenty to one,

He's here stuck in a slough, and overthrown.

'Twas such a shifter, that if truth were known,

Death was half glad when he had got him down;

For he had any time this ten yeers full,

Dodg'd with him, betwixt Cambridge and the Bull.

And surely, Death could never have prevail'd,

Had not his weekly cours of carriage fail'd; 10

But lately finding him so long at home,

And thinking now his journeys end was come,

And that he had tane up his latest Inne,

In the kind office of a Chamberlin

Shew'd him his room where he must lodge that night,

Pull'd off his Boots, and took away the light:

If any ask for him, it shall be sed,

Hobson has supt, and 's newly gon to bed.

ANOTHER ON THE SAME.

HERE lieth one who did most truly prove,

That he could never die while he could move,

So hung his destiny never to rot

While he might still jogg on, and keep his trot,

Made of sphear-metal, never to decay

Untill his revolution was at stay.

Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime

'Gainst old truth) motion number'd out his time:

And like an Engin mov'd with wheel and waight,

His principles being ceast, he ended strait. 10

Rest that gives all men life, gave him his death,

And too much breathing put him out of breath;

Nor were it contradiction to affirm

Too long vacation hastned on his term.

Meerly to drive the time away he sickn'd,

Fainted, and died, nor would with Ale be quickn'd;

Nay, quoth he, on his swooning bed out-stretch'd,

If I may not carry, sure Ile ne're be fetch'd,

But vow though the cross Doctors all stood hearers,

For one Carrier put down to make six bearers. 20

Ease was his chief disease, and to judge right,

He di'd for heavines that his Cart went light,

His leasure told him that his time was com,

And lack of load, made his life burdensom

That even to his last breath (ther be that say't)

As he were prest to death, he cry'd more waight;

But had his doings lasted as they were,

He had bin an immortall Carrier.

Obedient to the Moon he spent his date

In cours reciprocal, and had his fate 30

Linkt to the mutual flowing of the Seas,

Yet (strange to think) his wain was his increase:

His Letters are deliver'd all and gon,

Onely remains this superscription.

L'ALLEGRO.

HENCE loathed Melancholy

Of Cerberus, and blackest midnight born,

In Stygian Cave forlorn

'Mongst horrid shapes, and shreiks, and sights unholy,

Find out som uncouth cell,

Where brooding darknes spreads his jealous wings,

And the night-Raven sings;

There under Ebon shades and low-brow'd Rocks,

As ragged as thy Locks,

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. 10

But com thou Goddes fair and free,

In Heav'n ycleap'd Euphrosyne,

And by men, heart-easing Mirth,

Whom lovely Venus at a birth

With two sister Graces more

To Ivy-crowned Bacchus bore;

Or whether (as som Sager sing)

The frolick Wind that breathes the Spring,

Zephir with Aurora playing,

As he met her once a Maying, 20

There on Beds of Violets blew,

And fresh-blown Roses washt in dew,

Fill'd her with thee a daughter fair,

So bucksom, blith, and debonair.

Haste thee nymph, and bring with thee

Jest and youthful Jollity,

Quips and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,

Nods, and Becks, and Wreathed Smiles,

Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,

And love to live in dimple sleek; 30

Sport that wrincled Care derides,

And Laughter holding both his sides.

Com, and trip it as ye go

On the light fantastick toe,

And in thy right hand lead with thee,

The Mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty;

And if I give thee honour due,

Mirth, admit me of thy crue

To live with her, and live with thee,

In unreproved pleasures free; 40

To hear the Lark begin his flight,

And singing startle the dull night,

From his watch-towre in the skies,

Till the dappled dawn doth rise;

Then to com in spight of sorrow,

And at my window bid good morrow,

Through the Sweet-Briar, or the Vine,

Or the twisted Eglantine.

While the Cock with lively din,

Scatters the rear of darknes thin, 50

And to the stack, or the Barn dore,

Stoutly struts his Dames before,

Oft list'ning how the Hounds and horn

Chearly rouse the slumbring morn,

From the side of som Hoar Hill,

Through the high wood echoing shrill.

Som time walking not unseen

By Hedge-row Elms, on Hillocks green,

Right against the Eastern gate,

Wher the great Sun begins his state, 60

Rob'd in flames, and Amber light,

The clouds in thousand Liveries dight.

While the Plowman neer at hand,

Whistles ore the Furrow'd Land,

And the Milkmaid singeth blithe,

And the Mower whets his sithe,

And every Shepherd tells his tale

Under the Hawthorn in the dale.

Streit mine eye hath caught new pleasures

Whilst the Lantskip round it measures, 70

Russet Lawns, and Fallows Gray,

Where the nibling flocks do stray,

Mountains on whose barren brest

The labouring clouds do often rest:

Meadows trim with Daisies pide,

Shallow Brooks, and Rivers wide.

Towers, and Battlements it sees

Boosom'd high in tufted Trees,

Wher perhaps som beauty lies,

The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes. 80

Hard by, a Cottage chimney smokes,

From betwixt two aged Okes,

Where Corydon and Thyrsis met,

Are at their savory dinner set

Of Hearbs, and other Country Messes,

Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses;

And then in haste her Bowre she leaves,

With Thestylis to bind the Sheaves;

Or if the earlier season lead

To the tann'd Haycock in the Mead, 90

Som times with secure delight

The up-land Hamlets will invite,

When the merry Bells ring round,

And the jocond rebecks sound

To many a youth, and many a maid,

Dancing in the Chequer'd shade;

And young and old com forth to play

On a Sunshine Holyday,

Till the live-long day-light fail,

Then to the Spicy Nut-brown Ale, 100

With stories told of many a feat,

How Faery Mab the junkets eat,

She was pincht, and pull'd she sed,

And he by Friars Lanthorn led

Tells how the drudging Goblin swet,

To ern his Cream-bowle duly set,

When in one night, ere glimps of morn,

His shadowy Flale hath thresh'd the Corn

That ten day-labourers could not end,

Then lies him down the Lubbar Fend. 110

And stretch'd out all the Chimney's length,

Basks at the fire his hairy strength;

And Crop-full out of dores he flings,

Ere the first Cock his Mattin rings.

Thus don the Tales, to bed they creep,

By whispering Windes soon lull'd asleep.

Towred Cities please us then,

And the busie humm of men,

Where throngs of Knights and Barons bold,

In weeds of Peace high triumphs hold, 120

With store of Ladies, whose bright eies

Rain influence, and judge the prise

Of Wit, or Arms, while both contend

To win her Grace, whom all commend.

There let Hymen oft appear

In Saffron robe, with Taper clear,

And pomp, and feast, and revelry,

With mask, and antique Pageantry,

Such sights as youthfull Poets dream

On Summer eeves by haunted stream. 130

Then to the well-trod stage anon,

If Jonsons learned Sock be on,

Or sweetest Shakespear fancies childe,

Warble his native Wood-notes wilde,

And ever against eating Cares,

Lap me in soft Lydian Aires,

Married to immortal verse

Such as the meeting soul may pierce

In notes, with many a winding bout

Of lincked sweetnes long drawn out, 140

With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,

The melting voice through mazes running;

Untwisting all the chains that ty

The hidden soul of harmony.

That Orpheus self may heave his head

From golden slumber on a bed

Of heapt Elysian flowres, and hear

Such streins as would have won the ear

Of Pluto, to have quite set free

His half regain'd Eurydice. 150

These delights, if thou canst give,

Mirth with thee, I mean to live.

Notes:

33 Ye] You 1673

104 And he by] And by the 1673

IL PENSEROSO.

Hence vain deluding joyes,

The brood of folly without father bred,

How little you bested,

Or fill the fixed mind with all your toyes;

Dwell in som idle brain

And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess,

As thick and numberless

As the gay motes that people the Sun Beams,

Or likest hovering dreams

The fickle Pensioners of Morpheus train. 10

But hail thou Goddess, sage and holy,

Hail divinest Melancholy

Whose Saintly visage is too bright

To hit the Sense of human sight;

And therefore to our weaker view,

Ore laid with black staid Wisdoms hue.

Black, but such as in esteem,

Prince Memnons sister might beseem,

Or that Starr'd Ethiope Queen that strove

To set her beauties praise above 20

The Sea Nymphs, and their powers offended.

Yet thou art higher far descended,

Thee bright-hair'd Vesta long of yore,

To solitary Saturn bore;

His daughter she (in Saturns raign,

Such mixture was not held a stain)

Oft in glimmering Bowres, and glades

He met her, and in secret shades

Of woody Ida's inmost grove,

While yet there was no fear of Jove. 30

Com pensive Nun, devout and pure,

Sober, stedfast, and demure,

All in a robe of darkest grain,

Flowing with majestick train,

And sable stole of Cipres Lawn,

Over thy decent shoulders drawn.

Com, but keep thy wonted state,

With eev'n step, and musing gate,

And looks commercing with the skies,

Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes: 40

There held in holy passion still,

Forget thy self to Marble, till

With a sad Leaden downward cast,

Thou fix them on the earth as fast.

And joyn with thee calm Peace, and Quiet,

Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet,

And hears the Muses in a ring,

Ay round about Joves Altar sing.

And adde to these retired Leasure,

That in trim Gardens takes his pleasure; 50

But first, and chiefest, with thee bring,

Him that yon soars on golden wing,

Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne,

The Cherub Contemplation,

And the mute Silence hist along,

'Less Philomel will daign a Song,

In her sweetest, saddest plight,

Smoothing the rugged brow of night,

While Cynthia checks her Dragon yoke,

Gently o're th'accustom'd Oke; 60

Sweet Bird that shunn'st the noise of folly

Most musical!, most melancholy!

Thee Chauntress oft the Woods among

I woo to hear thy eeven-Song;

And missing thee, I walk unseen

On the dry smooth-shaven Green,

To behold the wandring Moon,

Riding neer her highest noon,

Like one that had bin led astray

Through the Heav'ns wide pathles way; 70

And oft, as if her head she bow'd,

Stooping through a fleecy cloud.

Oft on a Plat of rising ground,

I hear the far-off Curfeu sound,

Over som wide-water'd shoar,

Swinging slow with sullen roar;

Or if the Ayr will not permit,

Som still removed place will fit,

Where glowing Embers through the room

Teach light to counterfeit a gloom 80

Far from all resort of mirth,

Save the Cricket on the hearth,

Or the Belmans drowsie charm,

To bless the dores from nightly harm:

Or let my Lamp at midnight hour,

Be seen in som high lonely Towr,

Where I may oft out-watch the Bear,

With thrice great Hermes, or unsphear

The spirit of Plato to unfold

What Worlds, or what vast Regions hold 90

The immortal mind that hath forsook

Her mansion in this fleshly nook:

And of those Daemons that are found

In fire, air, flood, or under ground,

Whose power hath a true consent

With planet or with Element.

Som time let Gorgeous Tragedy

In Scepter'd Pall com sweeping by,

Presenting Thebs, or Pelops line,

Or the tale of Troy divine. 100

Or what (though rare) of later age,

Ennobled hath the Buskind stage.

But, O sad Virgin, that thy power

Might raise Musaeus from his bower,

Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing

Such notes as warbled to the string,

Drew Iron tears down Pluto's cheek,

And made Hell grant what Love did seek.

Or call up him that left half told

The story of Cambuscan bold, 110

Of Camball, and of Algarsife,

And who had Canace to wife,

That own'd the vertuous Ring and Glass,

And of the wondrous Hors of Brass,

On which the Tartar King did ride;

And if ought els, great Bards beside,

In sage and solemn tunes have sung,

Of Turneys and of Trophies hung;

Of Forests, and inchantments drear,

Where more is meant then meets the ear. 120

Thus night oft see me in thy pale career,

Till civil-suited Morn appeer,

Not trickt and frounc't as she was wont,

With the Attick Boy to hunt,

But Cherchef't in a comly Cloud,

While rocking Winds are Piping loud,

Or usher'd with a shower still,

When the gust hath blown his fill,

Ending on the russling Leaves,

With minute drops from off the Eaves. 130

And when the Sun begins to fling

His flaring beams, me Goddes bring

To arched walks of twilight groves,

And shadows brown that Sylvan loves

Of Pine, or monumental Oake,

Where the rude Ax with heaved stroke,

Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt,

Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.

There in close covert by som Brook,

Where no profaner eye may look, 140

Hide me from Day's garish eie,

While the Bee with Honied thie,

That at her flowry work doth sing,

And the Waters murmuring

With such consort as they keep,

Entice the dewy-feather'd Sleep;

And let som strange mysterious dream,

Wave at his Wings in Airy stream,

Of lively portrature display'd,

Softly on my eye-lids laid. 150

And as I wake, sweet musick breath

Above, about, or underneath,

Sent by som spirit to mortals good,

Or th'unseen Genius of the Wood.

But let my due feet never fail,

To walk the studious Cloysters pale,

And love the high embowed Roof

With antick Pillars massy proof,

And storied Windows richly dight,

Casting a dimm religious light. 160

There let the pealing Organ blow,

To the full voic'd Quire below,

In Service high, and Anthems cleer,

As may with sweetnes, through mine ear,

Dissolve me into extasies,

And bring all Heav'n before mine eyes.

And may at last my weary age

Find out the peacefull hermitage,

The Hairy Gown and Mossy Cell,

Where I may sit and rightly spell 170

Of every Star that Heav'n doth shew,

And every Herb that sips the dew;

Till old experience do attain

To somthing like prophetic strain.

These pleasures Melancholy give,

And I with thee will choose to live.

SONNETS.

O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy Spray

Warbl'st at eeve, when all the Woods are still,

Thou with fresh hope the Lovers heart dost fill,

While the jolly hours lead on propitious May,

Thy liquid notes that close the eye of Day,

First heard before the shallow Cuccoo's bill

Portend success in love; O if Jove's will

Have linkt that amorous power to thy soft lay,

Now timely sing, ere the rude Bird of Hate

Foretell my hopeles doom in som Grove ny: 10

As thou from yeer to yeer hast sung too late

For my relief; yet hadst no reason why,

Whether the Muse, or Love call thee his mate,

Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

Donna leggiadra il cui bel nome honora

L'herbosa val di Rheno, e il nobil varco,

Ben e colui d'ogni valore scarco

Qual tuo spirto gentil non innamora,

Che dolcemente mostra si di fuora

De suoi atti soavi giamai parco,

E i don', che son d'amor saette ed arco,

La onde l' alta tua virtu s'infiora.

Quando tu vaga parli, O lieta canti

Che mover possa duro alpestre legno, 10

Guardi ciascun a gli occhi ed a gli orecchi

L'entrata, chi di te si truova indegno;

Gratia sola di su gli vaglia, inanti

Che'l disio amoroso al cuor s'invecchi.

III

Qual in colle aspro, al imbrunir di sera

L'avezza giovinetta pastorella

Va bagnando l'herbetta strana e bella

Che mal si spande a disusata spera

Fuor di sua natia alma primavera,

Cosi Amor meco insu la lingua snella

Desta il fior novo di strania favella,

Mentre io di te, vezzosamente altera,

Canto, dal mio buon popol non inteso

E'l bel Tamigi cangio col bel Arno 10

Amor lo volse, ed io a l'altrui peso

Seppi ch' Amor cosa mai volse indarno.

Deh! foss' il mio cuor lento e'l duro seno

A chi pianta dal ciel si buon terreno.

Canzone.

Ridonsi donne e giovani amorosi

M' occostandosi attorno, e perche scrivi,

Perche tu scrivi in lingua ignota e strana

Verseggiando d'amor, e come t'osi?

Dinne, se la tua speme sia mai vana

E de pensieri lo miglior t' arrivi;

Cosi mi van burlando, altri rivi

Altri lidi t' aspettan, & altre onde

Nelle cui verdi sponde

Spuntati ad hor, ad hor a la tua chioma 10

L'immortal guiderdon d 'eterne frondi

Perche alle spalle tue soverchia soma?

Canzon dirotti, e tu per me rispondi

Dice mia Donna, e'l suo dir, e il mio cuore

Questa e lingua di cui si vanta Amore.

Diodati, e te'l diro con maraviglia,

Quel ritroso io ch'amor spreggiar solea

E de suoi lacci spesso mi ridea

Gia caddi, ov'huom dabben talhor s'impiglia.

Ne treccie d'oro, ne guancia vermiglia

M' abbaglian si, ma sotto nova idea

Pellegrina bellezza che'l cuor bea,

Portamenti alti honesti, e nelle ciglia

Quel sereno fulgor d' amabil nero,

Parole adorne di lingua piu d'una, 10

E'l cantar che di mezzo l'hemispero

Traviar ben puo la faticosa Luna,

E degil occhi suoi auventa si gran fuoco

Che l 'incerar gli oreechi mi fia poco.

Per certo i bei vostr'occhi Donna mia

Esser non puo che non fian lo mio sole

Si mi percuoton forte, come ci suole

Per l'arene di Libia chi s'invia,

Mentre un caldo vapor (ne senti pria)

Da quel lato si spinge ove mi duole,

Che forsi amanti nelle lor parole

Chiaman sospir; io non so che si sia:

Parte rinchiusa, e turbida si cela

Scosso mi il petto, e poi n'uscendo poco 10

Quivi d' attorno o s'agghiaccia, o s'ingiela;

Ma quanto a gli occhi giunge a trovar loco

Tutte le notti a me suol far piovose

Finche mia Alba rivien colma di rose.

Giovane piano, e semplicetto amante

Poi che fuggir me stesso in dubbio sono,

Madonna a voi del mio cuor l'humil dono

Faro divoto; io certo a prove tante

L'hebbi fedele, intrepido, costante,

De pensieri leggiadro, accorto, e buono;

Quando rugge il gran mondo, e scocca il tuono,

S 'arma di se, e d' intero diamante,

Tanto del forse, e d' invidia sicuro,

Di timori, e speranze al popol use 10

Quanto d'ingegno, e d' alto valor vago,

E di cetra sonora, e delle muse:

Sol troverete in tal parte men duro

Ove amor mise l 'insanabil ago.

VII

How soon hath Time the suttle theef of youth,

Stoln on his wing my three and twentith yeer!

My hasting dayes flie on with full career,

But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th,

Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,

That I to manhood am arriv'd so near,

And inward ripenes doth much less appear,

That som more timely-happy spirits indu'th.

Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow.

It shall be still in strictest measure eev'n, 10

To that same lot, however mean, or high,

Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heav'n;

All is, if I have grace to use it so,

As ever in my great task Masters eye.

VIII

Captain or Colonel, or Knight in Arms,

Whose chance on these defenceless dores may sease,

If ever deed of honour did thee please,

Guard them, and him within protect from harms,

He can requite thee, for he knows the charms

That call Fame on such gentle acts as these,

And he can spred thy Name o're Lands and Seas,

What ever clime the Suns bright circle warms.

Lift not thy spear against the Muses Bowre,

The great Emathian Conqueror bid spare 10

The house of Pindarus, when Temple and Towre

Went to the ground: And the repeated air

Of sad Electra's Poet had the power

To save th' Athenian Walls from ruine bare.

Notes:

Camb. autograph supplies title, When the assault was intended

to the city.

3 If deed of honour did thee ever please, 1673.

Lady that in the prime of earliest youth,

Wisely hath shun'd the broad way and the green,

And with those few art eminently seen,

That labour up the Hill of heav'nly Truth,

The better part with Mary and with Ruth,

Chosen thou hast, and they that overween,

And at thy growing vertues fret their spleen,

No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth.

Thy care is fixt and zealously attends

To fill thy odorous Lamp with deeds of light,

And Hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be sure

Thou, when the Bridegroom with his feastfull friends

Passes to bliss at the mid hour of night,

Hast gain'd thy entrance, Virgin wise and pure.

Note: 5 with Ruth] the Ruth 1645.

Daughter to that good Earl, once President

Of Englands Counsel, and her Treasury,

Who liv'd in both, unstain'd with gold or fee,

And left them both, more in himself content,

Till the sad breaking of that Parlament

Broke him, as that dishonest victory

At Chaeronea, fatal to liberty

Kil'd with report that Old man eloquent,

Though later born, then to have known the dayes

Wherin your Father flourisht, yet by you 10

Madam, me thinks I see him living yet;

So well your words his noble vertues praise,

That all both judge you to relate them true,

And to possess them, Honour'd Margaret.

Note: Camb. autograph supplies title, To the Lady Margaret

Ley.

ARCADES.

Part of an entertainment presented to the Countess Dowager of

Darby at Harefield, by som Noble persons of her Family, who

appear on the Scene in pastoral habit, moving toward the seat

of State with this Song.

I. SONG.

LOOK Nymphs, and Shepherds look,

What sudden blaze of majesty

Is that which we from hence descry

Too divine to be mistook:

This this is she

To whom our vows and wishes bend,

Heer our solemn search hath end.

Fame that her high worth to raise,

Seem'd erst so lavish and profuse,

We may justly now accuse 10

Of detraction from her praise,

Less then half we find exprest,

Envy bid conceal the rest.

Mark what radiant state she spreds,

In circle round her shining throne,

Shooting her beams like silver threds,

This this is she alone,

Sitting like a Goddes bright,

In the center of her light.

Might she the wise Latona be, 20

Or the towred Cybele,

Mother of a hunderd gods;

Juno dare's not give her odds;

Who had thought this clime had held

A deity so unparalel'd?

As they com forward, the genius of the Wood appears, and

turning toward them, speaks.

GEN. Stay gentle Swains, for though in this disguise,

I see bright honour sparkle through your eyes,

Of famous Arcady ye are, and sprung

Of that renowned flood, so often sung,

Divine Alpheus, who by secret sluse, 30

Stole under Seas to meet his Arethuse;

And ye the breathing Roses of the Wood,

Fair silver-buskind Nymphs as great and good,

I know this quest of yours, and free intent

Was all in honour and devotion ment

To the great Mistres of yon princely shrine,

Whom with low reverence I adore as mine,

And with all helpful service will comply

To further this nights glad solemnity;

And lead ye where ye may more neer behold 40

What shallow-searching Fame hath left untold;

Which I full oft amidst these shades alone

Have sate to wonder at, and gaze upon:

For know by lot from Jove I am the powr

Of this fair wood, and live in Oak'n bowr,

To nurse the Saplings tall, and curl the grove

With Ringlets quaint, and wanton windings wove.

And all my Plants I save from nightly ill,

Of noisom winds, and blasting vapours chill.

And from the Boughs brush off the evil dew, 50

And heal the harms of thwarting thunder blew,

Or what the cross dire-looking Planet smites,

Or hurtfull Worm with canker'd venom bites.

When Eev'ning gray doth rise, I fetch my round

Over the mount, and all this hallow'd ground,

And early ere the odorous breath of morn

Awakes the slumbring leaves, or tasseld horn

Shakes the high thicket, haste I all about,

Number my ranks, and visit every sprout

With puissant words, and murmurs made to bless, 60

But els in deep of night when drowsines

Hath lockt up mortal sense, then listen I

To the celestial Sirens harmony,

That sit upon the nine enfolded Sphears,

And sing to those that hold the vital shears,

And turn the Adamantine spindle round,

On which the fate of gods and men is wound.

Such sweet compulsion doth in musick ly,

To lull the daughters of Necessity,

And keep unsteddy Nature to her law, 70

And the low world in measur'd motion draw

After the heavenly tune, which none can hear

Of human mould with grosse unpurged ear;

And yet such musick worthiest were to blaze

The peerles height of her immortal praise,

Whose lustre leads us, and for her most fit,

If my inferior hand or voice could hit

Inimitable sounds, yet as we go,

What ere the skill of lesser gods can show,

I will assay, her worth to celebrate, 80

And so attend ye toward her glittering state;

Where ye may all that are of noble stemm

Approach, and kiss her sacred vestures hemm.

2. SONG.

O're the smooth enameld green

Where no print of step hath been,

Follow me as I sing,

And touch the warbled string.

Under the shady roof

Of branching Elm Star-proof,

Follow me, 90

I will bring you where she sits

Clad in splendor as befits

Her deity.

Such a rural Queen

All Arcadia hath not seen.

3. SONG.

Nymphs and Shepherds dance no more

By sandy Ladons Lillied banks.

On old Lycaeus or Cyllene hoar,

Trip no more in twilight ranks,

Though Erynanth your loss deplore, 100

A better soyl shall give ye thanks.

From the stony Maenalus,

Bring your Flocks, and live with us,

Here ye shall have greater grace,

To serve the Lady of this place.

Though Syrinx your Pans Mistres were,

Yet Syrinx well might wait on her.

Such a rural Queen

All Arcadia hath not seen.

Note: 22 hunderd] Milton's own spelling here is hundred. But in

the Errata to Paradise Lost (i. 760) he corrects hundred to hunderd.

Transcriber's note: Facsimile of Title page of Lycidas follows:

JUSTA

EDOVARDO KING

naufrago,

Amicis Moerentibus,

amoris

mneias chaein

------------------------------------------------------------

Sirecte calculam ponas, ubique naufragium est.

Pet. Arb.

------------------------------------------------------------

CANTABRIGIAE:

Apud Thomam Buck, & Rogerum Daniel, celeberrimae

Academiae typographos. 1638.

LYCIDAS.

In this Monody the Author bewails a learned Friend,

unfortunatly drown'd in his Passage from Chester on the Irish

Seas, 1637. And by occasion foretels the ruine of our

corrupted Clergy then in their height.

YET once more, O ye Laurels, and once more

Ye Myrtles brown, with Ivy never-sear,

I com to pluck your Berries harsh and crude,

And with forc'd fingers rude,

Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.

Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear,

Compels me to disturb your season due:

For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime

Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer:

Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew

Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. 10

He must not flote upon his watry bear

Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,

Without the meed of som melodious tear.

Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well,

That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring,

Begin, and somwhat loudly sweep the string.

Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse,

So may som gentle Muse

With lucky words favour my destin'd Urn, 20

And as he passes turn,

And bid fair peace be to my sable shrowd.

For we were nurst upon the self-same hill,

Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill.

Together both, ere the high Lawns appear'd

Under the opening eye-lids of the morn,

We drove a field and both together heard

What time the Gray-fly winds her sultry horn,

Batt'ning our flocks with the fresh dews of night,

Oft till the Star that rose, at Ev'ning, bright 30

Toward Heav'ns descent had slop'd his westering wheel.

Mean while the Rural ditties were not mute,

Temper'd to th'Oaten Flute;

Rough Satyrs danc'd, and Fauns with clov'n heel,

From the glad sound would not be absent long,

And old Damoetas lov'd to hear our song.

But O the heavy change, now thou art gon,

Now thou art gon, and never must return!

Thee Shepherd, thee the Woods, and desert Caves,

With wilde Thyme and the gadding Vine o'regrown, 40

And all their echoes mourn.

The Willows, and the Hazle Copses green,

Shall now no more be seen,

Fanning their joyous Leaves to thy soft layes.

As killing as the Canker to the Rose,

Or Taint-worm to the weanling Herds that graze,

Or Frost to Flowers, that their gay wardrop wear,

When first the White thorn blows;

Such, Lycidas, thy loss to Shepherds ear.

Where were ye Nymphs when the remorseless deep 50

Clos'd o're the head of your lov'd Lycidas?

For neither were ye playing on the steep,

Where your old Bards, the famous Druids ly,

Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high,

Nor yet where Deva spreads her wisard stream:

Ay me, I fondly dream!

Had ye bin there--for what could that have don?

What could the Muse her self that Orpheus bore,

The Muse her self, for her inchanting son

Whom Universal nature did lament, 60

When by the rout that made the hideous roar,

His goary visage down the stream was sent,

Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore.

Alas! What boots it with uncessant care

To tend the homely slighted Shepherds trade,

And strictly meditate the thankles Muse,

Were it not better don as others use,

To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,

Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair?

Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise 70

(That last infirmity of Noble mind)

To scorn delights, and live laborious dayes:

But the fair Guerdon when we hope to find,

And think to burst out into sudden blaze.

Comes the blind Fury with th'abhorred shears,

And slits the thin spun life. But not the praise,

Phoebus repli'd, and touch'd my trembling ears;

Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil,

Nor in the glistering foil

Set off to th'world, nor in broad rumour lies, 80

But lives and spreds aloft by those pure eyes,

And perfet witnes of all judging Jove;

As he pronounces lastly on each deed,

Of so much fame in Heav'n expect thy meed.

O Fountain Arethuse, and thou honour'd floud,

Smooth-sliding Mincius, crown'd with vocall reeds,

That strain I heard was of a higher mood:

But now my Oate proceeds,

And listens to the Herald of the Sea

That came in Neptune's plea, 90

He ask'd the Waves, and ask'd the Fellon winds,

What hard mishap hath doom'd this gentle swain?

And question'd every gust of rugged wings

That blows from off each beaked Promontory,

They knew not of his story,

And sage Hippotades their answer brings,

That not a blast was from his dungeon stray'd,

The Ayr was calm, and on the level brine,

Sleek Panope with all her sisters play'd.

It was that fatall and perfidious Bark 100

Built in th'eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark,

That sunk so low that sacred head of thine.

Next Camus, reverend Sire, went footing slow,

His Mantle hairy, and his Bonnet sedge,

Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge

Like to that sanguine flower inscrib'd with woe.

Ah; Who hath reft (quoth he) my dearest pledge?

Last came, and last did go,

The Pilot of the Galilean lake,

Two massy Keyes he bore of metals twain, 110

(The Golden opes, the Iron shuts amain)

He shook his Miter'd locks, and stern bespake,

How well could I have spar'd for thee, young swain,

Anow of such as for their bellies sake,

Creep and intrude, and climb into the fold?

Of other care they little reck'ning make,

Then how to scramble at the shearers feast,

And shove away the worthy bidden guest.

Blind mouthes! that scarce themselves know how to hold

A Sheep-hook, or have learn'd ought els the least 120

That to the faithfull Herdmans art belongs!

What recks it them? What need they? They are sped;

And when they list, their lean and flashy songs

Grate on their scrannel Pipes of wretched straw,

The hungry Sheep look up, and are not fed,

But swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw,

Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread:

Besides what the grim Woolf with privy paw

Daily devours apace, and nothing sed,

But that two-handed engine at the door, 130

Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.

Return Alpheus, the dread voice is past,

That shrunk thy streams; Return Sicilian Muse,

And call the Vales, and bid them hither cast

Their Bels, and Flourets of a thousand hues.

Ye valleys low where the milde whispers use,

Of shades and wanton winds, and gushing brooks,

On whose fresh lap the swart Star sparely looks,

Throw hither all your quaint enameld eyes,

That on the green terf suck the honied showres, 140

And purple all the ground with vernal flowres.

Bring the rathe Primrose that forsaken dies.

The tufted Crow-toe, and pale Gessamine,

The white Pink, and the Pansie freakt with jeat,

The glowing Violet.

The Musk-rose, and the well attir'd Woodbine.

With Cowslips wan that hang the pensive hed,

And every flower that sad embroidery wears:

Bid Amaranthus all his beauty shed,

And daffadillies fill their cups with tears, 150

And strew the Laureat Herse where Lycid lies.

For so to interpose a little ease,

Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise.

Ah me! Whilst thee the shores, and sounding Seas

Wash far away, where ere thy bones are hurl'd

Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides.

Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide

Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world;

Or whether thou to our moist vows deny'd,

Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old, 160

Where the great vision of the guarded Mount

Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold;

Look homeward Angel now, and melt with ruth.

And, O ye Dolphins, waft the haples youth.

Weep no more, woful Shepherds weep no more,

For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead,

Sunk though he be beneath the watry floar,

So sinks the day-star in the Ocean bed,

And yet anon repairs his drooping head,

And tricks his beams, and with new spangled Ore, 170

Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:

So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high,

Through the dear might of him that walk'd the waves

Where other groves, and other streams along,

With Nectar pure his oozy Lock's he laves,

And hears the unexpressive nuptiall Song,

In the blest Kingdoms meek of joy and love.

There entertain him all the Saints above,

In solemn troops, and sweet Societies

That sing, and singing in their glory move, 180

And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.

Now Lycidas the Shepherds weep no more;

Hence forth thou art the Genius of the shore,

In thy large recompense and shalt be good

To all that wander in that perilous flood.

Thus sang the uncouth Swain to th'Okes and rills,

While the still morn went out with Sandals gray,

He touch'd the tender stops of various Quills,

With eager thought warbling his Dorick lay:

And now the Sun had stretch'd out all the hills, 190

And now was dropt into the Western bay;

At last he rose, and twitch'd his Mantle blew:

To morrow to fresh Woods, and Pastures new.

Notes:

64 uncessant] Manuscript reads incessant, so that uncessant

is probably a misprint; though that spelling is retained in the Second

Edition.

82 perfet] So in Comus, line 203. In both these places

the manuscript has perfect, as elsewhere where the word occurs. In

the Solemn Music, line 23, where the First Edition reads perfect,

the second reads perfet.

149 Amaranthus] Amarantus

Transcriber's note: Facsimile of Title page of Comus follows:

A MASKE

PRESENTED

At Ludlow Castle,

1634:

On Michalemasse night, before the

RIGHT HONORABLE,

IOHN Earle of Bridgewater, Viscount Brackly,

Lord President of WALES, and one of

His MAIESTIES most honorable

Privie Counsell.

------------------------------------------------------------

Eheu quid volui misero mihi! floribus austrum

Perditus ------------------

------------------------------------------------------------

LONDON

Printed for HYMPHREY ROBINSON

at the signe of the Three Pidgeons in

Pauls Church-yard. 1637.

To the Right Honourable, John Lord Vicount Bracly, Son and

Heir apparent to the Earl of Bridgewater, &c.

My LORD,

This Poem, which receiv'd its first occasion of Birth from your

Self, and others of your Noble Family, and much honour from

your own Person in the performance, now returns again to

make a finall Dedication of it self to you. Although not openly

acknowledg'd by the Author, yet it is a legitimate off-spring, so

lovely, and so much desired, that the often Copying of it hath

tired my Pen to give my several friends satisfaction, and brought

me to a necessity of producing it to the publike view; and now

to offer it up in all rightfull devotion to those fair Hopes, and

rare endowments of your much-promising Youth, which give a

full assurance, to all that know you, of a future excellence. Live

sweet Lord to be the honour of your Name, and receive this as

your own, from the hands of him, who hath by many favours

been long oblig'd to your most honour'd Parents, and as in this

representation your attendant Thyrsis, so now in all reall

expression

Your faithfull, and most humble Servant

H. LAWES.

Note: Dedication to Vicount Bracly: Omitted in 1673.

The Copy of a Letter writt'n by Sir HENRY WOOTTON, to

the Author, upon the following Poem.

From the Colledge, this 13. of April, 1638.

SIR,

It was a special favour, when you lately bestowed upon me

here, the first taste of your acquaintance, though no longer then

to make me know that I wanted more time to value it, and to

enjoy it rightly; and in truth, if I could then have imagined your

farther stay in these parts, which I understood afterwards by

Mr. H. I would have been bold in our vulgar phrase to mend my

draught (for you left me with an extreme thirst) and to have

begged your conversation again, joyntly with your said learned

Friend, at a poor meal or two, that we might have banded

together som good Authors of the antient time: Among which, I

observed you to have been familiar.

Since your going, you have charg'd me with new Obligations,

both for a very kinde Letter from you dated the sixth of this

Month, and for a dainty peece of entertainment which came

therwith. Wherin I should much commend the Tragical part, if

the Lyrical did not ravish me with a certain Dorique delicacy in

your Songs and Odes, wherunto I must plainly confess to have

seen yet nothing parallel in our Language: Ipsa mollities.

But I must not omit to tell you, that I now onely owe you

thanks for intimating unto me (how modestly soever) the true

Artificer. For the work it self I had view'd som good while

before, with singular delight, having receiv'd it from our

common Friend Mr. R. in the very close of the late R's Poems,

Printed at Oxford, wherunto it was added (as I now suppose)

that the Accessory might help out the Principal, according to

the Art of Stationers, and to leave the Reader Con la bocca

dolce.

Now Sir, concerning your travels, wherin I may challenge a

little more priviledge of Discours with you; I suppose you will

not blanch Paris in your way; therfore I have been bold to

trouble you with a few lines to Mr. M. B. whom you shall easily

find attending the young Lord S. as his Governour, and you

may surely receive from him good directions for the shaping of

your farther journey into Italy, where he did reside by my choice

som time for the King, after mine own recess from Venice.

I should think that your best Line will be thorow the whole

length of France to Marseilles, and thence by Sea to Genoa,

whence the passage into Tuscany is as Diurnal as a Gravesend

Barge: I hasten as you do to Florence, or Siena, the rather to tell

you a short story from the interest you have given me in your

safety.

At Siena I was tabled in the House of one Alberto Scipioni, an

old Roman Courtier in dangerous times, having bin Steward to

the Duca di Pagliano, who with all his Family were strangled

save this onely man that escap'd by foresight of the Tempest:

With him I had often much chat of those affairs; Into which he

took pleasure to look back from his Native Harbour: and at my

departure toward Rome (which had been the center of his

experience) I had wonn confidence enough to beg his advice,

how I might carry my self securely there, without offence of

mine own conscience. Signor Arrigo mio (sayes he) I pensieri

stretti, & il viso sciolto, will go safely over the whole World: Of

which Delphian Oracle (for so I have found it) your judgement

doth need no commentary; and therfore (Sir) I will commit you

with it to the best of all securities, Gods dear love, remaining

Your Friend as much at command as any of longer date,

Henry Wootton.

Postscript.

SIR, I have expressly sent this my Foot-boy to prevent your

departure without som acknowledgement from me of the

receipt of your obliging Letter, having myself through som

busines, I know not how, neglected the ordinary conveyance.

In any part where I shall understand you fixed, I shall be glad,

and diligent to entertain you with Home-Novelties; even for

som fomentation of our friendship, too soon interrupted in the

Cradle.

Note: Letter from Sir Henry Wootton: Omitted in 1673

A MASK PRESENTED At LUDLOW-Castle, 1634. &c.

The Persons.

The attendant Spirit afterwards in the habit of Thyrsis.

Comus with his crew.

The Lady.

1. Brother.

2. Brother.

Sabrina the Nymph.

The cheif persons which presented, were

The Lord Bracly.

Mr. Thomas Egerton his Brother,

The Lady Alice Egerton.

The first Scene discovers a wilde Wood.

The attendant Spirit descends or enters.

Spir: Before the starry threshold of Joves Court

My mansion is, where those immortal shapes

Of bright aereal Spirits live insphear'd

In Regions milde of calm and serene Ayr,

Above the smoak and stirr of this dim spot,

Which men call Earth, and with low-thoughted care

Confin'd, and pester'd in this pin-fold here,

Strive to keep up a frail, and Feaverish being

Unmindfull of the crown that Vertue gives

After this mortal change, to her true Servants 10

Amongst the enthron'd gods on Sainted seats.

Yet some there be that by due steps aspire

To lay their just hands on that Golden Key

That ope's the Palace of Eternity:

To such my errand is, and but for such,

I would not soil these pure Ambrosial weeds,

With the rank vapours of this Sin-worn mould.

But to my task. Neptune besides the sway

Of every salt Flood, and each ebbing Stream,

Took in by lot 'twixt high, and neather Jove, 20

Imperial rule of all the Sea-girt Iles

That like to rich, and various gemms inlay

The unadorned boosom of the Deep,

Which he to grace his tributary gods

By course commits to severall government,

And gives them leave to wear their Saphire crowns,

And weild their little tridents, but this Ile

The greatest, and the best of all the main

He quarters to his blu-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 Fathers state,

And new-entrusted Scepter, but their way

Lies through the perplex't paths of this drear Wood,

The nodding horror of whose shady brows

Threats the forlorn and wandring Passinger.

And here their tender age might suffer perill, 40

But that by quick command from Soveran 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 Bowr.

Bacchus that first from out the purple Grape,

Crush't the sweet poyson of mis-used Wine

After the Tuscan Mariners transform'd

Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listed,

On Circes Iland 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,

Had by him, ere he parted thence, a Son

Much like his Father, but his Mother more,

Whom therfore she brought up and Comus named,

Who ripe, and frolick of his full grown age,

Roving the Celtic, and Iberian fields, 60

At last betakes him to this ominous Wood,

And in thick shelter of black shades imbowr'd,

Excells his Mother at her mighty Art,

Offring to every weary Travailer,

His orient liquor in a Crystal Glasse,

To quench the drouth of Phoebus, which as they taste

(For most do taste through fond intemperate thirst )

Soon as the Potion works, their human count'nance,

Th' express resemblance of the gods, is chang'd

Into som brutish form of Woolf, or Bear, 70

Or Ounce, or Tiger, Hog, or bearded Goat,

All other parts remaining as they were,

And they, so perfect is their misery,

Not once perceive their foul disfigurement,

But boast themselves more comely then before

And all their friends, and native home forget

To roule with pleasure in a sensual stie.

Therfore when any favour'd of high Jove,

Chances to pass through this adventrous glade,

Swift as the Sparkle of a glancing Star, 80

I shoot from Heav'n to give him safe convoy,

As now I do: But first I must put off

These my skie robes spun out of Iris Wooff,

And take the Weeds and likenes 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 wilde winds when they roar,

And hush the waving Woods, nor of lesse faith,

And in this office of his Mountain watch,

Likeliest, and neerest to the present ayd 90

Of this occasion. But I hear the tread

Of hatefull steps, I must be viewles now.

Comus enters with a Charming Rod in one hand, his Glass in

the other, with him a rout of monsters, headed like sundry sorts

of wilde Beasts, but otherwise like Men and Women, their

Apparel glistring, they come in making a riotous and unruly

noise, with Torches in their hands.

Co: The Star that bids the Shepherd fold,

Now the top of Heav'n doth hold,

And the gilded Car of Day,

His glowing Axle doth allay

In the steep Atlantick stream,

And the slope Sun his upward beam

Shoots against the dusky Pole,

Pacing toward the other gole 100

Of his Chamber in the East.

Meanwhile welcom Joy, and Feast,

Midnight shout, and revelry,

Tipsie dance, and Jollity.

Braid your Locks with rosie Twine

Dropping odours, dropping Wine.

Rigor now is gon to bed,

And Advice with scrupulous head,

Strict Age, and sowre Severity,

With their grave Saws in slumber ly. 110

We that are of purer fire

Imitate the Starry Quire,

Who in their nightly watchfull Sphears,

Lead in swift round the Months and Years.

The Sounds, and Seas with all their finny drove

Now to the Moon in wavering Morrice move,

And on the Tawny Sands and Shelves,

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?

Night hath better sweets to prove,

Venus now wakes, and wak'ns Love.

Com let us our rights begin,

'Tis onely day-light that makes Sin

Which these dun shades will ne're report.

Hail Goddesse of Nocturnal sport

Dark vaild Cotytto, t' whom the secret flame

Of mid-night Torches burns; mysterious Dame 130

That ne're art call'd, but when the Dragon woom

Of Stygian darknes spets her thickest gloom,

And makes one blot of all the ayr,

Stay thy cloudy Ebon chair,

Wherin thou rid'st with Hecat', and befriend

Us thy vow'd Priests, til 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 tel-tale Sun discry

Our conceal'd Solemnity.

Com, knit hands, and beat the ground,

In a light fantastick round.

The Measure.

Break off; break off, I feel the different pace,

Of som chast footing neer about this ground.

Run to your shrouds, within these Brakes and Trees,

Our number may affright: Som 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 e're long

Be well stock't with as fair a herd as graz'd

About my Mother Circe. Thus I hurl

My dazling Spells into the spungy ayr,

Of power to cheat the eye with blear illusion,

And give it false presentments, lest the place

And my quaint habits breed astonishment,

And put the Damsel to suspicious flight,

Which must not be, for that's against my course;

I under fair pretence of friendly ends, 160

And well plac't words of glozing courtesie

Baited with reasons not unplausible

Wind me into the easie-hearted man,

And hugg him into snares. When once her eye

Hath met the vertue of this Magick dust,

I shall appear som harmles Villager

Whom thrift keeps up about his Country gear,

But here she comes, I fairly step aside,

And hearken, if I may, her busines here.

The Lady enters.

La: This way the noise was, if mine ear be true, 170

My best guide now, me thought it was the sound

Of Riot, and ill manag'd Merriment,

Such as the jocond Flute, or gamesom Pipe

Stirs up among the loose unleter'd Hinds,

When for their teeming Flocks, and granges full

In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan,

And thank the gods amiss. I should be loath

To meet the rudenesse, and swill'd insolence

of such late Wassailers; yet O where els

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 se'd to the next Thicket side

To bring me Berries, or such cooling fruit

As the kind hospitable Woods provide.

They left me then, when the gray-hooded Eev'n

Like a sad Votarist in Palmers weed

Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus wain. 190

But where they are, and why they came not back,

Is now the labour of my thoughts, 'tis likeliest

They had ingag'd their wandring steps too far,

And envious darknes, e're they could return,

Had stole them from me, els O theevish Night

Why shouldst thou, but for som fellonious 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 Travailer? 200

This is the place as well as I may guess,

Whence eev'n now the tumult of loud Mirth

Was rife and perfect in my list'ning ear,

Yet nought but single darknes do I find.

What might this be? A thousand fantasies

Begin to throng into my memory

Of calling shapes, and beckning shadows dire,

And airy tongues, that syllable mens names

On Sands and Shoars and desert Wildernesses.

These thoughts may startle well, but not astound 210

The vertuous mind that ever walks attended

By a strong siding champion Conscience.--

O welcom pure-ey'd Faith, white-handed Hope,

Thou hovering Angel girt with golden wings.

And thou unblemish't form of Chastity,

I see ye visibly and now beleeve

That he, the Supreme good t'whom all things ill

Are but as slavish officers of vengeance,

Would send a glistring Guardian if need were

To keep my life and honour unassail'd. 220

Was I deceiv'd, or did a sable cloud

Turn forth her silver lining on the night?

I did not err, there does a sable cloud

Turn forth her silver lining on the night,

And casts a gleam over this tufted Grove.

I cannot hallow to my Brothers, but

Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest

Ile venter, 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 green,

And in the violet imbroider'd vale

Where the love-lorn Nightingale

Nightly to thee her sad Song mourneth well.

Canst thou not tell me of a gentle Pair

That likest thy Narcissus are?

O if thou have

Hid them in som flowry Cave,

Tell me but where 240

Sweet Queen of Parly, Daughter of the Sphear,

So maist thou be translated to the skies,

And give resounding grace to all Heav'ns Harmonies.

Co: Can any mortal mixture of Earths mould

Breath such Divine inchanting ravishment?

Sure somthing holy lodges in that brest,

And with these raptures moves the vocal air

To testifie 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 doune

Of darknes till it smil'd: I have oft heard

My mother Circe with the Sirens three,

Amid'st the flowry-kirtl'd Naiades

Culling their Potent hearbs, and balefull drugs.

Who as they sung, would take the prison'd soul,

And lap it in Elysium, Scylla wept,

And chid her barking waves into attention.

And fell Charybdis murmur'd soft applause:

Yet they in pleasing slumber lull'd the sense, 260

And in sweet madnes rob'd it of it self,

But such a sacred, and home-felt delight,

Such sober certainty of waking bliss

I never heard till now. Ile speak to her

And she shall be my Queen. Hail forren wonder

Whom certain these rough shades did never breed

Unlesse the Goddes that in rurall 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

Compell'd me to awake the courteous Echo

To give me answer from her mossie Couch.

Co: What chance good Lady hath bereft you thus?

La: Dim darknes, and this heavy Labyrinth.

Co: Could that divide you from neer-ushering guides?

La: They left me weary on a grassie terf. 280

Co: By falshood, or discourtesie, or why?

La: To seek in vally som cool friendly Spring.

Co: And left your fair side all unguarded Lady?

La: They were but twain, and purpos'd quick return.

Co: Perhaps fore-stalling night prevented them.

La: How easie my misfortune is to hit!

Co: Imports their loss, beside the present need?

La: No less then if I should my brothers loose.

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 labour'd Oxe

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,

Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots,

Their port was more then human, as they stood;

I took it for a faery vision

Of som gay creatures of the element

That in the colours of the Rainbow live 300

And play i'th plighted clouds. I was aw-strook,

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?

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-Pilots art,

Without the sure guess of well-practiz'd feet, 310

Co: I know each lane, and every alley green

Dingle, or bushy dell of this wilde Wood,

And every bosky bourn from side to side

My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood,

And if your stray attendance be yet lodg'd,

Or shroud within these limits, I shall know

Ere morrow wake, or the low roosted lark

From her thatch't pallat rowse, 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 courtesie,

Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds

With smoaky rafters, then in tapstry Halls

And Courts of Princes, where it first was nam'd,

And yet is most pretended: In a place

Less warranted then this, or less secure

I cannot be, that I should fear to change it.

Eie me blest Providence, and square my triall

To my proportion'd strength. Shepherd lead on.-- 330

The Two Brothers.

Eld. Bro: Unmuffle ye faint stars, and thou fair Moon

That wontst to love the travailers benizon,

Stoop thy pale visage through an amber cloud,

And disinherit Chaos, that raigns here

In double night of darknes, and of shades;

Or if your influence be quite damm'd up

With black usurping mists, som gentle taper

Though a rush Candle from the wicker hole

Of som 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.

2. Bro: Or if our eyes

Be barr'd that happines, might we but hear

The folded flocks pen'd in their watled cotes,

Or sound of pastoral reed with oaten stops,

Or whistle from the Lodge, or village cock

Count the night watches to his feathery Dames,

'Twould be som solace yet, som little chearing

In this close dungeon of innumerous bowes.

But O that haples virgin our lost sister 350

Where may she wander now, whether betake her

From the chill dew, amongst rude burrs and thistles?

Perhaps som cold bank is her boulster now

Or 'gainst the rugged bark of som broad Elm

Leans her unpillow'd head fraught with sad fears.

What if in wild amazement, and affright,

Or while we speak within the direfull 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?

I do not think my sister so to seek,

Or so unprincipl'd in vertues book,

And the sweet peace that goodnes boosoms 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.

Vertue could see to do what vertue would

By her own radiant light, though Sun and Moon

Were in the salt sea sunk. And Wisdoms self

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 too ruffled and sometimes impaired. 380

He that has light within his own deer brest

May sit i'th center, 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

That musing meditation most affects

The pensive secrecy of desert cell,

Far from the cheerfull haunt of men, and herds,

And sits as safe as in a Senat house,

For who would rob a Hermit of his Weeds, 390

His few Books, or his Beads, or Maple Dish,

Or do his gray hairs any violence?

But beauty like the fair Hesperian Tree

Laden with blooming gold, had need the guard

Of dragon watch with uninchanted eye,

To save her blossoms, and defend her fruit

From the rash hand of bold Incontinence.

You may as well spred out the unsun'd heaps

Of Misers treasure by an out-laws 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 wilde surrounding wast.

Of night, or lonelines it recks me not,

I fear the dred events that dog them both,

Lest som ill greeting touch attempt the person

Of our unowned sister.

Eld. Bro: I do not, brother,

Inferr, as if I thought my sisters state

Secure without all doubt, or controversie:

Yet where an equall poise of hope and fear 410

Does arbitrate th'event, my nature is

That I encline to hope, rather then fear,

And gladly banish squint suspicion.

My sister is not so defenceless left

As you imagine, she has a hidden strength

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 compleat steel,

And like a quiver'd Nymph with Arrows keen

May trace huge Forests, and unharbour'd Heaths,

Infamous Hills, and sandy perilous wildes,

Where through the sacred rayes of Chastity,

No savage fierce, Bandite, or mountaneer

Will dare to soyl her Virgin purity,

Yea there, where very desolation dwels

By grots, and caverns shag'd with horrid shades,

She may pass on with unblench't majesty, 430

Be it not don in pride, or in presumption.

Som say no evil thing that walks by night

In fog, or fire, by lake, or moorish fen,

Blew meager Hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost,

That breaks his magick chains at curfeu time,

No goblin, or swart faery of the mine,

Hath hurtfull power o're true virginity.

Do ye beleeve me yet, or shall I call

Antiquity from the old Schools of Greece

To testifie the arms of Chastity? 440

Hence had the huntress Dian her dred bow

Fair silver-shafted Queen for ever chaste,

Wherwith she tam'd the brinded lioness

And spotted mountain pard, but set at nought

The frivolous bolt of Cupid, gods and men

Fear'd her stern frown, and she was queen oth' Woods.

What was that snaky-headed Gorgon sheild

That wise Minerva wore, unconquer'd Virgin,

Wherwith she freez'd her foes to congeal'd stone?

But rigid looks of Chast austerity, 450

And noble grace that dash't brute violence

With sudden adoration, and blank aw.

So dear to Heav'n is Saintly chastity,

That when a soul is found sincerely so,

A thousand liveried Angels lacky her,

Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt,

And in cleer dream, and solemn vision

Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear,

Till oft convers 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 souls essence,

Till all be made immortal: but when lust

By unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk,

But most by leud and lavish act of sin,

Lets in defilement to the inward parts,

The soul grows clotted by contagion,

Imbodies, and imbrutes, till she quite loose

The divine property of her first being.

Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp 470

Oft seen in Charnell vaults, and Sepulchers

Lingering, and sitting by a new made grave,

As loath to leave the body that it lov'd,

And link't it self by carnal sensualty

To a degenerate and degraded state.

2. Bro: 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 surfet raigns.

Eld. Bro: List, list, I hear 480

Som far off hallow break the silent Air.

2. Bro: Me thought so too; what should it be?

Eld. Bro: For certain

Either som one like us night-founder'd here,

Or els som neighbour Wood-man, or at worst,

Som roaving robber calling to his fellows.

2. Bro: Heav'n keep my sister, agen agen and neer,

Best draw, and stand upon our guard.

Eld. Bro: Ile hallow,

If he be friendly he comes well, if not,

Defence is a good cause, and Heav'n be for us.

[Enter] The attendant Spirit habited like a Shepherd.

That hallow I should know, what are you? speak; 490

Com not too neer, you fall on iron stakes else.

Spir: What voice is that, my young Lord? speak agen.

2. Bro: O brother, 'tis my father Shepherd sure.

Eld. Bro: Thyrsis? Whose artful strains have oft delaid

The huddling brook to hear his madrigal,

And sweeten'd every muskrose of the dale,

How cam'st thou here good Swain? hath any ram

Slip't from the fold, or young Kid lost his dam,

Or straggling weather the pen't flock forsook?

How couldst thou find this dark sequester'd nook? 500

Spir: O my lov'd masters 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 Woolf, not all the fleecy wealth

That doth enrich these Downs, is worth a thought

To this my errand, and the care it brought.

But O my Virgin Lady, where is she?

How chance she is not in your company?

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? Prethee briefly shew.