Atridad Lahiji
9694a42f3f
All checks were successful
Docker Deploy / build-and-push (push) Successful in 3m23s
7064 lines
270 KiB
Plaintext
7064 lines
270 KiB
Plaintext
The Poetical Works of John Milton
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
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 Letbian
|
|
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
|
|
OF
|
|
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.
|
|
--------------------------
|
|
BY
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
I
|
|
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
II
|
|
|
|
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?
|
|
|
|
IV
|
|
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
I
|
|
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
II
|
|
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
IV
|
|
|
|
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
|
|
|
|
V
|
|
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
VI
|
|
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
IX
|
|
|
|
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
|
|
|
|
X
|
|
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
XI
|
|
|
|
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
|
|
|
|
XV
|
|
|
|
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
|
|
|
|
XX
|
|
|
|
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,
|
|
lsis and Orus, and the Dog Anubis hast.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE PASSION.
|
|
|
|
|
|
I
|
|
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
II
|
|
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
IV
|
|
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
V
|
|
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
VI
|
|
|
|
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'sharne 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.
|
|
|
|
|
|
I
|
|
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
II
|
|
|
|
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 conie 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.
|
|
|
|
IV
|
|
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
V
|
|
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
VI
|
|
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
IX
|
|
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
X
|
|
|
|
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,
|
|
ab
|
|
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,
|
|
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 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 som there he 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 Hand 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 he 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.
|
|
|
|
Spir: Ile tell ye, 'tis not vain or fabulous,
|
|
(Though so esteem'd by shallow ignorance)
|
|
What the sage Poets taught by th' heav'nly Muse,
|
|
Storied of old in high immortal vers
|
|
Of dire Chimera's and inchanted Iles,
|
|
And rifted Rocks whose entrance leads to hell,
|
|
For such there be, but unbelief is blind.
|
|
Within the navil of this hideous Wood, 520
|
|
Immur'd in cypress shades a Sorcerer dwels
|
|
Of Bacchus, and of Circe born, great Comus,
|
|
Deep skill'd in all his mothers witcheries,
|
|
And here to every thirsty wanderer,
|
|
By sly enticement gives his banefull cup,
|
|
With many murmurs mixt, whose pleasing poison
|
|
The visage quite transforms of him that drinks,
|
|
And the inglorious likenes of a beast
|
|
Fixes instead, unmoulding reasons mintage
|
|
Character'd in the Face; this have I learn't 530
|
|
Tending my flocks hard by i'th hilly crofts,
|
|
That brow this bottom glade, whence night by night
|
|
He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl
|
|
Like stabl'd wolves, or tigers at their prey,
|
|
Doing abhorred rites to Hecate
|
|
In their obscured haunts of inmost bowres.
|
|
Yet have they many baits, and guilefull spells
|
|
To inveigle and invite th' unwary sense
|
|
Of them that pass unweeting by the way.
|
|
This evening late by then the chewing flocks 540
|
|
Had ta'n their supper on the savoury Herb
|
|
Of Knot-grass dew-besprent, and were in fold,
|
|
I sate me down to watch upon a bank
|
|
With Ivy canopied, and interwove
|
|
With flaunting Hony-suckle, and began
|
|
Wrapt in a pleasing fit of melancholy
|
|
To meditate my rural minstrelsie,
|
|
Till fancy had her fill, but ere a close
|
|
The wonted roar was up amidst the Woods,
|
|
And fill'd the Air with barbarous dissonance, 550
|
|
At which I ceas' t, and listen'd them a while,
|
|
Till an unusuall stop of sudden silence
|
|
Gave respit to the drowsie frighted steeds
|
|
That draw the litter of close-curtain'd sleep.
|
|
At last a soft and solemn breathing sound
|
|
Rose like a steam of rich distill'd Perfumes,
|
|
And stole upon the Air, that even Silence
|
|
Was took e're she was ware, and wish't she might
|
|
Deny her nature, and be never more
|
|
Still to be so displac't. I was all eare, 560
|
|
And took in strains that might create a soul
|
|
Under the ribs of Death, but O ere long
|
|
Too well I did perceive it was the voice
|
|
Of my most honour'd Lady, your dear sister.
|
|
Amaz'd I stood, harrow'd with grief and fear,
|
|
And O poor hapless Nightingale thought I,
|
|
How sweet thou sing'st, how neer the deadly snare!
|
|
Then down the Lawns I ran with headlong hast
|
|
Through paths, and turnings oft'n trod by day,
|
|
Till guided by mine ear I found the place 570
|
|
Where that damn'd wisard hid in sly disguise
|
|
(For so by certain signes I knew) had met
|
|
Already, ere my best speed could praevent,
|
|
The aidless innocent Lady his wish't prey,
|
|
Who gently ask't if he had seen such two,
|
|
Supposing him som neighbour villager;
|
|
Longer I durst not stay, but soon I guess't
|
|
Ye were the two she mean't, with that I sprung
|
|
Into swift flight, till I had found you here,
|
|
But furder know I not.
|
|
2. Bro: O night and shades, 580
|
|
How are ye joyn'd with hell in triple knot
|
|
Against th'unarmed weakness of one Virgin
|
|
Alone, and helpless! Is this the confidence
|
|
You gave me Brother?
|
|
Eld. Bro: Yes, and keep it still,
|
|
Lean on it safely, not a period
|
|
Shall be unsaid for me: against the threats
|
|
Of malice or of sorcery, or that power
|
|
Which erring men call Chance, this I hold firm,
|
|
Vertue may be assail'd, but never hurt,
|
|
Surpriz'd by unjust force, but not enthrall'd, 590
|
|
Yea even that which mischief meant most harm,
|
|
Shall in the happy trial prove most glory.
|
|
But evil on it self shall back recoyl,
|
|
And mix no more with goodness, when at last
|
|
Gather'd like scum, and setl'd to it self
|
|
It shall be in eternal restless change
|
|
Self-fed, and self-consum'd, if this fail,
|
|
The pillar'd firmament is rott'nness,
|
|
And earths base built on stubble. But corn let's on.
|
|
Against th' opposing will and arm of Heav'n 600
|
|
May never this just sword be lifted up,
|
|
But for that damn'd magician, let him be girt
|
|
With all the greisly legions that troop
|
|
Under the sooty flag of Acheron,
|
|
Harpyies and Hydra's, or all the monstrous forms
|
|
'Twixt Africa and Inde, Ile find him out,
|
|
And force him to restore his purchase back,
|
|
Or drag him by the curls, to a foul death,
|
|
Curs'd as his life.
|
|
|
|
Spir: Alas good ventrous youth,
|
|
I love thy courage yet, and bold Emprise, 610
|
|
But here thy sword can do thee little stead,
|
|
Farr other arms, and other weapons must
|
|
Be those that quell the might of hellish charms,
|
|
He with his bare wand can unthred thy joynts,
|
|
And crumble all thy sinews.
|
|
|
|
Eld. Bro: Why prethee Shepherd
|
|
How durst thou then thy self approach so neer
|
|
As to make this relation?
|
|
|
|
Spir: Care and utmost shifts
|
|
How to secure the lady from surprisal,
|
|
Brought to my mind a certain Shepherd Lad
|
|
Of small regard to see to, yet well skill'd 620
|
|
In every vertuous plant and healing herb
|
|
That spreds her verdant leaf to th'morning ray,
|
|
He lov'd me well, and oft would beg me sing,
|
|
Which when I did, he on the tender grass
|
|
Would sit, and hearken even to extasie,
|
|
And in requitall ope his leather'n scrip,
|
|
And shew me simples of a thousand names
|
|
Telling their strange and vigorous faculties;
|
|
Amongst the rest a small unsightly root,
|
|
But of divine effect, he cull'd me out; 630
|
|
The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it,
|
|
But in another Countrey, as he said,
|
|
Bore a bright golden flowre, but not in this soyl:
|
|
Unknown, and like esteem'd, and the dull swayn
|
|
Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon,
|
|
And yet more med'cinal is it then that Moly
|
|
That Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave;
|
|
He call'd it Haemony, and gave it me,
|
|
And bad me keep it as of sov'ran use
|
|
'Gainst all inchantments, mildew blast, or damp 640
|
|
Or gastly furies apparition;
|
|
I purs't it up, but little reck'ning made,
|
|
Till now that this extremity compell'd,
|
|
But now I find it true; for by this means
|
|
I knew the foul inchanter though disguis'd,
|
|
Enter'd the very lime-twigs of his spells,
|
|
And yet came off: if you have this about you
|
|
(As I will give you when we go) you may
|
|
Boldly assault the necromancers hall;
|
|
Where if he be, with dauntless hardihood, 650
|
|
And brandish't blade rush on him, break his glass,
|
|
And shed the lushious liquor on the ground,
|
|
But sease his wand, though he and his curst crew
|
|
Feirce signe of battail make, and menace high,
|
|
Or like the sons of Vulcan vomit smoak,
|
|
Yet will they soon retire, if he but shrink.
|
|
|
|
Eld. Bro: Thyrsis lead on apace, Ile follow thee,
|
|
And som good angel bear a sheild before us.
|
|
|
|
The scene changes to a stately Palace, set out with all manner of
|
|
deliciousness; Soft Musick, Tables spred with all dainties.
|
|
Comus appears with his rabble. and the Lady set in an inchanted
|
|
Chair, to whom he offers his Glass, which she puts by, and goes
|
|
about to rise.
|
|
|
|
COMUS: Nay Lady sit; if I but wave this wand
|
|
Your nerves are all chain'd up in Alablaster, 660
|
|
And you a statue; or as Daphne was
|
|
Root-bound, that fled Apollo.
|
|
|
|
La: Fool do not boast,
|
|
Thou canst not touch the freedom of my minde
|
|
With all thy charms, although this corporal rinde
|
|
Thou haste immanacl'd, while Heav'n sees good.
|
|
|
|
Co: Why are you vext Lady? why do you frown
|
|
Here dwell no frowns, nor anger, from these gates
|
|
Sorrow flies farr: See here be all the pleasures
|
|
That fancy can beget on youthfull thoughts,
|
|
When the fresh blood grows lively, and returns 670
|
|
Brisk as the April buds in Primrose-season.
|
|
And first behold this cordial Julep here
|
|
That flames, and dances in his crystal bounds
|
|
With spirits of balm, and fragrant Syrops mixt.
|
|
Not that Nepenthes which the wife of Thone,
|
|
In Egypt gave to Jove-born Helena
|
|
Is of such power to stir up joy as this,
|
|
To life so friendly, or so cool to thirst.
|
|
Why should you be so cruel to your self,
|
|
And to those dainty limms which nature lent 680
|
|
For gentle usage, and soft delicacy?
|
|
But you invert the cov'nants of her trust,
|
|
And harshly deal like an ill borrower
|
|
With that which you receiv'd on other terms,
|
|
Scorning the unexempt condition
|
|
By which all mortal frailty must subsist,
|
|
Refreshment after toil, ease after pain,
|
|
That have been tir'd all day without repast,
|
|
And timely rest have wanted, but fair Virgin
|
|
This will restore all soon.
|
|
|
|
La: 'Twill not false traitor, 690
|
|
'Twill not restore the truth and honesty
|
|
That thou hast banish't from thy tongue with lies
|
|
Was this the cottage, and the safe abode
|
|
Thou told'st me of? What grim aspects are these
|
|
These oughly-headed Monsters? Mercy guard me!
|
|
Hence with thy brew'd inchantments, foul deceit
|
|
Hast thou betrai'd my credulous innocence
|
|
With visor'd falshood, and base forgery,
|
|
And wouldst thou seek again to trap me here
|
|
With lickerish baits fit to ensnare a brute? 700
|
|
Were it a draft for Juno when she banquets,
|
|
I would not taste thy treasonous offer; none
|
|
But such as are good men can give good things,
|
|
And that which is not good, is not delicious
|
|
To a well-govern'd and wise appetite.
|
|
|
|
Co: O foolishnes of men ! that lend their ears
|
|
To those budge doctors of the Stoick Furr,
|
|
And fetch their precepts from the Cynick Tub,
|
|
Praising the lean and sallow Abstinence.
|
|
Wherefore did Nature powre her bounties forth, 710
|
|
With such a full and unwithdrawing hand,
|
|
Covering the earth with odours, fruits, and flocks,
|
|
Thronging the Seas with spawn innumerable,
|
|
But all to please, and sate the curious taste?
|
|
And set to work millions of spinning Worms,
|
|
That in their green shops weave the smooth-hair'd silk
|
|
To deck her Sons, and that no corner might
|
|
Be vacant of her plenty, in her own loyns
|
|
She hutch't th'all-worshipt ore, and precious gems
|
|
To store her children with; if all the world 720
|
|
Should in a pet of temperance feed on Pulse,
|
|
Drink the clear stream, and nothing wear but Freize,
|
|
Th'all-giver would be unthank't, would be unprais'd,
|
|
Not half his riches known, and yet despis'd,
|
|
And we should serve him as a grudging master,
|
|
As a penurious niggard of his wealth,
|
|
And live like Natures bastards, not her sons,
|
|
Who would be quite surcharged with her own weight,
|
|
And strangl'd with her waste fertility;
|
|
Th'earth cumber'd, and the wing'd air dark't with plumes. 730
|
|
The herds would over-multitude their Lords,
|
|
The Sea o'refraught would swell, and th'unsought diamonds
|
|
Would so emblaze the forhead of the Deep,
|
|
And so bested with Stars, that they below
|
|
Would grow inur'd to light, and com at last
|
|
To gaze upon the Sun with shameless brows.
|
|
List Lady be not coy, and be not cosen'd
|
|
With that same vaunted name Virginity,
|
|
Beauty is natures coyn, must not be hoorded,
|
|
But must be currant, and the good thereof 740
|
|
Consists in mutual and partak'n bliss,
|
|
Unsavoury in th'injoyment of it self
|
|
If you let slip time, like a neglected rose
|
|
It withers on the stalk with languish't head.
|
|
Beauty is natures brag, and must be shown
|
|
In courts, at feasts, and high solemnities
|
|
Where most may wonder at the workmanship;
|
|
It is for homely features to keep home,
|
|
They had their name thence; course complexions
|
|
And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply 750
|
|
The sampler, and to teize the huswifes wooll.
|
|
What need a vermeil-tinctured lip for that
|
|
Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the Morn?
|
|
There was another meaning in these gifts,
|
|
Think what, and be adviz'd, you are but young yet.
|
|
|
|
La: I had not thought to have unlockt my lips
|
|
In this unhallow'd air, but that this Jugler
|
|
Would think to charm my judgement, as mine eyes,
|
|
Obtruding false rules pranckt in reasons garb.
|
|
I hate when vice can bolt her arguments, 760
|
|
And vertue has no tongue to check her pride:
|
|
Impostor do not charge most innocent nature,
|
|
As if she would her children should be riotous
|
|
With her abundance, she good cateress
|
|
Means her provision onely to the good
|
|
That live according to her sober laws,
|
|
And holy dictate of spare Temperance:
|
|
If every just man that now pines with want
|
|
Had but a moderate and heseeming share
|
|
Of that which lewdly-pamper'd Luxury 770
|
|
Now heaps upon som few with vast excess,
|
|
Natures full blessings would be well dispenc't
|
|
In unsuperfluous eeven proportion,
|
|
And she no whit encomber'd with her store,
|
|
And then the giver would he better thank't,
|
|
His praise due paid, for swinish gluttony
|
|
Ne're looks to Heav'n amidst his gorgeous feast,
|
|
But with besotted base ingratitude
|
|
Cramms, and blasphemes his feeder. Shall I go on?
|
|
Or have I said anough? To him that dares 780
|
|
Arm his profane tongue with contemptuous words
|
|
Against the Sun-clad power of Chastity,
|
|
Fain would I somthing say, yet to what end?
|
|
Thou hast nor Eare, nor Soul to apprehend
|
|
The sublime notion, and high mystery
|
|
That must be utter'd to unfold the sage
|
|
And serious doctrine of Virginity,
|
|
And thou art worthy that thou shouldst not know
|
|
More happiness then this thy present lot.
|
|
Enjoy your deer Wit, and gay Rhetorick 790
|
|
That hath so well been taught her dazling fence,
|
|
Thou art not fit to hear thy self convinc't;
|
|
Yet should I try, the uncontrouled worth
|
|
Of this pure cause would kindle my rap't spirits
|
|
To such a flame of sacred vehemence
|
|
That dumb things would be mov'd to sympathize,
|
|
And the brute Earth would lend her nerves, and shake,
|
|
Till all thy magick structures rear'd so high,
|
|
Were shatter'd into heaps o're thy false head.
|
|
|
|
Co: She fables not, I feel that I do fear 800
|
|
Her words set off by som superior power;
|
|
And though not mortal, yet a cold shuddring dew
|
|
Dips me all o're, as when the wrath of Jove
|
|
Speaks thunder, and the chains of Erebus
|
|
To som of Saturns crew. I must dissemble,
|
|
And try her yet more strongly. Com, no more,
|
|
This is meer moral babble, and direct
|
|
Against the canon laws of our foundation;
|
|
I must not suffer this, yet 'tis but the lees
|
|
And setlings of a melancholy blood; 810
|
|
But this will cure all streight, one sip of this
|
|
Will bathe the drooping spirits in delight
|
|
Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste.--
|
|
|
|
The brothers rush in with Swords drawn, wrest his Glass out of
|
|
his hand, and break it against the ground; his rout make signe of
|
|
resistance, but are all driven in; The attendant Spirit comes in.
|
|
|
|
Spir: What, have you let the false enchanter scape?
|
|
O ye mistook, ye should have snatcht his wand
|
|
And bound him fast; without his rod revers't,
|
|
And backward mutters of dissevering power,
|
|
We cannot free the Lady that sits here
|
|
In stony fetters fixt, and motionless;
|
|
Yet stay, be not disturb'd, now I bethink me 820
|
|
Som other means I have which may he us'd
|
|
Which once of Meliboeus old I learnt
|
|
The soothest Shepherd that ere pip't on plains.
|
|
There is a gentle Nymph not farr from hence,
|
|
That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream,
|
|
Sabrina is her name, a Virgin pure,
|
|
Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine,
|
|
That had the Scepter from his father Brute.
|
|
The guiltless damsel flying the mad pursuit
|
|
Of her enraged stepdam Guendolen, 830
|
|
Commended her fair innocence to the flood
|
|
That stay'd her flight with his cross-flowing course,
|
|
The water Nymphs that in the bottom plaid,
|
|
Held up their pearled wrists and took her in,
|
|
Bearing her straight to aged Nereus Hall,
|
|
Who piteous of her woes, rear'd her lank head,
|
|
And gave her to his daughters to imbathe
|
|
In nectar'd lavers strew'd with Asphodil,
|
|
And through the porch and inlet of each sense
|
|
Dropt in Ambrosial Oils till she reviv'd, 840
|
|
And underwent a quick immortal change
|
|
Made Goddess of the River; still she retains
|
|
Her maid'n gentlenes, and oft at Eeve
|
|
Visits the herds along the twilight meadows,
|
|
Helping all urchin blasts, and ill luck signes
|
|
That the shrewd medling Elfe delights to make,
|
|
Which she with pretious viold liquors heals.
|
|
For which the Shepherds at their festivals
|
|
Carrol her goodnes lowd in rustick layes,
|
|
And throw sweet garland wreaths into her stream 850
|
|
Of pancies, pinks, and gaudy Daffadils.
|
|
And, as the old Swain said, she can unlock
|
|
The clasping charms, and thaw the numming spell,
|
|
If she be right invok't in warbled Song,
|
|
For maid'nhood she loves, and will be swift
|
|
To aid a Virgin, such as was her self
|
|
In hard besetting need, this will I try
|
|
And adde the power of som adjuring verse.
|
|
|
|
SONG.
|
|
|
|
Sabrina fair
|
|
Listen when thou art sitting 860
|
|
Under the glassie, cool, translucent wave,
|
|
In twisted braids of Lillies knitting
|
|
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair,
|
|
Listen for dear honour's sake,
|
|
Goddess of the silver lake,
|
|
Listen and save.
|
|
|
|
Listen and appear to us
|
|
In name of great Oceanus,
|
|
By the earth-shaking Neptune's mace,
|
|
And Tethys grave majestick pace, 870
|
|
By hoary Nereus wrincled look,
|
|
And the Carpathian wisards hook,
|
|
By scaly Tritons winding shell,
|
|
And old sooth-saying Glaucus spell,
|
|
By Leucothea's lovely hands,
|
|
And her son that rules the strands,
|
|
By Thetis tinsel-slipper'd feet,
|
|
And the Songs of Sirens sweet,
|
|
By dead Parthenope's dear tomb,
|
|
And fair Ligea's golden comb, 880
|
|
Wherwith she sits on diamond rocks
|
|
Sleeking her soft alluring locks,
|
|
By all the Nymphs that nightly dance
|
|
Upon thy streams with wily glance,
|
|
Rise, rise, and heave thy rosie head
|
|
>From thy coral-pav'n bed,
|
|
And bridle in thy headlong wave,
|
|
Till thou our summons answered have.
|
|
Listen and save.
|
|
|
|
Sabrina rises, attended by water-Nymphes, and sings.
|
|
|
|
Sab: By the rushy-fringed bank, 890
|
|
Where grows the Willow and the Osier dank,
|
|
My sliding Chariot stayes,
|
|
Thick set with Agat, and the azurn sheen
|
|
Of Turkis blew, and Emrauld green
|
|
That in the channell strayes,
|
|
Whilst from off the waters fleet
|
|
Thus I set my printless feet
|
|
O're the Cowslips Velvet head,
|
|
That bends not as I tread,
|
|
Gentle swain at thy request 900
|
|
I am here.
|
|
|
|
Spir: Goddess dear
|
|
We implore thy powerful hand
|
|
To undo the charmed band
|
|
Of true Virgin here distrest,
|
|
Through the force, and through the wile
|
|
Of unblest inchanter vile.
|
|
|
|
Sab: Shepherd 'tis my office best
|
|
To help insnared chastity;
|
|
Brightest Lady look on me, 910
|
|
Thus I sprinkle on thy brest
|
|
Drops that from my fountain pure,
|
|
I have kept of pretious cure,
|
|
Thrice upon thy fingers tip,
|
|
Thrice upon thy rubied lip,
|
|
Next this marble venom'd seat
|
|
Smear'd with gumms of glutenous heat
|
|
I touch with chaste palms moist and cold,
|
|
Now the spell hath lost his hold;
|
|
And I must haste ere morning hour 920
|
|
To wait in Amphitrite's bowr.
|
|
|
|
Sabrina descends, and the Lady rises out of her seat.
|
|
|
|
Spir: Virgin, daughter of Locrine
|
|
Sprung of old Anchises line,
|
|
May thy brimmed waves for this
|
|
Their full tribute never miss
|
|
>From a thousand petty rills,
|
|
That tumble down the snowy hills:
|
|
Summer drouth, or singed air
|
|
Never scorch thy tresses fair,
|
|
Nor wet Octobers torrent flood 930
|
|
Thy molten crystal fill with mudd,
|
|
May thy billows rowl ashoar
|
|
The beryl, and the golden ore,
|
|
May thy lofty head be crown'd
|
|
With many a tower and terrass round,
|
|
And here and there thy banks upon
|
|
With Groves of myrrhe, and cinnamon.
|
|
|
|
Com Lady while Heaven lends us grace,
|
|
Let us fly this cursed place,
|
|
Lest the Sorcerer us intice 940
|
|
With som other new device.
|
|
Not a waste, or needless sound
|
|
Till we com to holier ground,
|
|
I shall be your faithfull guide
|
|
Through this gloomy covert wide,
|
|
And not many furlongs thence
|
|
Is your Fathers residence,
|
|
Where this night are met in state
|
|
Many a friend to gratulate
|
|
His wish't presence, and beside 950
|
|
All the Swains that there abide,
|
|
With Jiggs, and rural dance resort,
|
|
We shall catch them at their sport,
|
|
And our sudden coming there
|
|
Will double all their mirth and chere;
|
|
Com let us haste, the Stars grow high,
|
|
But night sits monarch yet in the mid sky.
|
|
|
|
The Scene changes, presenting Ludlow Town and the President
|
|
Castle, then com in Countrey-Dancers, after them the attendant
|
|
Spirit, with the two Brothers and the Lady.
|
|
|
|
SONG.
|
|
|
|
Spir: Back Shepherds, back, anough your play,
|
|
Till next Sun-shine holiday,
|
|
Here be without duck or nod 960
|
|
Other trippings to be trod
|
|
Of lighter toes, and such Court guise
|
|
As Mercury did first devise
|
|
With the mincing Dryades
|
|
On the Lawns, and on the Leas.
|
|
|
|
This second Song presents them to their father and mother.
|
|
|
|
Noble Lord, and Lady bright,
|
|
I have brought ye new delight,
|
|
Here behold so goodly grown
|
|
Three fair branches of your own,
|
|
Heav'n hath timely tri'd their youth. 970
|
|
Their faith, their patience, and their truth
|
|
And sent them here through hard assays
|
|
With a crown of deathless Praise,
|
|
To triumph in victorious dance
|
|
O're sensual folly, and Intemperance.
|
|
|
|
The dances ended, the Spirit Epiloguizes.
|
|
|
|
Spir: To the Ocean now I fly,
|
|
And those happy climes that ly
|
|
Where day never shuts his eye,
|
|
Up in the broad fields of the sky:
|
|
There I suck the liquid ayr 980
|
|
All amidst the Gardens fair
|
|
Of Hesperus, and his daughters three
|
|
That sing about the golden tree:
|
|
Along the crisped shades and bowres
|
|
Revels the spruce and jocond Spring,
|
|
The Graces, and the rosie-boosom'd Howres,
|
|
Thither all their bounties bring,
|
|
That there eternal Summer dwels,
|
|
And West winds, with musky wing
|
|
About the cedar'n alleys fling 990
|
|
Nard, and Cassia's balmy smels.
|
|
Iris there with humid bow,
|
|
Waters the odorous banks that blow
|
|
Flowers of more mingled hew
|
|
Then her purfl'd scarf can shew,
|
|
And drenches with Elysian dew
|
|
(List mortals, if your ears be true)
|
|
Beds of Hyacinth, and roses
|
|
Where young Adonis oft reposes,
|
|
Waxing well of his deep wound 1000
|
|
In slumber soft, and on the ground
|
|
Sadly sits th' Assyrian Queen;
|
|
But far above in spangled sheen
|
|
Celestial Cupid her fam'd son advanc't,
|
|
Holds his dear Psyche sweet intranc't
|
|
After her wandring labours long,
|
|
Till free consent the gods among
|
|
Make her his eternal Bride,
|
|
And from her fair unspotted side
|
|
Two blissful twins are to be born,
|
|
Youth and Joy; so Jove hath sworn. 1010
|
|
But now my task is smoothly don,
|
|
I can fly, or I can run
|
|
Quickly to the green earths end,
|
|
Where the bow'd welkin slow doth bend,
|
|
And from thence can soar as soon
|
|
To the corners of the Moon.
|
|
Mortals that would follow me,
|
|
Love vertue, she alone is free,
|
|
She can teach ye how to clime 1020
|
|
Higher then the Spheary chime;
|
|
Or if Vertue feeble were,
|
|
Heav'n it self would stoop to her.
|
|
|
|
Notes:
|
|
43 ye] you 1673
|
|
167 omitted 1673
|
|
168, 9 Thus 1637. Manuscript reads --
|
|
but heere she comes I fairly step aside
|
|
& hearken, if I may, her buisnesse heere.
|
|
1673 reads --
|
|
And hearken, if I may her business hear.
|
|
But here she comes, I fairly step aside.
|
|
474 sensualty] sensuality 1673. Manuscript also reads sensualtie,
|
|
as the metre requires.
|
|
493 father] So also 1673. Manuscript reads father's
|
|
547 meditate] meditate upon 1673
|
|
553 drowsie frighted] Manuscript reads drowsie flighted.
|
|
556 steam] stream 1673
|
|
580 furder] further 1673
|
|
743 In the manuscript, which reads--
|
|
If you let slip time like an neglected rose
|
|
a circle has been drawn round the an, but probably not by Milton.
|
|
780 anough] anow 1673
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
POEMS ADDED IN THE 1673 EDITION.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Anno aetatis 17. On the Death of a fair Infant dying of a Cough.
|
|
|
|
|
|
I
|
|
|
|
O FAIREST flower no sooner blown but blasted,
|
|
Soft silken Primrose fading timelesslie,
|
|
Summers chief honour if thou hadst outlasted
|
|
Bleak winters force that made thy blossome drie;
|
|
For he being amorous on that lovely die
|
|
That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss
|
|
But kill'd alas, and then bewayl'd his fatal bliss.
|
|
|
|
II
|
|
|
|
For since grim Aquilo his charioter
|
|
By boistrous rape th' Athenian damsel got,
|
|
He thought it toucht his Deitie full neer, 10
|
|
If likewise he some fair one wedded not,
|
|
Thereby to wipe away th' infamous blot,
|
|
Of long-uncoupled bed, and childless eld,
|
|
Which 'mongst the wanton gods a foul reproach was held.
|
|
|
|
III
|
|
|
|
So mounting up in ycie-pearled carr,
|
|
Through middle empire of the freezing aire
|
|
He wanderd long, till thee he spy'd from farr,
|
|
There ended was his quest, there ceast his care
|
|
Down he descended from his Snow-soft chaire,
|
|
But all unwares with his cold-kind embrace 20
|
|
Unhous'd thy Virgin Soul from her fair hiding place.
|
|
|
|
IV
|
|
|
|
Yet art thou not inglorious in thy fate;
|
|
For so Apollo, with unweeting hand
|
|
Whilome did slay his dearly-loved mate
|
|
Young Hyacinth born on Eurotas' strand,
|
|
Young Hyacinth the pride of Spartan land;
|
|
But then transform'd him to a purple flower
|
|
Alack that so to change thee winter had no power.
|
|
|
|
V
|
|
|
|
Yet can I not perswade me thou art dead
|
|
Or that thy coarse corrupts in earths dark wombe, 30
|
|
Or that thy beauties lie in wormie bed,
|
|
Hid from the world in a low delved tombe;
|
|
Could Heav'n for pittie thee so strictly doom?
|
|
O no! for something in thy face did shine
|
|
Above mortalitie that shew'd thou wast divine.
|
|
|
|
VI
|
|
|
|
Resolve me then oh Soul most surely blest
|
|
(If so it be that thou these plaints dost hear)
|
|
Tell me bright Spirit where e're thou hoverest
|
|
Whether above that high first-moving Spheare
|
|
Or in the Elisian fields (if such there were.) 40
|
|
Oh say me true if thou wert mortal wight
|
|
And why from us so quickly thou didst take thy flight.
|
|
|
|
VII
|
|
|
|
Wert thou some Starr which from the ruin'd roofe
|
|
Of shak't Olympus by mischance didst fall;
|
|
Which carefull Jove in natures true behoofe
|
|
Took up, and in fit place did reinstall?
|
|
Or did of late earths Sonnes besiege the wall
|
|
Of sheenie Heav'n, and thou some goddess fled
|
|
Amongst us here below to hide thy nectar'd head
|
|
|
|
VIII
|
|
|
|
Or wert thou that just Maid who once before 50
|
|
Forsook the hated earth, O tell me sooth
|
|
And cam'st again to visit us once more?
|
|
Or wert thou that sweet smiling Youth!
|
|
Or that c[r]own'd Matron sage white-robed Truth?
|
|
Or any other of that heav'nly brood
|
|
Let down in clowdie throne to do the world some good.
|
|
|
|
Note: 53 Or wert thou] Or wert thou Mercy -- conjectured by
|
|
John Heskin Ch. Ch. Oxon. from Ode on Nativity, st. 15.
|
|
|
|
IX
|
|
|
|
Or wert thou of the golden-winged boast,
|
|
Who having clad thy self in humane weed,
|
|
To earth from thy praefixed seat didst poast,
|
|
And after short abode flie back with speed, 60
|
|
As if to shew what creatures Heav'n doth breed,
|
|
Thereby to set the hearts of men on fire
|
|
To scorn the sordid world, and unto Heav'n aspire.
|
|
|
|
X
|
|
|
|
But oh why didst thou not stay here below
|
|
To bless us with thy heav'n-lov'd innocence,
|
|
To slake his wrath whom sin hath made our foe
|
|
To turn Swift-rushing black perdition hence,
|
|
Or drive away the slaughtering pestilence,
|
|
To stand 'twixt us and our deserved smart
|
|
But thou canst best perform that office where thou art. 70
|
|
|
|
XI
|
|
|
|
Then thou the mother of so sweet a child
|
|
Her false imagin'd loss cease to lament,
|
|
And wisely learn to curb thy sorrows wild;
|
|
Think what a present thou to God hast sent,
|
|
And render him with patience what he lent;
|
|
This if thou do he will an off-spring give,
|
|
That till the worlds last-end shall make thy name to live.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Anno Aetatis 19. At a Vacation Exercise in the Colledge, part
|
|
Latin, part English. The Latin speeches ended, the English thus
|
|
began.
|
|
|
|
|
|
HAIL native Language, that by sinews weak
|
|
Didst move my first endeavouring tongue to speak,
|
|
And mad'st imperfect words with childish tripps,
|
|
Half unpronounc't, slide through my infant-lipps,
|
|
Driving dum silence from the portal dore,
|
|
Where he had mutely sate two years before:
|
|
Here I salute thee and thy pardon ask,
|
|
That now I use thee in my latter task:
|
|
Small loss it is that thence can come unto thee,
|
|
I know my tongue but little Grace can do thee: 10
|
|
Thou needst not be ambitious to be first,
|
|
Believe me I have thither packt the worst:
|
|
And, if it happen as I did forecast,
|
|
The daintest dishes shall be serv'd up last.
|
|
I pray thee then deny me not thy aide
|
|
For this same small neglect that I have made:
|
|
But haste thee strait to do me once a Pleasure,
|
|
And from thy wardrope bring thy chiefest treasure;
|
|
Not those new fangled toys, and triming slight
|
|
Which takes our late fantasticks with delight, 20
|
|
But cull those richest Robes, and gay'st attire
|
|
Which deepest Spirits, and choicest Wits desire:
|
|
I have some naked thoughts that rove about
|
|
And loudly knock to have their passage out;
|
|
And wearie of their place do only stay
|
|
Till thou hast deck't them in thy best aray;
|
|
That so they may without suspect or fears
|
|
Fly swiftly to this fair Assembly's ears;
|
|
Yet I had rather if I were to chuse,
|
|
Thy service in some graver subject use, 30
|
|
Such as may make thee search thy coffers round
|
|
Before thou cloath my fancy in fit sound:
|
|
Such where the deep transported mind may scare
|
|
Above the wheeling poles, and at Heav'ns dore
|
|
Look in, and see each blissful Deitie
|
|
How he before the thunderous throne doth lie,
|
|
Listening to what unshorn Apollo sings
|
|
To th'touch of golden wires, while Hebe brings
|
|
Immortal Nectar to her Kingly Sire:
|
|
Then passing through the Spherse of watchful fire, 40
|
|
And mistie Regions of wide air next under,
|
|
And hills of Snow and lofts of piled Thunder,
|
|
May tell at length how green-ey'd Neptune raves,
|
|
In Heav'ns defiance mustering all his waves;
|
|
Then sing of secret things that came to pass
|
|
When Beldam Nature in her cradle was;
|
|
And last of Kings and Queens and Hero's old,
|
|
Such as the wise Demodocus once told
|
|
In solemn Songs at King Alcinous feast,
|
|
While sad Ulisses soul and all the rest 50
|
|
Are held with his melodious harmonie
|
|
In willing chains and sweet captivitie.
|
|
But fie my wandring Muse how thou dost stray !
|
|
Expectance calls thee now another way,
|
|
Thou know'st it must he now thy only bent
|
|
To keep in compass of thy Predicament:
|
|
Then quick about thy purpos'd business come,
|
|
That to the next I may resign my Roome
|
|
|
|
Then Ens is represented as Father of the Predicaments his ten
|
|
Sons, whereof the Eldest stood for Substance with his Canons,
|
|
which Ens thus speaking, explains.
|
|
|
|
Good luck befriend thee Son; for at thy birth
|
|
The Faiery Ladies daunc't upon the hearth; 60
|
|
Thy drowsie Nurse hath sworn she did them spie
|
|
Come tripping to the Room where thou didst lie;
|
|
And sweetly singing round about thy Bed
|
|
Strew all their blessings on thy sleeping Head.
|
|
She heard them give thee this, that thou should'st still
|
|
>From eyes of mortals walk invisible,
|
|
Yet there is something that doth force my fear,
|
|
For once it was my dismal hap to hear
|
|
A Sybil old, bow-bent with crooked age,
|
|
That far events full wisely could presage,
|
|
And in Times long and dark Prospective Glass
|
|
Fore-saw what future dayes should bring to pass,
|
|
Your Son, said she, (nor can you it prevent)
|
|
Shall subject be to many an Accident.
|
|
O're all his Brethren he shall Reign as King,
|
|
Yet every one shall make him underling,
|
|
And those that cannot live from him asunder
|
|
Ungratefully shall strive to keep him under,
|
|
In worth and excellence he shall out-go them,
|
|
Yet being above them, he shall be below them; 80
|
|
>From others he shall stand in need of nothing,
|
|
Yet on his Brothers shall depend for Cloathing.
|
|
To find a Foe it shall not be his hap,
|
|
And peace shall lull him in her flowry lap;
|
|
Yet shall he live in strife, and at his dore
|
|
Devouring war shall never cease to roare;
|
|
Yea it shall be his natural property
|
|
To harbour those that are at enmity.
|
|
What power, what force, what mighty spell, if not
|
|
Your learned hands, can loose this Gordian knot? 90
|
|
|
|
The next Quantity and Quality, spake in Prose, then Relation
|
|
was call'd by his Name.
|
|
|
|
Rivers arise; whether thou be the Son,
|
|
Of utmost Tweed, or Oose, or gulphie Dun,
|
|
Or Trent, who like some earth-born Giant spreads
|
|
His thirty Armes along the indented Meads,
|
|
Or sullen Mole that runneth underneath,
|
|
Or Severn swift, guilty of Maidens death,
|
|
Or Rockie Avon, or of Sedgie Lee,
|
|
Or Coaly Tine, or antient hallowed Dee,
|
|
Or Humber loud that keeps the Scythians Name,
|
|
Or Medway smooth, or Royal Towred Thame. 100
|
|
|
|
The rest was Prose.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE FIFTH ODE OF HORACE. LIB. I. --
|
|
Quis multa gracilis te puer in Rosa
|
|
Rendred almost word for word without Rhyme according to the
|
|
Latin Measure, as near as the Language permit.
|
|
|
|
WHAT slender Youth bedew'd with liquid odours
|
|
Courts thee on Roses in some pleasant Cave,
|
|
Pyrrha for whom bind'st thou
|
|
In wreaths thy golden Hair,
|
|
Plain in thy neatness; O how oft shall he
|
|
On Faith and changed Gods complain: and Seas
|
|
Rough with black winds and storms
|
|
Unwonted shall admire:
|
|
Who now enjoyes thee credulous, all Gold,
|
|
Who alwayes vacant, alwayes amiable 10
|
|
Hopes thee; of flattering gales
|
|
Unmindfull. Hapless they
|
|
To whom thou untry'd seem'st fair. Me in my vow'd
|
|
Picture the sacred wall declares t' have hung
|
|
My dank and dropping weeds
|
|
To the stern God of Sea.
|
|
[The Latin text follows.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SONNETS.
|
|
|
|
|
|
XI
|
|
|
|
A Book was writ of late call'd Tetrachordon;
|
|
And wov'n close, both matter, form and stile;
|
|
The Subject new: it walk'd the Town a while,
|
|
Numbring good intellects; now seldom por'd on.
|
|
Cries the stall-reader, bless us! what a word on
|
|
A title page is this! and some in file
|
|
Stand spelling fals, while one might walk to Mile-
|
|
End Green. Why is it harder Sirs then Gordon,
|
|
Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or Galasp?
|
|
Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek 10
|
|
That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp.
|
|
Thy age, like ours, O Soul of Sir John Cheek,
|
|
Hated not Learning wors then Toad or Asp;
|
|
When thou taught'st Cambridge, and King Edward Greek.
|
|
|
|
Note: Camb. Autograph supplies title, On the Detraction which
|
|
followed my writing certain Treatises.
|
|
|
|
|
|
XII. On the same.
|
|
|
|
I did but prompt the age to quit their cloggs
|
|
By the known rules of antient libertie,
|
|
When strait a barbarous noise environs me
|
|
Of Owles and Cuckoes, Asses, Apes and Doggs.
|
|
As when those Hinds that were transform'd to Froggs
|
|
Raild at Latona's twin-born progenie
|
|
Which after held the Sun and Moon in fee.
|
|
But this is got by casting Pearl to Hoggs;
|
|
That bawle for freedom in their senceless mood,
|
|
And still revolt when truth would set them free. 10
|
|
Licence they mean when they cry libertie;
|
|
For who loves that, must first be wise and good;
|
|
But from that mark how far they roave we see
|
|
For all this wast of wealth, and loss of blood.
|
|
|
|
|
|
XIII
|
|
|
|
To Mr. H. Lawes, on his Aires.
|
|
|
|
Harry whose tuneful and well measur'd Song
|
|
First taught our English Musick how to span
|
|
Words with just note and accent, not to scan
|
|
With Midas Ears, committing short and long;
|
|
Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng,
|
|
With praise enough for Envy to look wan;
|
|
To after age thou shalt be writ the man,
|
|
That with smooth aire couldst humor best our tongue
|
|
Thou honour'st Verse, and Verse must send her wing
|
|
To honour thee, the Priest of Phoebus Quire 10
|
|
That tun'st their happiest lines in Hymn or Story
|
|
Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher
|
|
Then his Casella, whom he woo'd to sing
|
|
Met in the milder shades of Purgatory.
|
|
|
|
Note: 9 send] lend Cambridge Autograph MS.
|
|
|
|
|
|
XIV
|
|
|
|
When Faith and Love which parted from thee never,
|
|
Had ripen'd thy just soul to dwell with God,
|
|
Meekly thou didst resign this earthy load
|
|
Of Death, call'd Life; which us from Life doth sever
|
|
Thy Works and Alms and all thy good Endeavour
|
|
Staid not behind, nor in the grave were trod;
|
|
But as Faith pointed with her golden rod,
|
|
Follow'd thee up to joy and bliss for ever.
|
|
Love led them on, and Faith who knew them best
|
|
Thy hand-maids, clad them o're with purple beams 10
|
|
And azure wings, that up they flew so drest,
|
|
And speak the truth of thee on glorious Theams
|
|
Before the Judge, who thenceforth bid thee rest
|
|
And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams.
|
|
|
|
Note: Camb. Autograph supplies title, On the Religious
|
|
Memory of Catherine Thomson, my Christian Friend, deceased
|
|
16 Decemb., 1646.
|
|
|
|
|
|
XV
|
|
|
|
ON THE LATE MASSACHER IN PIEMONT.
|
|
|
|
Avenge O lord thy slaughter'd Saints, whose bones
|
|
Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold,
|
|
Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old
|
|
When all our Fathers worship't Stocks and Stones,
|
|
Forget not: in thy book record their groanes
|
|
Who were thy Sheep and in their antient Fold
|
|
Slayn by the bloody Piemontese that roll'd
|
|
Mother with Infant down the Rocks. Their moans
|
|
The Vales redoubl'd to the Hills, and they
|
|
To Heav'n. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow 10
|
|
O're all th'Italian fields where still doth sway
|
|
The triple Tyrant: that from these may grow
|
|
A hunder'd-fold, who having learnt thy way
|
|
Early may fly the Babylonian wo.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
XVI
|
|
|
|
|
|
When I consider how my light is spent,
|
|
E're half my days, in this dark world and wide,
|
|
And that one Talent which is death to hide,
|
|
Lodg'd with me useless, though my Soul more bent
|
|
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
|
|
My true account, least he returning chide,
|
|
Doth God exact day-labour, light deny'd,
|
|
I fondly ask; But patience to prevent
|
|
That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need
|
|
Either man's work or his own gifts, who best 10
|
|
Bear his milde yoak, they serve him best, his State
|
|
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
|
|
And post o're Land and Ocean without rest:
|
|
They also serve who only stand and waite.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
XVII
|
|
|
|
|
|
Lawrence of vertuous Father vertuous Son,
|
|
Now that the Fields are dank, and ways are mire,
|
|
Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire
|
|
Help wast a sullen day; what may be Won
|
|
>From the hard Season gaining: time will run
|
|
On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire
|
|
The frozen earth; and cloth in fresh attire
|
|
The Lillie and Rose, that neither sow'd nor spun.
|
|
What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,
|
|
Of Attick tast, with Wine, whence we may rise 10
|
|
To hear the Lute well toucht, or artfull voice
|
|
Warble immortal Notes and Tuskan Ayre?
|
|
He who of those delights can judge, and spare
|
|
To interpose them oft, is not unwise.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
XVIII
|
|
|
|
|
|
Cyriack, whose Grandsire on the Royal Bench
|
|
Of Brittish Themis, with no mean applause
|
|
Pronounc't and in his volumes taught our Lawes,
|
|
Which others at their Barr so often wrench:
|
|
To day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
|
|
In mirth, that after no repenting drawes;
|
|
Let Euclid rest and Archimedes pause,
|
|
And what the Swede intend, and what the French.
|
|
To measure life, learn thou betimes, and know
|
|
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way; 10
|
|
For other things mild Heav'n a time ordains,
|
|
And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
|
|
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
|
|
And when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
XIX
|
|
|
|
|
|
Methought I saw my late espoused Saint
|
|
Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave,
|
|
Whom Joves great Son to her glad Husband gave,
|
|
Rescu'd from death by force though pale and faint.
|
|
Mine as whom washt from spot of child-bed taint,
|
|
Purification in the old Law did save,
|
|
And such, as yet once more I trust to have
|
|
Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint,
|
|
Came vested all in white, pure as her mind:
|
|
Her face was vail'd, yet to my fancied sight, 10
|
|
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shin'd
|
|
So clear, as in no face with more delight.
|
|
But O as to embrace me she enclin'd
|
|
I wak'd, she fled, and day brought back my night.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
On the new forcers of Conscience under the Long PARLIAMENT.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Because you have thrown of your Prelate Lord,
|
|
And with stiff Vowes renounc'd his Liturgie
|
|
To seise the widdow'd whore Pluralitie
|
|
>From them whose sin ye envi'd, not abhor'd,
|
|
Dare ye for this adjure the Civill Sword
|
|
To force our Consciences that Christ set free,
|
|
And ride us with a classic Hierarchy
|
|
Taught ye by meer A. S. and Rotherford?
|
|
Men whose Life, Learning, Faith and pure intent
|
|
Would have been held in high esteem with Paul 10
|
|
Must now he nam'd and printed Hereticks
|
|
By shallow Edwards and Scotch what d'ye call:
|
|
But we do hope to find out all your tricks,
|
|
Your plots and packing wors then those of Trent,
|
|
That so the Parliament
|
|
May with their wholsom and preventive Shears
|
|
Clip your Phylacteries, though bauk your Ears,
|
|
And succour our just Fears
|
|
When they shall read this clearly in your charge
|
|
New Presbyter is but Old Priest Writ Large. 20
|
|
|
|
|
|
The four following sonnets were not published until 1694, and
|
|
then in a mangled form by Phillips, in his Life of Milton; they
|
|
are here printed from the Cambridge MS., where that to Fairfax
|
|
is in Milton's autograph.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
ON THE LORD GEN. FAIRFAX AT THE SEIGE OF COLCHESTER.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Fairfax, whose name in armes through Europe rings
|
|
Filling each mouth with envy, or with praise,
|
|
And all her jealous monarchs with amaze,
|
|
And rumors loud, that daunt remotest kings,
|
|
Thy firm unshak'n vertue ever brings
|
|
Victory home, though new rebellions raise
|
|
Their Hydra heads, & the fals North displaies
|
|
Her brok'n league, to impe their serpent wings,
|
|
O yet a nobler task awaites thy hand;
|
|
Yet what can Warr, but endless warr still breed, 10
|
|
Till Truth, & Right from Violence be freed,
|
|
And Public Faith cleard from the shamefull brand
|
|
Of Public Fraud. In vain doth Valour bleed
|
|
While Avarice, & Rapine share the land.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
To the Lord Generall Cromwell May 1652.
|
|
ON THE PROPOSALLS OF CERTAINE MINISTERS AT THE COMMITTEE FOR
|
|
PROPAGATION OF THE GOSPELL.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Cromwell, our cheif of men, who through a cloud
|
|
Not of warr onely, but detractions rude,
|
|
Guided by faith & matchless Fortitude
|
|
To peace & truth thy glorious way hast plough'd,
|
|
And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud
|
|
Hast reard Gods Trophies, & his work pursu'd,
|
|
While Darwen stream with blood of Scotts imbru'd,
|
|
And Dunbarr field resounds thy praises loud,
|
|
And Worsters laureat wreath; yet much remaines
|
|
To conquer still; peace hath her victories 10
|
|
No less renownd then warr, new foes aries
|
|
Threatning to bind our soules with secular chaines:
|
|
Helpe us to save free Conscience from the paw
|
|
Of hireling wolves whose Gospell is their maw.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
TO SR HENRY VANE THE YOUNGER.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Vane, young in yeares, but in sage counsell old,
|
|
Then whome a better Senatour nere held
|
|
The helme of Rome, when gownes not armes repelld
|
|
The feirce Epeirot & the African bold,
|
|
Whether to settle peace, or to unfold
|
|
The drift of hollow states, hard to be spelld,
|
|
Then to advise how warr may best, upheld,
|
|
Move by her two maine nerves, Iron & Gold
|
|
In all her equipage: besides to know
|
|
Both spirituall powre & civill, what each meanes 10
|
|
What severs each thou hast learnt, which few have don
|
|
The bounds of either sword to thee wee ow.
|
|
Therfore on thy firme hand religion leanes
|
|
In peace, & reck'ns thee her eldest son.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
TO MR. CYRIACK SKINNER UPON HIS BLINDNESS.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Cyriack, this three years day these eys, though clear
|
|
To outward view, of blemish or of spot;
|
|
Bereft of light thir seeing have forgot,
|
|
Nor to thir idle orbs doth sight appear
|
|
Of Sun or Moon or Starre throughout the year,
|
|
Or man or woman. Yet I argue not
|
|
Against heavns hand or will, nor bate a jot
|
|
Of heart or hope; but still bear vp and steer
|
|
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask?
|
|
The conscience, Friend, to have lost them overply'd 10
|
|
In libertyes defence, my noble task,
|
|
Of which all Europe talks from side to side.
|
|
This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask
|
|
Content though blind, had I no better guide.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
PSAL. I. Done into Verse, 1653.
|
|
|
|
|
|
BLESS'D is the man who hath not walk'd astray
|
|
In counsel of the wicked, and ith'way
|
|
Of sinners hath not stood, and in the seat
|
|
Of scorners hath not sate. But in the great
|
|
Jehovahs Law is ever his delight,
|
|
And in his law he studies day and night.
|
|
He shall be as a tree which planted grows
|
|
By watry streams, and in his season knows
|
|
To yield his fruit, and his leaf shall not fall.
|
|
And what he takes in hand shall prosper all. 10
|
|
Not so the wicked, but as chaff which fann'd
|
|
The wind drives, so the wicked shall not stand
|
|
In judgment, or abide their tryal then
|
|
Nor sinners in th'assembly of just men.
|
|
For the Lord knows th'upright way of the just
|
|
And the way of bad men to ruine must.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
PSAL. II Done Aug. 8. 1653. Terzetti.
|
|
|
|
|
|
WHY do the Gentiles tumult, and the Nations
|
|
Muse a vain thing, the Kings of th'earth upstand
|
|
With power, and Princes in their Congregations
|
|
Lay deep their plots together through each Land,
|
|
Against the Lord and his Messiah dear.
|
|
Let us break off; say they, by strength of hand
|
|
Their bonds, and cast from us, no more to wear,
|
|
Their twisted cords: he who in Heaven doth dwell
|
|
Shall laugh, the Lord shall scoff them, then severe
|
|
Speak to them in his wrath, and in his fell 10
|
|
And fierce ire trouble them; but I saith hee
|
|
Anointed have my King (though ye rebell)
|
|
On Sion my holi' hill. A firm decree
|
|
I will declare; the Lord to me hath say'd
|
|
Thou art my Son I have begotten thee
|
|
This day, ask of me, and the grant is made;
|
|
As thy possession I on thee bestow
|
|
Th'Heathen, and as thy conquest to be sway'd
|
|
Earths utmost bounds: them shalt thou bring full low
|
|
With Iron Sceptir bruis'd, and them disperse 20
|
|
Like to a potters vessel shiver'd so.
|
|
And now be wise at length ye Kings averse
|
|
Be taught ye Judges of the earth; with fear
|
|
Jehovah serve and let your joy converse
|
|
With trembling; Kiss the Son least he appear
|
|
In anger and ye perish in the way
|
|
If once his wrath take fire like fuel sere.
|
|
Happy all those who have in him their stay.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
PSAL. III. Aug. 9. 1653
|
|
WHEN HE FLED FROM ABSALOM.
|
|
|
|
|
|
LORD how many are my foes
|
|
How many those
|
|
That in arms against me rise
|
|
Many are they
|
|
That of my life distrustfully thus say,
|
|
No help for him in God there lies.
|
|
But thou Lord art my shield my glory,
|
|
Thee through my story
|
|
Th' exalter of my head I count
|
|
Aloud I cry'd 10
|
|
Unto Jehovah, he full soon reply'd
|
|
And heard me from his holy mount.
|
|
I lay and slept, I wak'd again,
|
|
For my sustain
|
|
Was the Lord. Of many millions
|
|
The populous rout
|
|
I fear not though incamping round about
|
|
They pitch against me their Pavillions.
|
|
Rise Lord, save me my God for thou
|
|
Hast smote ere now 20
|
|
On the cheek-bone all my foes,
|
|
Of men abhor'd
|
|
Hast broke the teeth. This help was from the Lord;
|
|
Thy blessing on thy people flows.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
PSAL. IV. Aug. 10.1653.
|
|
|
|
|
|
ANSWER me when I call
|
|
God of my righteousness;
|
|
In straights and in distress
|
|
Thou didst me disinthrall
|
|
And set at large; now spare,
|
|
Now pity me, and hear my earnest prai'r.
|
|
|
|
Great ones how long will ye
|
|
My glory have in scorn
|
|
How long be thus forlorn
|
|
Still to love vanity, 10
|
|
To love, to seek, to prize
|
|
Things false and vain and nothing else but lies?
|
|
|
|
Yet know the Lord hath chose
|
|
Chose to himself a part
|
|
The good and meek of heart
|
|
(For whom to chuse he knows)
|
|
Jehovah from on high
|
|
Will hear my voyce what time to him I crie.
|
|
|
|
Be aw'd, and do not sin,
|
|
Speak to your hearts alone, 20
|
|
Upon your beds, each one,
|
|
And be at peace within.
|
|
Offer the offerings just
|
|
Of righteousness and in Jehovah trust.
|
|
|
|
Many there be that say
|
|
Who yet will shew us good?
|
|
Talking like this worlds brood;
|
|
But Lord, thus let me pray,
|
|
On us lift up the light
|
|
Lift up the favour of thy count'nance bright. 30
|
|
|
|
Into my heart more joy
|
|
And gladness thou hast put
|
|
Then when a year of glut
|
|
Their stores doth over-cloy
|
|
And from their plenteous grounds
|
|
With vast increase their corn and wine abounds.
|
|
|
|
In peace at once will I
|
|
Both lay me down and sleep
|
|
For thou alone dost keep
|
|
Me safe where ere I lie 40
|
|
As in a rocky Cell
|
|
Thou Lord alone in safety mak'st me dwell.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
PSAL. V. Aug. 12.1653.
|
|
|
|
|
|
JEHOVAH to my words give ear
|
|
My meditation waigh
|
|
The voyce of my complaining hear
|
|
My King and God for unto thee I pray.
|
|
Jehovah thou my early voyce
|
|
Shalt in the morning hear
|
|
Ith'morning I to thee with choyce
|
|
Will rank my Prayers, and watch till thou appear.
|
|
For thou art not a God that takes
|
|
In wickedness delight 10
|
|
Evil with thee no biding makes
|
|
Fools or mad men stand not within thy sight.
|
|
All workers of iniquity
|
|
Thou wilt destroy that speak a ly
|
|
The bloodi' and guileful man God doth detest.
|
|
But I will in thy mercies dear
|
|
Thy numerous mercies go
|
|
Into thy house; I in thy fear
|
|
Will towards thy holy temple worship low. 20
|
|
Lord lead me in thy righteousness
|
|
Lead me because of those
|
|
That do observe if I transgress,
|
|
Set thy wayes right before, where my step goes.
|
|
For in his faltring mouth unstable
|
|
No word is firm or sooth
|
|
Their inside, troubles miserable;
|
|
An open grave their throat, their tongue they smooth.
|
|
God, find them guilty, let them fall
|
|
By their own counsels quell'd; 30
|
|
Push them in their rebellions all
|
|
Still on; for against thee they have rebell'd;
|
|
Then all who trust in thee shall bring
|
|
Their joy, while thou from blame
|
|
Defend'st them, they shall ever sing
|
|
And shall triumph in thee, who love thy name.
|
|
For thou Jehovah wilt be found
|
|
To bless the just man still,
|
|
As with a shield thou wilt surround
|
|
Him with thy lasting favour and good will. 40
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
PSAL. VI Aug. 13. 1653.
|
|
|
|
|
|
LORD in thine anger do not reprehend me
|
|
Nor in thy hot displeasure me correct;
|
|
Pity me Lord for I am much deject
|
|
Am very weak and faint; heal and amend me,
|
|
For all my bones, that even with anguish ake,
|
|
Are troubled, yea my soul is troubled sore
|
|
And thou O Lord how long? turn Lord, restore
|
|
My soul, O save me for thy goodness sake
|
|
For in death no remembrance is of thee;
|
|
Who in the grave can celebrate thy praise? 10
|
|
Wearied I am with sighing out my dayes.
|
|
Nightly my Couch I make a kind of Sea;
|
|
My Bed I water with my tears; mine Eie
|
|
Through grief consumes, is waxen old and dark
|
|
Ith' mid'st of all mine enemies that mark.
|
|
Depart all ye that work iniquitie.
|
|
Depart from me, for the voice of my weeping
|
|
The Lord hath heard, the Lord hath heard my prai'r
|
|
My supplication with acceptance fair
|
|
The Lord will own, and have me in his keeping. 20
|
|
Mine enemies shall all be blank and dash't
|
|
With much confusion; then grow red with shame,
|
|
They shall return in hast the way they came
|
|
And in a moment shall be quite abash't.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
PSAL. VII. Aug. 14. 1653.
|
|
UPON THE WORDS OF CHUSH THE BENJAMITE AGAINST HIM.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Lord my God to thee I flie
|
|
Save me and secure me under
|
|
Thy protection while I crie
|
|
Least as a Lion (and no wonder)
|
|
He hast to tear my Soul asunder
|
|
Tearing and no rescue nigh.
|
|
|
|
Lord my God if I have thought
|
|
Or done this, if wickedness
|
|
Be in my hands, if I have wrought
|
|
Ill to him that meant me peace, 10
|
|
Or to him have render'd less,
|
|
And fre'd my foe for naught;
|
|
|
|
Let th'enemy pursue my soul
|
|
And overtake it, let him tread
|
|
My life down to the earth and roul
|
|
In the dust my glory dead,
|
|
In the dust and there out spread
|
|
Lodge it with dishonour foul.
|
|
|
|
Rise Jehovah in thine ire
|
|
Rouze thy self amidst the rage 20
|
|
Of my foes that urge like fire;
|
|
And wake for me, their furi' asswage;
|
|
Judgment here thou didst ingage
|
|
And command which I desire.
|
|
|
|
So th' assemblies of each Nation
|
|
Will surround thee, seeking right,
|
|
Thence to thy glorious habitation
|
|
Return on high and in their sight.
|
|
Jehovah judgeth most upright
|
|
All people from the worlds foundation. 30
|
|
|
|
Judge me Lord, be judge in this
|
|
According to my righteousness
|
|
And the innocence which is
|
|
Upon me: cause at length to cease
|
|
Of evil men the wickedness
|
|
And their power that do amiss.
|
|
|
|
But the just establish fast,
|
|
Since thou art the just God that tries
|
|
Hearts and reins. On God is cast
|
|
My defence, and in him lies 40
|
|
In him who both just and wise
|
|
Saves th' upright of Heart at last.
|
|
|
|
God is a just Judge and severe,
|
|
And God is every day offended;
|
|
If th' unjust will not forbear,
|
|
His Sword he whets, his Bow hath bended
|
|
Already, and for him intended
|
|
The tools of death, that waits him near.
|
|
|
|
(His arrows purposely made he
|
|
For them that persecute.) Behold 50
|
|
He travels big with vanitie,
|
|
Trouble he hath conceav'd of old
|
|
As in a womb, and from that mould
|
|
Hath at length brought forth a Lie.
|
|
|
|
He dig'd a pit, and delv'd it deep,
|
|
And fell into the pit he made,
|
|
His mischief that due course doth keep,
|
|
Turns on his head, and his ill trade
|
|
Of violence will undelay'd
|
|
Fall on his crown with ruine steep. 60
|
|
|
|
Then will I Jehovah's praise
|
|
According to his justice raise
|
|
And sing the Name and Deitie
|
|
Of Jehovah the most high.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
PSAL. VIII. Aug. 14. 1653.
|
|
|
|
|
|
O JEHOVAH our Lord how wondrous great
|
|
And glorious is thy name through all the earth?
|
|
So as above the Heavens thy praise to set
|
|
Out of the tender mouths of latest bearth,
|
|
|
|
Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings thou
|
|
Hast founded strength because of all thy foes
|
|
To stint th'enemy, and slack th'avengers brow
|
|
That bends his rage thy providence to oppose.
|
|
|
|
When I behold thy Heavens, thy Fingers art,
|
|
The Moon and Starrs which thou so bright hast set, 10
|
|
In the pure firmament, then saith my heart,
|
|
O What is man that thou remembrest yet,
|
|
|
|
And think'st upon him; or of man begot
|
|
That him thou visit'st and of him art found;
|
|
Scarce to be less then Gods, thou mad'st his lot,
|
|
With honour and with state thou hast him crown'd.
|
|
|
|
O're the works of thy hand thou mad'st him Lord,
|
|
Thou hast put all under his lordly feet,
|
|
All Flocks, and Herds, by thy commanding word,
|
|
All beasts that in the field or forrest meet. 20
|
|
|
|
Fowl of the Heavens, and Fish that through the wet
|
|
Sea-paths in shoals do slide. And know no dearth.
|
|
O Jehovah our Lord how wondrous great
|
|
And glorious is thy name through all the earth.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
April, 1648. J. M.
|
|
Nine of the Psalms done into Metre, wherein all but what is
|
|
in a different Character, are the very words of the Text,
|
|
translated from the Original.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
PSAL. LXXX.
|
|
|
|
|
|
1 THOU Shepherd that dost Israel keep
|
|
Give ear in time of need,
|
|
Who leadest like a flock of sheep
|
|
Thy loved Josephs seed,
|
|
That sitt'st between the Cherubs bright
|
|
Between their wings out-spread
|
|
Shine forth, and from thy cloud give light,
|
|
And on our foes thy dread.
|
|
2 In Ephraims view and Benjamins,
|
|
And in Manasse's sight 10
|
|
Awake* thy strength, come, and be seen *Gnorera.
|
|
To save us by thy might.
|
|
3 Turn us again, thy grace divine
|
|
To us O God vouchsafe;
|
|
Cause thou thy face on us to shine
|
|
And then we shall be safe.
|
|
4 Lord God of Hosts, how long wilt thou,
|
|
How long wilt thou declare
|
|
Thy *smoaking wrath, and angry brow *Gnashanta.
|
|
Against thy peoples praire. 20
|
|
5 Thou feed'st them with the bread of tears,
|
|
Their bread with tears they eat,
|
|
And mak'st them* largely drink the tears *Shalish.
|
|
Wherewith their cheeks are wet.
|
|
6 A strife thou mak'st us and a prey
|
|
To every neighbour foe,
|
|
Among themselves they *laugh, they *play, *Jilgnagu.
|
|
And *flouts at us they throw.
|
|
7 Return us, and thy grace divine,
|
|
O God of Hosts vouchsafe 30
|
|
Cause thou thy face on us to shine,
|
|
And then we shall be safe.
|
|
8 A Vine from Aegypt thou hast brought,
|
|
Thy free love made it thine,
|
|
And drov'st out Nations proud and haut
|
|
To plant this lovely Vine.
|
|
9 Thou did'st prepare for it a place
|
|
And root it deep and fast
|
|
That it began to grow apace,
|
|
And fill'd the land at last. 40
|
|
10 With her green shade that cover'd all,
|
|
The Hills were over-spread
|
|
Her Bows as high as Cedars tall
|
|
Advanc'd their lofty head.
|
|
11 Her branches on the western side
|
|
Down to the Sea she sent,
|
|
And upward to that river wide
|
|
Her other branches went.
|
|
12 Why hast thou laid her Hedges low
|
|
And brok'n down her Fence, 50
|
|
That all may pluck her, as they go,
|
|
With rudest violence?
|
|
13 The tusked Boar out of the wood
|
|
Up turns it by the roots,
|
|
Wild Beasts there brouze, and make their food
|
|
Her Grapes and tender Shoots.
|
|
14 Return now, God of Hosts, look down
|
|
From Heav'n, thy Seat divine,
|
|
Behold us, but without a frown,
|
|
And visit this thy Vine. 60
|
|
15 Visit this Vine, which thy right hand
|
|
Hath set, and planted long,
|
|
And the young branch, that for thy self
|
|
Thou hast made firm and strong.
|
|
16 But now it is consum'd with fire,
|
|
And cut with Axes down,
|
|
They perish at thy dreadfull ire,
|
|
At thy rebuke and frown.
|
|
17 Upon the man of thy right hand
|
|
Let thy good hand be laid, 70
|
|
Upon the Son of Man, whom thou
|
|
Strong for thyself hast made.
|
|
18 So shall we not go back from thee
|
|
To wayes of sin and shame,
|
|
Quick'n us thou, then gladly wee
|
|
Shall call upon thy Name.
|
|
Return us, and thy grace divine
|
|
Lord God of Hosts voutsafe,
|
|
Cause thou thy face on us to shine,
|
|
And then we shall be safe. 80
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
PSAL. LXXXI.
|
|
|
|
|
|
1 To God our strength sing loud, and clear,
|
|
Sing loud to God our King,
|
|
To Jacobs God, that all may hear
|
|
Loud acclamations ring.
|
|
2 Prepare a Hymn, prepare a Song
|
|
The Timbrel hither bring
|
|
The cheerfull Psaltry bring along
|
|
And Harp with pleasant string.
|
|
3 Blow, as is wont, in the new Moon
|
|
With Trumpets lofty sound, 10
|
|
Th'appointed time, the day wheron
|
|
Our solemn Feast comes round.
|
|
4 This was a Statute giv'n of old
|
|
For Israel to observe
|
|
A Law of Jacobs God, to hold
|
|
From whence they might not swerve.
|
|
5 This he a Testimony ordain'd
|
|
In Joseph, not to change,
|
|
When as he pass'd through Aegypt land;
|
|
The Tongue I heard, was strange. 20
|
|
6 From burden, and from slavish toyle
|
|
I set his shoulder free;
|
|
His hands from pots, and mirie soyle
|
|
Deliver'd were by me.
|
|
7 When trouble did thee sore assaile,
|
|
On me then didst thou call,
|
|
And I to free thee did not faile,
|
|
And led thee out of thrall.
|
|
I answer'd thee in *thunder deep *Be Sether ragnam.
|
|
With clouds encompass'd round; 30
|
|
I tri'd thee at the water steep
|
|
Of Meriba renown'd.
|
|
8 Hear O my people, heark'n well,
|
|
I testifie to thee
|
|
Thou antient flock of Israel,
|
|
If thou wilt list to mee,
|
|
9 Through out the land of thy abode
|
|
No alien God shall be
|
|
Nor shalt thou to a forein God
|
|
In honour bend thy knee. 40
|
|
10 I am the Lord thy God which brought
|
|
Thee out of Aegypt land
|
|
Ask large enough, and I, besought,
|
|
Will grant thy full demand.
|
|
11 And yet my people would not hear,
|
|
Nor hearken to my voice;
|
|
And Israel whom I lov'd so dear
|
|
Mislik'd me for his choice.
|
|
12 Then did I leave them to their will
|
|
And to their wandring mind; 50
|
|
Their own conceits they follow'd still
|
|
Their own devises blind
|
|
13 O that my people would be wise
|
|
To serve me all their daies,
|
|
And O that Israel would advise
|
|
To walk my righteous waies.
|
|
14 Then would I soon bring down their foes
|
|
That now so proudly rise,
|
|
And turn my hand against all those
|
|
That are their enemies. 60
|
|
15 Who hate the Lord should then be fain
|
|
To bow to him and bend,
|
|
But they, His should remain,
|
|
Their time should have no end.
|
|
16 And he would free them from the shock
|
|
With flower of finest wheat,
|
|
And satisfie them from the rock
|
|
With Honey for their Meat.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
PSAL. LXXXII.
|
|
|
|
|
|
1 GOD in the *great *assembly stands *Bagnadath-el
|
|
Of Kings and lordly States,
|
|
Among the gods* on both his hands. *Bekerev.
|
|
He judges and debates.
|
|
2 How long will ye *pervert the right *Tishphetu
|
|
With *judgment false and wrong gnavel.
|
|
Favouring the wicked by your might,
|
|
Who thence grow bold and strong?
|
|
3 *Regard the *weak and fatherless *Shiphtu-dal.
|
|
*Dispatch the *poor mans cause, 10
|
|
And **raise the man in deep distress
|
|
By **just and equal Lawes. **Hatzdiku.
|
|
4 Defend the poor and desolate,
|
|
And rescue from the hands
|
|
Of wicked men the low estate
|
|
Of him that help demands.
|
|
5 They know not nor will understand,
|
|
In darkness they walk on,
|
|
The Earths foundations all are *mov'd *Jimmotu.
|
|
And *out of order gon. 20
|
|
6 I said that ye were Gods, yea all
|
|
The Sons of God most high
|
|
7 But ye shall die like men, and fall
|
|
As other Princes die.
|
|
8 Rise God, *judge thou the earth in might,
|
|
This wicked earth *redress, *Shiphta.
|
|
For thou art he who shalt by right
|
|
The Nations all possess.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
PSAL. LXXXIII.
|
|
|
|
1 BE not thou silent now at length
|
|
O God hold not thy peace,
|
|
Sit not thou still O God of strength
|
|
We cry and do not cease.
|
|
2 For lo thy furious foes now *swell
|
|
And *storm outrageously, *Jehemajun.
|
|
And they that hate thee proud and fill
|
|
Exalt their heads full hie.
|
|
3 Against thy people they *contrive *Jagnarimu.
|
|
*Their Plots and Counsels deep, *Sod. 10
|
|
*Them to ensnare they chiefly strive *Jithjagnatsu gnal.
|
|
*Whom thou dost hide and keep. *Tsephuneca.
|
|
4 Come let us cut them off say they,
|
|
Till they no Nation be
|
|
That Israels name for ever may
|
|
Be lost in memory.
|
|
5 For they consult *with all their might, *Lev jachdau.
|
|
And all as one in mind
|
|
Themselves against thee they unite
|
|
And in firm union bind. 20
|
|
6 The tents of Edom, and the brood
|
|
Of scornful Ishmael,
|
|
Moab, with them of Hagars blood
|
|
That in the Desart dwell,
|
|
7 Gebal and Ammon there conspire,
|
|
And hateful Amalec,
|
|
The Philistims, and they of Tyre
|
|
Whose bounds the sea doth check.
|
|
8 With them great Asshur also bands
|
|
And doth confirm the knot, 30
|
|
All these have lent their armed hands
|
|
To aid the Sons of Lot.
|
|
9 Do to them as to Midian bold
|
|
That wasted all the Coast.
|
|
To Sisera, and as is told
|
|
Thou didst to Jabins hoast,
|
|
When at the brook of Kishon old
|
|
They were repulst and slain,
|
|
10 At Endor quite cut off, and rowl'd
|
|
As dung upon the plain. 40
|
|
11 As Zeb and Oreb evil sped
|
|
So let their Princes speed
|
|
As Zeba, and Zalmunna bled
|
|
So let their Princes bleed.
|
|
12 For they amidst their pride have said
|
|
By right now shall we seize
|
|
Gods houses, and will now invade
|
|
*Their stately Palaces. *Neoth Elohim bears both.
|
|
13 My God, oh make them as a wheel
|
|
No quiet let them find, 50
|
|
Giddy and restless let them reel
|
|
Like stubble from the wind.
|
|
14 As when an aged wood takes fire
|
|
Which on a sudden straies,
|
|
The greedy flame runs hier and hier
|
|
Till all the mountains blaze,
|
|
15 So with thy whirlwind them pursue,
|
|
And with thy tempest chase;
|
|
16 *And till they *yield thee honour due, *They seek thy
|
|
Lord fill with shame their face. Name. Heb.
|
|
17 Asham'd and troubl'd let them be, 60
|
|
Troubl'd and sham'd for ever,
|
|
Ever confounded, and so die
|
|
With shame, and scape it never.
|
|
18 Then shall they know that thou whose name
|
|
Jehova is alone,
|
|
Art the most high, and thou the same
|
|
O're all the earth art one.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
PSAL. LXXXIV.
|
|
|
|
|
|
1 How lovely are thy dwellings fair!
|
|
O Lord of Hoasts, how dear
|
|
The pleasant Tabernacles are!
|
|
Where thou do'st dwell so near.
|
|
2 My Soul doth long and almost die
|
|
Thy Courts O Lord to see,
|
|
My heart and flesh aloud do crie,
|
|
O living God, for thee.
|
|
3 There ev'n the Sparrow freed from wrong
|
|
Hath found a house of rest, 10
|
|
The Swallow there, to lay her young
|
|
Hath built her brooding nest,
|
|
Ev'n by thy Altars Lord of Hoasts
|
|
They find their safe abode,
|
|
And home they fly from round the Coasts
|
|
Toward thee, My King, my God
|
|
4 Happy, who in thy house reside
|
|
Where thee they ever praise,
|
|
5 Happy, whose strength in thee doth bide,
|
|
And in their hearts thy waies. 20
|
|
6 They pass through Baca's thirstie Vale,
|
|
That dry and barren ground
|
|
As through a fruitfull watry Dale
|
|
Where Springs and Showrs abound.
|
|
7 They journey on from strength to strength
|
|
With joy and gladsom cheer
|
|
Till all before our God at length
|
|
In Sion do appear.
|
|
8 Lord God of Hoasts hear now my praier
|
|
O Jacobs God give ear, 30
|
|
9 Thou God our shield look on the face
|
|
Of thy anointed dear.
|
|
10 For one day in thy Courts to be
|
|
Is better, and mere blest
|
|
Then in the joyes of Vanity,
|
|
A thousand daies at best.
|
|
I in the temple of my God
|
|
Had rather keep a dore,
|
|
Then dwell in Tents, and rich abode
|
|
With Sin for evermore 40
|
|
11 For God the Lord both Sun and Shield
|
|
Gives grace and glory bright,
|
|
No good from him shall be with-held
|
|
Whose waies are just and right.
|
|
12 Lord God of Hoasts that raign 'st on high,
|
|
That man is truly blest
|
|
Who only on thee doth relie.
|
|
And in thee only rest.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
PSAL LXXXV.
|
|
|
|
|
|
1 THY Land to favour graciously
|
|
Thou hast not Lord been slack,
|
|
Thou hast from hard Captivity
|
|
Returned Jacob back.
|
|
2 Th' iniquity thou didst forgive
|
|
That wrought thy people woe,
|
|
And all their Sin, that did thee grieve
|
|
Hast hid where none shall know.
|
|
3 Thine anger all thou hadst remov'd,
|
|
And calmly didst return 10
|
|
From thy *fierce wrath which we had prov'd *Heb. The burning
|
|
Far worse then fire to burn. heat of thy
|
|
4 God of our saving health and peace, wrath.
|
|
Turn us, and us restore,
|
|
Thine indignation cause to cease
|
|
Toward us, and chide no more.
|
|
5 Wilt thou be angry without end,
|
|
For ever angry thus
|
|
Wilt thou thy frowning ire extend
|
|
From age to age on us? 20
|
|
6 Wilt thou not * turn, and hear our voice * Heb. Turn to
|
|
And us again * revive , quicken us.
|
|
That so thy people may rejoyce
|
|
By thee preserv'd alive.
|
|
7 Cause us to see thy goodness Lord,
|
|
To us thy mercy shew
|
|
Thy saving health to us afford
|
|
And lift in us renew.
|
|
8 And now what God the Lord will speak
|
|
I will go strait and hear, 30
|
|
For to his people he speaks peace
|
|
And to his Saints full dear,
|
|
To his dear Saints he will speak peace,
|
|
But let them never more
|
|
Return to folly, but surcease
|
|
To trespass as before.
|
|
9 Surely to such as do him fear
|
|
Salvation is at hand
|
|
And glory shall ere long appear
|
|
To dwell within our Land. 40
|
|
10 Mercy and Truth that long were miss'd
|
|
Now joyfully are met
|
|
Sweet Peace and Righteousness have kiss'd
|
|
And hand in hand are set.
|
|
11 Truth from the earth like to a flowr
|
|
Shall bud and blossom then,
|
|
And Justice from her heavenly bowr
|
|
Look down on mortal men.
|
|
12 The Lord will also then bestow
|
|
Whatever thing is good 50
|
|
Our Land shall forth in plenty throw
|
|
Her fruits to be our food.
|
|
13 Before him Righteousness shall go
|
|
His Royal Harbinger,
|
|
Then * will he come, and not be slow *Heb. He will set his
|
|
His footsteps cannot err. steps to the way.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
PSAL. LXXXVI.
|
|
|
|
|
|
1 THY gracious ear, O Lord, encline,
|
|
O hear me I thee pray,
|
|
For I am poor, and almost pine
|
|
With need, and sad decay.
|
|
2 Preserve my soul, for *I have trod Heb. I am good, loving,
|
|
Thy waies, and love the just, a doer of good and
|
|
Save thou thy servant O my God holy things
|
|
Who still in thee doth trust.
|
|
3 Pity me Lord for daily thee
|
|
I call; 4 O make rejoyce 10
|
|
Thy Servants Soul; for Lord to thee
|
|
I lift my soul and voice,
|
|
5 For thou art good, thou Lord art prone
|
|
To pardon, thou to all
|
|
Art full of mercy, thou alone
|
|
To them that on thee call.
|
|
6 Unto my supplication Lord
|
|
Give ear, and to the crie
|
|
Of my incessant praiers afford
|
|
Thy hearing graciously. 20
|
|
7 I in the day of my distress
|
|
Will call on thee for aid;
|
|
For thou wilt grant me free access
|
|
And answer, what I pray'd.
|
|
8 Like thee among the gods is none
|
|
O Lord, nor any works
|
|
Of all that other Gods have done
|
|
Like to thy glorious works.
|
|
9 The Nations all whom thou hast made
|
|
Shall come, and all shall frame 30
|
|
To bow them low before thee Lord,
|
|
And glorifie thy name.
|
|
10 For great thou art, and wonders great
|
|
By thy strong hand are done,
|
|
Thou in thy everlasting Seat
|
|
Remainest God alone.
|
|
11 Teach me O Lord thy way most right,
|
|
I in thy truth will hide,
|
|
To fear thy name my heart unite
|
|
So shall it never slide. 40
|
|
12 Thee will I praise O Lord my God
|
|
Thee honour, and adore
|
|
With my whole heart, and blaze abroad
|
|
Thy name for ever more.
|
|
13 For great thy mercy is toward me,
|
|
And thou hast free'd my Soul
|
|
Eev'n from the lowest Hell set free
|
|
From deepest darkness foul.
|
|
14 O God the proud against me rise
|
|
And violent men are met 50
|
|
To seek my life, and in their eyes
|
|
No fear of thee have set.
|
|
15 But thou Lord art the God most mild
|
|
Readiest thy grace to shew,
|
|
Slow to be angry, and art stil'd
|
|
Most mercifull, most true.
|
|
16 O turn to me thy face at length,
|
|
And me have mercy on,
|
|
Unto thy servant give thy strength,
|
|
And save thy hand-maids Son. 60
|
|
17 Some sign of good to me afford,
|
|
And let my foes then see
|
|
And be asham'd, because thou Lord
|
|
Do'st help and comfort me.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
PSAL. LXXXVII
|
|
|
|
|
|
1 AMONG the holy Mountains high
|
|
Is his foundation fast,
|
|
There Seated in his Sanctuary,
|
|
His Temple there is plac't.
|
|
2 Sions fair Gates the Lord loves more
|
|
Then all the dwellings faire
|
|
Of Jacobs Land, though there be store,
|
|
And all within his care.
|
|
3 City of God, most glorious things
|
|
Of thee abroad are spoke; 10
|
|
4 I mention Egypt, where proud Kings
|
|
Did our forefathers yoke,
|
|
I mention Babel to my friends,
|
|
Philistia full of scorn,
|
|
And Tyre with Ethiops utmost ends,
|
|
Lo this man there was born:
|
|
5 But twise that praise shall in our ear
|
|
Be said of Sion last
|
|
This and this man was born in her,
|
|
High God shall fix her fast. 20
|
|
6 The Lord shall write it in a Scrowle
|
|
That ne're shall be out-worn
|
|
When he the Nations doth enrowle
|
|
That this man there was born.
|
|
7 Both they who sing, and they who dance
|
|
With sacred Songs are there,
|
|
In thee fresh brooks, and soft streams glance
|
|
And all my fountains clear.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
PSAL. LXXXVIII
|
|
|
|
|
|
1 LORD God that dost me save and keep,
|
|
All day to thee I cry;
|
|
And all night long, before thee weep
|
|
Before thee prostrate lie.
|
|
2 Into thy presence let my praier
|
|
With sighs devout ascend
|
|
And to my cries, that ceaseless are,
|
|
Thine ear with favour bend.
|
|
3 For cloy'd with woes and trouble store
|
|
Surcharg'd my Soul doth lie, 10
|
|
My life at death's uncherful dore
|
|
Unto the grave draws nigh.
|
|
4 Reck'n'd I am with them that pass
|
|
Down to the dismal pit
|
|
I am a *man, but weak alas * Heb. A man without manly
|
|
And for that name unfit. strength.
|
|
5 From life discharg'd and parted quite
|
|
Among the dead to sleep
|
|
And like the slain in bloody fight
|
|
That in the grave lie deep. 20
|
|
Whom thou rememberest no more,
|
|
Dost never more regard,
|
|
Them from thy hand deliver'd o're
|
|
Deaths hideous house hath barr'd.
|
|
6 Thou in the lowest pit profound'
|
|
Hast set me all forlorn,
|
|
Where thickest darkness hovers round,
|
|
In horrid deeps to mourn.
|
|
7 Thy wrath from which no shelter saves
|
|
Full sore doth press on me; 30
|
|
*Thou break'st upon me all thy waves, *The Heb.
|
|
*And all thy waves break me bears both.
|
|
8 Thou dost my friends from me estrange,
|
|
And mak'st me odious,
|
|
Me to them odious, for they change,
|
|
And I here pent up thus.
|
|
9 Through sorrow, and affliction great
|
|
Mine eye grows dim and dead,
|
|
Lord all the day I thee entreat,
|
|
My hands to thee I spread. 40
|
|
10 Wilt thou do wonders on the dead,
|
|
Shall the deceas'd arise
|
|
And praise thee from their loathsom bed
|
|
With pale and hollow eyes ?
|
|
11 Shall they thy loving kindness tell
|
|
On whom the grave hath hold,
|
|
Or they who in perdition dwell
|
|
Thy faithfulness unfold?
|
|
12 In darkness can thy mighty hand
|
|
Or wondrous acts be known, 50
|
|
Thy justice in the gloomy land
|
|
Of dark oblivion?
|
|
13 But I to thee O Lord do cry
|
|
E're yet my life be spent,
|
|
And up to thee my praier doth hie
|
|
Each morn, and thee prevent.
|
|
14 Why wilt thou Lord my soul forsake,
|
|
And hide thy face from me,
|
|
15 That am already bruis'd, and *shake *Heb. Prae Concussione.
|
|
With terror sent from thee; 60
|
|
Bruz'd, and afflicted and so low
|
|
As ready to expire,
|
|
While I thy terrors undergo
|
|
Astonish'd with thine ire.
|
|
16 Thy fierce wrath over me doth flow
|
|
Thy threatnings cut me through.
|
|
17 All day they round about me go,
|
|
Like waves they me persue.
|
|
18 Lover and friend thou hast remov'd
|
|
And sever'd from me far. 70
|
|
They fly me now whom I have lov'd,
|
|
And as in darkness are.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Finis.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
COLLECTION OF PASSAGES TRANSLATED IN THE PROSE WRITINGS.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
[From Of Reformation in England, 1641.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
Ah Constantine, of how much ill was cause
|
|
Not thy Conversion, but those rich demains
|
|
That the first wealthy Pope receiv'd of thee.
|
|
DANTE, Inf. xix. 115.
|
|
|
|
Founded in chast and humble Poverty,
|
|
'Gainst them that rais'd thee dost thou lift thy horn,
|
|
Impudent whoore, where hast thou plac'd thy hope?
|
|
In thy Adulterers, or thy ill got wealth?
|
|
Another Constantine comes not in hast.
|
|
PETRARCA, Son. 108.
|
|
|
|
And to be short, at last his guid him brings
|
|
Into a goodly valley, where he sees
|
|
A mighty mass of things strangely confus'd
|
|
Things that on earth were lost or were abus'd.
|
|
. . . . .
|
|
Then past he to a flowry Mountain green,
|
|
Which once smelt sweet, now stinks as odiously;
|
|
This was that gift (if you the truth will have)
|
|
That Constantine to good Sylvestro gave.
|
|
ARIOSTO, Orl. Fur. xxxiv. 80.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
[From Reason of Church Government, 1641.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
When I die, let the Earth be roul'd in flames.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
[From Apology for Smectymnuus, 1642.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
Laughing to teach the truth
|
|
What hinders? as some teachers give to Boys
|
|
Junkets and knacks, that they may learne apace.
|
|
HORACE, Sat. 1. 24.
|
|
|
|
Jesting decides great things
|
|
Stronglier, and better oft than earnest can.
|
|
IBID. i. 10. 14.
|
|
|
|
'Tis you that say it, not I: you do the deeds
|
|
And your ungodly deeds find me the words.
|
|
SOPHOCLES, Elec. 624.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
[From Areopagitica, 1644.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
This is true Liberty, when free-born Men,
|
|
Having to advise the Public, may speak free,
|
|
Which he who can, and will, deserv's high praise;
|
|
Who neither can nor will, may hold his peace,
|
|
What can be juster in a state then this?
|
|
EURIPIDES, Supp. 438
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
[From Tetrachordon, 1645.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
Whom do we count a good man, whom but he
|
|
Who keeps the laws and statutes of the Senate,
|
|
Who judges in great suits and controversies,
|
|
Whose witness and opinion wins the cause?
|
|
But his own house, and the whole neighbourhood
|
|
See his foul inside through his whited skin.
|
|
HORACE, Ep. i. 16. 40.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
[From The Tenure of Kings and Magistrates, 1649.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
There can be slaine
|
|
No sacrifice to God more acceptable
|
|
Than an unjust and wicked king.
|
|
SENECA, Herc. Fur. 922.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
[From History of Britain, 1670.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
Brutus thus addresses Diana in the country of Leogecia.
|
|
|
|
Goddess of Shades, and Huntress, who at will
|
|
Walk'st on the rowling Sphear, and through the deep,
|
|
On thy third Reign the Earth look now, and tell
|
|
What Land, what Seat of rest thou bidst me seek,
|
|
What certain Seat, where I may worship thee
|
|
For aye, with Temples vow'd, and Virgin quires.
|
|
|
|
To whom sleeping before the altar, Diana in a Vision that night
|
|
thus answer'd.
|
|
|
|
Brutus far to the West, in th' Ocean wide
|
|
Beyond the Realm of Gaul, a Land there lies,
|
|
Sea-girt it lies, where Giants dwelt of old,
|
|
Now void, it fits thy People; thether bend
|
|
Thy course, there shalt thou find a lasting seat,
|
|
There to thy Sons another Troy shall rise,
|
|
And Kings be born of thee, whose dredded might
|
|
Shall aw the World, and conquer Nations bold.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Transcriber's Note: Title page of first (1667) edition of
|
|
Paradise Lost follows:
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SAMSON
|
|
AGONISTES,
|
|
A
|
|
DRAMATIC POEM.
|
|
------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
The Author
|
|
JOHN MILTON
|
|
------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
Aristot. Poet. Cap. 6.
|
|
Tragedia mimeis praxeos spadaias, &c.
|
|
Tragedia est imitatio actionis seriae. &c. Per misericordiam &
|
|
metum perficiens talium affectuum lustrationem.
|
|
------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
LONDON.
|
|
Printed by J.M. for John Starkey at the
|
|
Mitre in Fleetstreet, near Temple-Bar.
|
|
MDCLXXI
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SAMSON AGONISTES
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Of that sort of Dramatic Poem which is call'd Tragedy.
|
|
|
|
|
|
TRAGEDY, as it was antiently compos'd, hath been ever held the
|
|
gravest, moralest, and most profitable of all other Poems:
|
|
therefore said by Aristotle to be of power by raising pity and fear,
|
|
or terror, to purge the mind of those and such like passions, that is
|
|
to temper and reduce them to just measure with a kind of delight,
|
|
stirr'd up by reading or seeing those passions well imitated. Nor is
|
|
Nature wanting in her own effects to make good his assertion: for
|
|
so in Physic things of melancholic hue and quality are us'd against
|
|
melancholy, sowr against sowr, salt to remove salt humours.
|
|
Hence Philosophers and other gravest Writers, as Cicero, Plutarch
|
|
and others, frequently cite out of Tragic Poets, both to adorn and
|
|
illustrate thir discourse. The Apostle Paul himself thought it not
|
|
unworthy to insert a verse of Euripides into the Text of Holy
|
|
Scripture, I Cor. 15. 33. and Paraeus commenting on the
|
|
Revelation, divides the whole Book as a Tragedy, into Acts
|
|
distinguisht each by a Chorus of Heavenly Harpings and Song
|
|
between. Heretofore Men in highest dignity have labour'd not a
|
|
little to be thought able to compose a Tragedy. Of that honour
|
|
Dionysius the elder was no less ambitious, then before of his
|
|
attaining to the Tyranny. Augustus Caesar also had begun his
|
|
Ajax, but unable to please his own judgment with what he had
|
|
begun. left it unfinisht. Seneca the Philosopher is by some thought
|
|
the Author of those Tragedies (at lest the best of them) that go
|
|
under that name. Gregory Nazianzen a Father of the Church,
|
|
thought it not unbeseeming the sanctity of his person to write a
|
|
Tragedy which he entitl'd, Christ suffering. This is mention'd to
|
|
vindicate Tragedy from the small esteem, or rather infamy, which
|
|
in the account of many it undergoes at this day with other common
|
|
Interludes; hap'ning through the Poets error of intermixing Comic
|
|
stuff with Tragic sadness and gravity; or introducing trivial and
|
|
vulgar persons, which by all judicious hath bin counted absurd; and
|
|
brought in without discretion, corruptly to gratifie the people. And
|
|
though antient Tragedy use no Prologue, yet using sometimes, in
|
|
case of self defence, or explanation, that which Martial calls an
|
|
Epistle; in behalf of this Tragedy coming forth after the antient
|
|
manner, much different from what among us passes for best, thus
|
|
much before-hand may be Epistl'd; that Chorus is here introduc'd
|
|
after the Greek manner, not antient only but modern, and still in
|
|
use among the Italians. In the modelling therefore of this Poem
|
|
with good reason, the Antients and Italians are rather follow'd, as
|
|
of much more authority and fame. The measure of Verse us'd in
|
|
the Chorus is of all sorts, call'd by the Greeks Monostrophic, or
|
|
rather Apolelymenon, without regard had to Strophe, Antistrophe
|
|
or Epod, which were a kind of Stanza's fram'd only for the Music,
|
|
then us'd with the Chorus that sung; not essential to the Poem, and
|
|
therefore not material; or being divided into Stanza's or Pauses
|
|
they may be call'd Allaeostropha. Division into Act and Scene
|
|
referring chiefly to the Stage (to which this work never was
|
|
intended) is here omitted.
|
|
|
|
It suffices if the whole Drama be found not produc't beyond the
|
|
fift Act, of the style and uniformitie, and that commonly call'd the
|
|
Plot, whether intricate or explicit, which is nothing indeed but such
|
|
oeconomy, or disposition of the fable as may stand best with
|
|
verisimilitude and decorum; they only will best judge who are not
|
|
unacquainted with Aeschulus, Sophocles, and Euripides, the three
|
|
Tragic Poets unequall'd yet by any, and the best rule to all who
|
|
endeavour to write Tragedy. The circumscription of time wherein
|
|
the whole Drama begins and ends, is according to antient rule, and
|
|
best example, within the space of 24 hours.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The ARGUMENT.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Samson made Captive, Blind, and now in the Prison at Gaza, there
|
|
to labour as in a common work-house, on a Festival day, in the
|
|
general cessation from labour, comes forth into the open Air, to a
|
|
place nigh, somewhat retir'd there to sit a while and bemoan his
|
|
condition. Where he happens at length to be visited by certain
|
|
friends and equals of his tribe, which make the Chorus, who seek
|
|
to comfort him what they can ; then by his old Father Manoa, who
|
|
endeavours the like, and withal tells him his purpose to procure his
|
|
liberty by ransom; lastly, that this Feast was proclaim'd by the
|
|
Philistins as a day of Thanksgiving for thir deliverance from the
|
|
hands of Samson, which yet more troubles him. Manoa then
|
|
departs to prosecute his endeavour with the Philistian Lords for
|
|
Samson's redemption; who in the mean while is visited by other
|
|
persons; and lastly by a publick Officer to require coming to the
|
|
Feast before the Lords and People, to play or shew his strength in
|
|
thir presence; he at first refuses, dismissing the publick officer with
|
|
absolute denyal to come; at length perswaded inwardly that this
|
|
was from God, he yields to go along with him, who came now the
|
|
second time with great threatnings to fetch him; the Chorus yet
|
|
remaining on the place, Manoa returns full of joyful hope, to
|
|
procure e're long his Sons deliverance: in the midst of which
|
|
discourse an Ebrew comes in haste confusedly at first; and
|
|
afterward more distinctly relating the Catastrophe, what Samson
|
|
had done to the Philistins, and by accident to himself; wherewith
|
|
the Tragedy ends.
|
|
|
|
|
|
The Persons
|
|
|
|
Samson.
|
|
Manoa the father of Samson.
|
|
Dalila his wife.
|
|
Harapha of Gath.
|
|
Publick Officer.
|
|
Messenger.
|
|
Chorus of Danites
|
|
|
|
|
|
The Scene before the Prison in Gaza.
|
|
|
|
Sam: A little onward lend thy guiding hand
|
|
To these dark steps, a little further on;
|
|
For yonder bank hath choice of Sun or shade,
|
|
There I am wont to sit, when any chance
|
|
Relieves me from my task of servile toyl,
|
|
Daily in the common Prison else enjoyn'd me,
|
|
Where I a Prisoner chain'd, scarce freely draw
|
|
The air imprison'd also, close and damp,
|
|
Unwholsom draught: but here I feel amends,
|
|
The breath of Heav'n fresh-blowing, pure and sweet, 10
|
|
With day-spring born; here leave me to respire.
|
|
This day a solemn Feast the people hold
|
|
To Dagon thir Sea-Idol, and forbid
|
|
Laborious works, unwillingly this rest
|
|
Thir Superstition yields me; hence with leave
|
|
Retiring from the popular noise, I seek
|
|
This unfrequented place to find some ease,
|
|
Ease to the body some, none to the mind
|
|
>From restless thoughts, that like a deadly swarm
|
|
Of Hornets arm'd, no sooner found alone, 20
|
|
But rush upon me thronging, and present
|
|
Times past, what once I was, and what am now.
|
|
O wherefore was my birth from Heaven foretold
|
|
Twice by an Angel, who at last in sight
|
|
Of both my Parents all in flames ascended
|
|
>From off the Altar, where an Off'ring burn'd,
|
|
As in a fiery column charioting
|
|
His Godlike presence, and from some great act
|
|
Or benefit reveal'd to Abraham's race?
|
|
Why was my breeding order'd and prescrib'd 30
|
|
As of a person separate to God,
|
|
Design'd for great exploits; if I must dye
|
|
Betray'd, Captiv'd, and both my Eyes put out,
|
|
Made of my Enemies the scorn and gaze;
|
|
To grind in Brazen Fetters under task
|
|
With this Heav'n-gifted strength? O glorious strength
|
|
Put to the labour of a Beast, debas't
|
|
Lower then bondslave! Promise was that I
|
|
Should Israel from Philistian yoke deliver;
|
|
Ask for this great Deliverer now, and find him 40
|
|
Eyeless in Gaza at the Mill with slaves,
|
|
Himself in bonds under Philistian yoke;
|
|
Yet stay, let me not rashly call in doubt
|
|
Divine Prediction; what if all foretold
|
|
Had been fulfilld but through mine own default,
|
|
Whom have I to complain of but my self?
|
|
Who this high gift of strength committed to me,
|
|
In what part lodg'd, how easily bereft me,
|
|
Under the Seal of silence could not keep,
|
|
But weakly to a woman must reveal it 50
|
|
O'recome with importunity and tears.
|
|
O impotence of mind, in body strong !
|
|
But what is strength without a double share
|
|
Of wisdom, vast, unwieldy, burdensom,
|
|
Proudly secure, yet liable to fall
|
|
By weakest suttleties, not made to rule,
|
|
But to subserve where wisdom bears command.
|
|
God, when he gave me strength, to shew withal
|
|
How slight the gift was, hung it in my Hair.
|
|
But peace, I must not quarrel with the will 60
|
|
Of highest dispensation, which herein
|
|
Happ'ly had ends above my reach to know:
|
|
Suffices that to me strength is my bane,
|
|
And proves the sourse of all my miseries;
|
|
So many, and so huge, that each apart
|
|
Would ask a life to wail, but chief of all,
|
|
O loss of sight, of thee I most complain!
|
|
Blind among enemies, O worse then chains,
|
|
Dungeon, or beggery, or decrepit age!
|
|
Light the prime work of God to me is extinct,
|
|
And all her various objects of delight
|
|
Annull'd, which might in part my grief have eas'd,
|
|
Inferiour to the vilest now become
|
|
Of man or worm; the vilest here excel me,
|
|
They creep, yet see, I dark in light expos'd
|
|
To daily fraud, contempt, abuse and wrong,
|
|
Within doors, or without, still as a fool,
|
|
In power of others, never in my own;
|
|
Scarce half I seem to live, dead more then half.
|
|
O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, 80
|
|
Irrecoverably dark, total Eclipse
|
|
Without all hope of day!
|
|
O first created Beam, and thou great Word,
|
|
Let there be light, and light was over all;
|
|
Why am I thus bereav'd thy prime decree?
|
|
The Sun to me is dark
|
|
And silent as the Moon,
|
|
When she deserts the night
|
|
Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.
|
|
Since light so necessary is to life, 90
|
|
And almost life itself, if it be true
|
|
That light is in the Soul,
|
|
She all in every part; why was the sight
|
|
To such a tender ball as th' eye confin'd?
|
|
So obvious and so easie to be quench't,
|
|
And not as feeling through all parts diffus'd,
|
|
That she might look at will through every pore?
|
|
Then had I not been thus exil'd from light;
|
|
As in the land of darkness yet in light,
|
|
To live a life half dead, a living death, 100
|
|
And buried; but O yet more miserable!
|
|
My self, my Sepulcher, a moving Grave,
|
|
Buried, yet not exempt
|
|
By priviledge of death and burial
|
|
>From worst of other evils, pains and wrongs,
|
|
But made hereby obnoxious more
|
|
To all the miseries of life,
|
|
Life in captivity
|
|
Among inhuman foes.
|
|
But who are these? for with joint pace I hear 110
|
|
The tread of many feet stearing this way;
|
|
Perhaps my enemies who come to stare
|
|
At my affliction, and perhaps to insult,
|
|
Thir daily practice to afflict me more.
|
|
|
|
Chor: This, this is he; softly a while,
|
|
Let us not break in upon him;
|
|
O change beyond report, thought, or belief!
|
|
See how he lies at random, carelessly diffus'd,
|
|
With languish't head unpropt,
|
|
As one past hope, abandon'd 120
|
|
And by himself given over;
|
|
In slavish habit, ill-fitted weeds
|
|
O're worn and soild;
|
|
Or do my eyes misrepresent? Can this be hee,
|
|
That Heroic, that Renown'd,
|
|
Irresistible Samson? whom unarm'd
|
|
No strength of man, or fiercest wild beast could withstand;
|
|
Who tore the Lion, as the Lion tears the Kid,
|
|
Ran on embattelld Armies clad in Iron,
|
|
And weaponless himself, 130
|
|
Made Arms ridiculous, useless the forgery
|
|
Of brazen shield and spear, the hammer'd Cuirass,
|
|
Chalybean temper'd steel, and frock of mail
|
|
Adamantean Proof;
|
|
But safest he who stood aloof,
|
|
When insupportably his foot advanc't,
|
|
In scorn of thir proud arms and warlike tools,
|
|
Spurn'd them to death by Troops. The bold Ascalonite
|
|
Fled from his Lion ramp, old Warriors turn'd
|
|
Thir plated backs under his heel; 140
|
|
Or grovling soild thir crested helmets in the dust.
|
|
Then with what trivial weapon came to Hand,
|
|
The Jaw of a dead Ass, his sword of bone,
|
|
A thousand fore-skins fell, the flower of Palestin
|
|
In Ramath-lechi famous to this day:
|
|
Then by main force pull'd up, and on his shoulders bore
|
|
The Gates of Azza, Post, and massie Bar
|
|
Up to the Hill by Hebron, seat of Giants old,
|
|
No journey of a Sabbath day, and loaded so;
|
|
Like whom the Gentiles feign to bear up Heav'n. 150
|
|
Which shall I first bewail,
|
|
Thy Bondage or lost Sight,
|
|
Prison within Prison
|
|
Inseparably dark?
|
|
Thou art become (O worst imprisonment!)
|
|
The Dungeon of thy self; thy Soul
|
|
(Which Men enjoying sight oft without cause complain)
|
|
Imprison'd now indeed,
|
|
In real darkness of the body dwells,
|
|
Shut up from outward light 160
|
|
To incorporate with gloomy night;
|
|
For inward light alas
|
|
Puts forth no visual beam.
|
|
O mirror of our fickle state,
|
|
Since man on earth unparallel'd!
|
|
The rarer thy example stands,
|
|
By how much from the top of wondrous glory,
|
|
Strongest of mortal men,
|
|
To lowest pitch of abject fortune thou art fall'n.
|
|
For him I reckon not in high estate 170
|
|
Whom long descent of birth
|
|
Or the sphear of fortune raises;
|
|
But thee whose strength, while vertue was her mate
|
|
Might have subdu'd the Earth,
|
|
Universally crown'd with highest praises.
|
|
|
|
Sam: I hear the sound of words, thir sense the air
|
|
Dissolves unjointed e're it reach my ear.
|
|
|
|
Chor: Hee speaks, let us draw nigh. Matchless in might,
|
|
The glory late of Israel, now the grief;
|
|
We come thy friends and neighbours not unknown 180
|
|
>From Eshtaol and Zora's fruitful Vale
|
|
To visit or bewail thee, or if better,
|
|
Counsel or Consolation we may bring,
|
|
Salve to thy Sores, apt words have power to swage
|
|
The tumors of a troubl'd mind,
|
|
And are as Balm to fester'd wounds.
|
|
|
|
Sam: Your coming, Friends, revives me, for I learn
|
|
Now of my own experience, not by talk,
|
|
How counterfeit a coin they are who friends
|
|
Bear in their Superscription (of the most 190
|
|
I would be understood) in prosperous days
|
|
They swarm, but in adverse withdraw their head
|
|
Not to be found, though sought. Wee see, O friends.
|
|
How many evils have enclos'd me round;
|
|
Yet that which was the worst now least afflicts me,
|
|
Blindness, for had I sight, confus'd with shame,
|
|
How could I once look up, or heave the head,
|
|
Who like a foolish Pilot have shipwrack't,
|
|
My Vessel trusted to me from above,
|
|
Gloriously rigg'd; and for a word, a tear, 200
|
|
Fool, have divulg'd the secret gift of God
|
|
To a deceitful Woman : tell me Friends,
|
|
Am I not sung and proverbd for a Fool
|
|
In every street, do they not say, how well
|
|
Are come upon him his deserts? yet why?
|
|
Immeasurable strength they might behold
|
|
In me, of wisdom nothing more then mean;
|
|
This with the other should, at least, have paird,
|
|
These two proportiond ill drove me transverse.
|
|
|
|
Chor: Tax not divine disposal, wisest Men 210
|
|
Have err'd, and by bad Women been deceiv'd;
|
|
And shall again, pretend they ne're so wise.
|
|
Deject not then so overmuch thy self,
|
|
Who hast of sorrow thy full load besides;
|
|
Yet truth to say, I oft have heard men wonder
|
|
Why thou shouldst wed Philistian women rather
|
|
Then of thine own Tribe fairer, or as fair,
|
|
At least of thy own Nation, and as noble.
|
|
|
|
Sam: The first I saw at Timna, and she pleas'd
|
|
Mee, not my Parents, that I sought to wed, 220
|
|
The daughter of an Infidel: they knew not
|
|
That what I motion'd was of God; I knew
|
|
>From intimate impulse, and therefore urg'd
|
|
The Marriage on; that by occasion hence
|
|
I might begin Israel's Deliverance,
|
|
The work to which I was divinely call'd;
|
|
She proving false, the next I took to Wife
|
|
(O that I never had ! fond wish too late)
|
|
Was in the Vale of Sorec, Dalila,
|
|
That specious Monster, my accomplisht snare. 230
|
|
I thought it lawful from my former act,
|
|
And the same end; still watching to oppress
|
|
Israel's oppressours: of what now I suffer
|
|
She was not the prime cause, but I my self,
|
|
Who vanquisht with a peal of words (O weakness!)
|
|
Gave up my fort of silence to a Woman.
|
|
|
|
Chor: In seeking just occasion to provoke
|
|
The Philistine, thy Countries Enemy,
|
|
Thou never wast remiss, I hear thee witness:
|
|
Yet Israel still serves with all his Sons. 240
|
|
|
|
Sam: That fault I take not on me, but transfer
|
|
On Israel's Governours, and Heads of Tribes,
|
|
Who seeing those great acts which God had done
|
|
Singly by me against their Conquerours
|
|
Acknowledg'd not, or not at all consider'd
|
|
Deliverance offerd : I on th' other side
|
|
Us'd no ambition to commend my deeds,
|
|
The deeds themselves, though mute, spoke loud the dooer;
|
|
But they persisted deaf, and would not seem
|
|
To count them things worth notice, till at length 250
|
|
Thir Lords the Philistines with gather'd powers
|
|
Enterd Judea seeking mee, who then
|
|
Safe to the rock of Etham was retir'd,
|
|
Not flying, but fore-casting in what place
|
|
To set upon them, what advantag'd best;
|
|
Mean while the men of Judah to prevent
|
|
The harrass of thir Land, beset me round;
|
|
I willingly on some conditions came
|
|
Into thir hands, and they as gladly yield me
|
|
To the uncircumcis'd a welcom prey, 260
|
|
Bound with two cords; but cords to me were threds
|
|
Toucht with the flame: on thir whole Host I flew
|
|
Unarm'd, and with a trivial weapon fell'd
|
|
Thir choicest youth; they only liv'd who fled.
|
|
Had Judah that day join'd, or one whole Tribe,
|
|
They had by this possess'd the Towers of Gath,
|
|
And lorded over them whom now they serve;
|
|
But what more oft in Nations grown corrupt,
|
|
And by thir vices brought to servitude,
|
|
Then to love Bondage more then Liberty, 270
|
|
Bondage with ease then strenuous liberty;
|
|
And to despise, or envy, or suspect
|
|
Whom God hath of his special favour rais'd
|
|
As thir Deliverer; if he aught begin,
|
|
How frequent to desert him, and at last
|
|
To heap ingratitude on worthiest deeds?
|
|
|
|
Chor: Thy words to my remembrance bring
|
|
How Succoth and the Fort of Penuel
|
|
Thir great Deliverer contemn'd,
|
|
The matchless Gideon in pursuit 280
|
|
Of Madian and her vanquisht Kings;
|
|
And how ingrateful Ephraim
|
|
Not worse then by his shield and spear
|
|
Had dealt with Jephtha, who by argument,
|
|
Defended Israel from the Ammonite,
|
|
Had not his prowess quell'd thir pride
|
|
In that sore battel when so many dy'd
|
|
Without Reprieve adjudg'd to death,
|
|
For want of well pronouncing Shibboleth.
|
|
|
|
Sam: Of such examples adde mee to the roul, 290
|
|
Mee easily indeed mine may neglect,
|
|
But Gods propos'd deliverance not so.
|
|
|
|
Chor: Just are the ways of God,
|
|
And justifiable to Men;
|
|
Unless there be who think not God at all,
|
|
If any be, they walk obscure;
|
|
For of such Doctrine never was there School,
|
|
But the heart of the Fool,
|
|
And no man therein Doctor but himself.
|
|
Yet more there be who doubt his ways not just, 300
|
|
As to his own edicts, found contradicting,
|
|
Then give the rains to wandring thought,
|
|
Regardless of his glories diminution;
|
|
Till by thir own perplexities involv'd
|
|
They ravel more, still less resolv'd,
|
|
But never find self-satisfying solution.
|
|
As if they would confine th' interminable,
|
|
And tie him to his own prescript,
|
|
Who made our Laws to bind us, not himself,
|
|
And hath full right to exempt 310
|
|
Whom so it pleases him by choice
|
|
>From National obstriction, without taint
|
|
Of sin, or legal debt;
|
|
For with his own Laws he can best dispence.
|
|
He would not else who never wanted means,
|
|
Nor in respect of the enemy just cause
|
|
To set his people free,
|
|
Have prompted this Heroic Nazarite,
|
|
Against his vow of strictest purity,
|
|
To seek in marriage that fallacious Bride, 320
|
|
Unclean, unchaste.
|
|
Down Reason then, at least vain reasonings down,
|
|
Though Reason here aver
|
|
That moral verdit quits her of unclean :
|
|
Unchaste was subsequent, her stain not his.
|
|
But see here comes thy reverend Sire
|
|
With careful step, Locks white as doune,
|
|
Old Manoah: advise
|
|
Forthwith how thou oughtst to receive him.
|
|
|
|
Sam: Ay me, another inward grief awak't, 330
|
|
With mention of that name renews th' assault.
|
|
|
|
Man: Brethren and men of Dan, for such ye seem,
|
|
Though in this uncouth place; if old respect,
|
|
As I suppose, towards your once gloried friend,
|
|
My Son now Captive, hither hath inform'd
|
|
Your younger feet, while mine cast back with age
|
|
Came lagging after; say if he be here.
|
|
|
|
Chor: As signal now in low dejected state,
|
|
As earst in highest; behold him where be lies.
|
|
|
|
Man: O miserable change! is this the man, 340
|
|
That invincible Samson, far renown'd,
|
|
The dread of Israel's foes, who with a strength
|
|
Equivalent to Angels walk'd thir streets,
|
|
None offering fight; who single combatant
|
|
Duell'd thir Armies rank't in proud array,
|
|
Himself an Army, now unequal match
|
|
To save himself against a coward arm'd
|
|
At one spears length. O ever failing trust
|
|
In mortal strength! and oh what not in man
|
|
Deceivable and vain! Nay what thing good 350
|
|
Pray'd for, but often proves our woe, our bane?
|
|
I pray'd for Children, and thought barrenness
|
|
In wedlock a reproach; I gain'd a Son,
|
|
And such a Son as all Men hail'd me happy;
|
|
Who would be now a Father in my stead?
|
|
O wherefore did God grant me my request,
|
|
And as a blessing with such pomp adorn'd?
|
|
Why are his gifts desirable, to tempt
|
|
Our earnest Prayers, then giv'n with solemn hand
|
|
As Graces, draw a Scorpions tail behind? 360
|
|
For this did the Angel twice descend? for this
|
|
Ordain'd thy nurture holy, as of a Plant;
|
|
Select, and Sacred, Glorious for a while,
|
|
The miracle of men: then in an hour
|
|
Ensnar'd, assaulted, overcome, led bound,
|
|
Thy Foes derision, Captive, Poor, and Blind
|
|
Into a Dungeon thrust, to work with Slaves?
|
|
Alas methinks whom God hath chosen once
|
|
To worthiest deeds, if he through frailty err,
|
|
He should not so o'rewhelm, and as a thrall 370
|
|
Subject him to so foul indignities,
|
|
Be it but for honours sake of former deeds.
|
|
|
|
Sam: Appoint not heavenly disposition, Father,
|
|
Nothing of all these evils hath befall'n me
|
|
But justly; I my self have brought them on,
|
|
Sole Author I, sole cause: if aught seem vile,
|
|
As vile hath been my folly, who have profan'd
|
|
The mystery of God giv'n me under pledge
|
|
Of vow, and have betray'd it to a woman,
|
|
A Canaanite, my faithless enemy. 380
|
|
This well I knew, nor was at all surpris'd,
|
|
But warn'd by oft experience: did not she
|
|
Of Timna first betray me, and reveal
|
|
The secret wrested from me in her highth
|
|
Of Nuptial Love profest, carrying it strait
|
|
To them who had corrupted her, my Spies,
|
|
And Rivals? In this other was there found
|
|
More Faith? who also in her prime of love,
|
|
Spousal embraces, vitiated with Gold,
|
|
Though offer'd only, by the sent conceiv'd 390
|
|
Her spurious first-born; Treason against me?
|
|
Thrice she assay'd with flattering prayers and sighs,
|
|
And amorous reproaches to win from me
|
|
My capital secret, in what part my strength
|
|
Lay stor'd in what part summ'd, that she might know:
|
|
Thrice I deluded her, and turn'd to sport
|
|
Her importunity, each time perceiving
|
|
How openly, and with what impudence
|
|
She purpos'd to betray me, and (which was worse
|
|
Then undissembl'd hate) with what contempt 400
|
|
She sought to make me Traytor to my self;
|
|
Yet the fourth time, when mustring all her wiles,
|
|
With blandisht parlies, feminine assaults,
|
|
Tongue-batteries, she surceas'd not day nor night
|
|
To storm me over-watch't, and wearied out.
|
|
At times when men seek most repose and rest,
|
|
I yielded, and unlock'd her all my heart,
|
|
Who with a grain of manhood well resolv'd
|
|
Might easily have shook off all her snares :
|
|
But foul effeminacy held me yok't 410
|
|
Her Bond-slave; O indignity, O blot
|
|
To Honour and Religion! servil mind
|
|
Rewarded well with servil punishment!
|
|
The base degree to which I now am fall'n,
|
|
These rags, this grinding, is not yet so base
|
|
As was my former servitude, ignoble,
|
|
Unmanly, ignominious, infamous,
|
|
True slavery, and that blindness worse then this,
|
|
That saw not how degeneratly I serv'd.
|
|
|
|
Man: I cannot praise thy Marriage choises, Son, 420
|
|
Rather approv'd them not; but thou didst plead
|
|
Divine impulsion prompting how thou might'st
|
|
Find some occasion to infest our Foes.
|
|
I state not that; this I am sure; our Foes
|
|
Found soon occasion thereby to make thee
|
|
Thir Captive, and thir triumph; thou the sooner
|
|
Temptation found'st, or over-potent charms
|
|
To violate the sacred trust of silence
|
|
Deposited within thee; which to have kept
|
|
Tacit, was in thy power; true; and thou hear'st 430
|
|
Enough, and more the burden of that fault;
|
|
Bitterly hast thou paid, and still art paying
|
|
That rigid score. A worse thing yet remains,
|
|
This day the Philistines a popular Feast
|
|
Here celebrate in Gaza, and proclaim
|
|
Great Pomp, and Sacrifice, and Praises loud
|
|
To Dagon, as their God who hath deliver'd
|
|
Thee Samson bound and blind into thir hands,
|
|
Them out of thine, who slew'st them many a slain.
|
|
So Dagon shall be magnifi'd, and God, 440
|
|
Besides whom is no God, compar'd with Idols,
|
|
Disglorifi'd, blasphem'd, and had in scorn
|
|
By th' Idolatrous rout amidst thir wine;
|
|
Which to have come to pass by means of thee,
|
|
Samson, of all thy sufferings think the heaviest,
|
|
Of all reproach the most with shame that ever
|
|
Could have befall'n thee and thy Fathers house.
|
|
|
|
Sam: Father, I do acknowledge and confess
|
|
That I this honour, I this pomp have brought
|
|
To Dagon, and advanc'd his praises high 450
|
|
Among the Heathen round; to God have brought
|
|
Dishonour, obloquie, and op't the mouths
|
|
Of Idolists, and Atheists; have brought scandal
|
|
To Israel diffidence of God, and doubt
|
|
In feeble hearts, propense anough before
|
|
To waver, or fall off and joyn with Idols:
|
|
Which is my chief affliction, shame and sorrow,
|
|
The anguish of my Soul, that suffers not
|
|
Mine eie to harbour sleep, or thoughts to rest.
|
|
This only hope relieves me, that the strife 460
|
|
With me hath end; all the contest is now
|
|
'Twixt God and Dagon; Dagon hath presum'd,
|
|
Me overthrown, to enter lists with God,
|
|
His Deity comparing and preferring
|
|
Before the God of Abraham. He, he sure,
|
|
Will not connive, or linger, thus provok'd,
|
|
But will arise and his great name assert:
|
|
Dagon must stoop, and shall e're long receive
|
|
Such a discomfit, as shall quite despoil him
|
|
Of all these boasted Trophies won on me, 470
|
|
And with confusion blank his Worshippers.
|
|
|
|
Man: With cause this hope relieves thee, and these words
|
|
I as a Prophecy receive: for God,
|
|
Nothing more certain, will not long defer
|
|
To vindicate the glory of his name
|
|
Against all competition, nor will long
|
|
Endure it, doubtful whether God be Lord,
|
|
Or Dagon. But for thee what shall be done?
|
|
Thou must not in the mean while here forgot
|
|
Lie in this miserable loathsom plight 480
|
|
Neglected. I already have made way
|
|
To some Philistian Lords, with whom to treat
|
|
About thy ransom: well they may by this
|
|
Have satisfi'd thir utmost of revenge
|
|
By pains and slaveries, worse then death inflicted
|
|
On thee, who now no more canst do them harm.
|
|
|
|
Sam: Spare that proposal, Father, spare the trouble
|
|
Of that sollicitation; let me here,
|
|
As I deserve, pay on my punishment;
|
|
And expiate, if possible, my crime, 490
|
|
Shameful garrulity. To have reveal'd
|
|
Secrets of men, the secrets of a friend,
|
|
How hainous had the fact been, how deserving
|
|
Contempt, and scorn of all, to be excluded
|
|
All friendship, and avoided as a blab,
|
|
The mark of fool set on his front?
|
|
But I Gods counsel have not kept, his holy secret
|
|
Presumptuously have publish'd, impiously,
|
|
Weakly at least, and shamefully: A sin
|
|
That Gentiles in thir Parables condemn 500
|
|
To thir abyss and horrid pains confin'd.
|
|
|
|
Man: Be penitent and for thy fault contrite,
|
|
But act not in thy own affliction, Son,
|
|
Repent the sin, but if the punishment
|
|
Thou canst avoid, selfpreservation bids;
|
|
Or th' execution leave to high disposal,
|
|
And let another hand, not thine, exact
|
|
Thy penal forfeit from thy self; perhaps
|
|
God will relent, and quit thee all his debt;
|
|
Who evermore approves and more accepts 510
|
|
(Best pleas'd with humble and filial submission)
|
|
Him who imploring mercy sues for life,
|
|
Then who selfrigorous chooses death as due;
|
|
Which argues overjust, and self-displeas'd
|
|
For self-offence, more then for God offended.
|
|
Reject not then what offerd means, who knows
|
|
But God hath set before us, to return thee
|
|
Home to thy countrey and his sacred house,
|
|
Where thou mayst bring thy off'rings, to avert
|
|
His further ire, with praiers and vows renew'd. 520
|
|
|
|
Sam: His pardon I implore; but as for life,
|
|
To what end should I seek it? when in strength
|
|
All mortals I excell'd, and great in hopes
|
|
With youthful courage and magnanimous thoughts
|
|
Of birth from Heav'n foretold and high exploits,
|
|
Full of divine instinct, after some proof
|
|
Of acts indeed heroic, far beyond
|
|
The Sons of Anac, famous now and blaz'd,
|
|
Fearless of danger, like a petty God
|
|
I walk'd about admir'd of all and dreaded 530
|
|
On hostile ground, none daring my affront.
|
|
Then swoll'n with pride into the snare I fell
|
|
Of fair fallacious looks, venereal trains,
|
|
Softn'd with pleasure and voluptuous life;
|
|
At length to lay my head and hallow'd pledge
|
|
Of all my strength in the lascivious lap
|
|
Of a deceitful Concubine who shore me
|
|
Like a tame Weather, all my precious fleece,
|
|
Then turn'd me out ridiculous, despoil'd,
|
|
Shav'n, and disarm'd among my enemies. 540
|
|
|
|
Chor. Desire of wine and all delicious drinks,
|
|
Which many a famous Warriour overturns,
|
|
Thou couldst repress, nor did the dancing Rubie
|
|
Sparkling; out-pow'rd, the flavor, or the smell,
|
|
Or taste that cheers the heart of Gods and men,
|
|
Allure thee from the cool Crystalline stream.
|
|
|
|
Sam. Where ever fountain or fresh current flow'd
|
|
Against the Eastern ray, translucent, pure,
|
|
With touch aetherial of Heav'ns fiery rod
|
|
I drank, from the clear milkie juice allaying 550
|
|
Thirst, and refresht; nor envy'd them the grape
|
|
Whose heads that turbulent liquor fills with fumes.
|
|
|
|
Chor. O madness, to think use of strongest wines
|
|
And strongest drinks our chief support of health,
|
|
When God with these forbid'n made choice to rear
|
|
His mighty Champion, strong above compare,
|
|
Whose drink was only from the liquid brook.
|
|
|
|
Sam. But what avail'd this temperance, not compleat
|
|
Against another object more enticing?
|
|
What boots it at one gate to make defence, 560
|
|
And at another to let in the foe
|
|
Effeminatly vanquish't? by which means,
|
|
Now blind, disheartn'd, sham'd, dishonour'd, quell'd,
|
|
To what can I be useful, wherein serve
|
|
My Nation, and the work from Heav'n impos'd,
|
|
But to sit idle on the houshold hearth,
|
|
A burdenous drone; to visitants a gaze,
|
|
Or pitied object, these redundant locks
|
|
Robustious to no purpose clustring down,
|
|
Vain monument of strength; till length of years 570
|
|
And sedentary numness craze my limbs
|
|
To a contemptible old age obscure.
|
|
Here rather let me drudge and earn my bread,
|
|
Till vermin or the draff of servil food
|
|
Consume me, and oft-invocated death
|
|
Hast'n the welcom end of all my pains.
|
|
|
|
Man. Wilt thou then serve the Philistines with that gift
|
|
Which was expresly giv'n thee to annoy them?
|
|
Better at home lie bed-rid, not only idle,
|
|
Inglorious, unimploy'd, with age out-worn. 580
|
|
But God who caus'd a fountain at thy prayer
|
|
>From the dry ground to spring, thy thirst to allay
|
|
After the brunt of battel, can as easie
|
|
Cause light again within thy eies to spring,
|
|
Wherewith to serve him better then thou hast;
|
|
And I perswade me so; why else this strength
|
|
Miraculous yet remaining in those locks?
|
|
His might continues in thee not for naught,
|
|
Nor shall his wondrous gifts be frustrate thus.
|
|
|
|
Sam: All otherwise to me my thoughts portend, 590
|
|
That these dark orbs no more shall treat with light,
|
|
Nor th' other light of life continue long,
|
|
But yield to double darkness nigh at hand:
|
|
So much I feel my genial spirits droop,
|
|
My hopes all flat, nature within me seems
|
|
In all her functions weary of herself;
|
|
My race of glory run, and race of shame,
|
|
And I shall shortly be with them that rest.
|
|
|
|
Man. Believe not these suggestions which proceed
|
|
>From anguish of the mind and humours black, 600
|
|
That mingle with thy fancy. I however
|
|
Must not omit a Fathers timely care
|
|
To prosecute the means of thy deliverance
|
|
By ransom or how else: mean while be calm,
|
|
And healing words from these thy friends admit.
|
|
|
|
Sam. O that torment should not be confin'd
|
|
To the bodies wounds and sores
|
|
With maladies innumerable
|
|
In heart, head, brest, and reins;
|
|
But must secret passage find 610
|
|
To th' inmost mind,
|
|
There exercise all his fierce accidents,
|
|
And on her purest spirits prey,
|
|
As on entrails, joints, and limbs,
|
|
With answerable pains, but more intense,
|
|
'Though void of corporal sense.
|
|
My griefs not only pain me
|
|
As a lingring disease,
|
|
But finding no redress, ferment and rage,
|
|
Nor less then wounds immedicable 620
|
|
Ranckle, and fester, and gangrene,
|
|
To black mortification.
|
|
Thoughts my Tormenters arm'd with deadly stings
|
|
Mangle my apprehensive tenderest parts,
|
|
Exasperate, exulcerate, and raise
|
|
Dire inflammation which no cooling herb
|
|
Or rnedcinal liquor can asswage,
|
|
Nor breath of Vernal Air from snowy Alp.
|
|
Sleep hath forsook and giv'n me o're
|
|
To deaths benumming Opium as my only cure. 630
|
|
Thence faintings, swounings of despair,
|
|
And sense of Heav'ns desertion.
|
|
I was his nursling once and choice delight,
|
|
His destin'd from the womb,
|
|
Promisd by Heavenly message twice descending.
|
|
Under his special eie
|
|
Abstemious I grew up and thriv'd amain;
|
|
He led me on to mightiest deeds
|
|
Above the nerve of mortal arm
|
|
Against the uncircumcis'd, our enemies. 640
|
|
But now hath cast me off as never known,
|
|
And to those cruel enemies,
|
|
Whom I by his appointment had provok't,
|
|
Left me all helpless with th' irreparable loss
|
|
Of sight, reserv'd alive to be repeated
|
|
The subject of thir cruelty, or scorn.
|
|
Nor am I in the list of them that hope;
|
|
Hopeless are all my evils, all remediless;
|
|
This one prayer yet remains, might I be heard,
|
|
No long petition, speedy death, 650
|
|
The close of all my miseries, and the balm.
|
|
|
|
Chor: Many are the sayings of the wise
|
|
In antient and in modern books enroll'd;
|
|
Extolling Patience as the truest fortitude;
|
|
And to the bearing well of all calamities,
|
|
All chances incident to mans frail life
|
|
Consolatories writ
|
|
With studied argument, and much perswasion sought
|
|
Lenient of grief and anxious thought,
|
|
But with th' afflicted in his pangs thir sound 680
|
|
Little prevails, or rather seems a tune,
|
|
Harsh, and of dissonant mood from his complaint,
|
|
Unless he feel within
|
|
Some sourse of consolation from above;
|
|
Secret refreshings, that repair his strength,
|
|
And fainting spirits uphold.
|
|
God of our Fathers, what is man!
|
|
That thou towards him with hand so various,
|
|
Or might I say contrarious,
|
|
Temperst thy providence through his short course, 670
|
|
Not evenly, as thou rul'st
|
|
The Angelic orders and inferiour creatures mute,
|
|
Irrational and brute.
|
|
Nor do I name of men the common rout,
|
|
That wandring loose about
|
|
Grow up and perish, as the summer flie,
|
|
Heads without name no more rememberd,
|
|
But such as thou hast solemnly elected,
|
|
With gifts and graces eminently adorn'd
|
|
To some great work, thy glory, 680
|
|
And peoples safety, which in part they effect:
|
|
Yet toward these thus dignifi'd, thou oft
|
|
Amidst thir highth of noon,
|
|
Changest thy countenance, and thy hand with no regard
|
|
Of highest favours past
|
|
>From thee on them, or them to thee of service.
|
|
Nor only dost degrade them, or remit
|
|
To life obscur'd, which were a fair dismission,
|
|
But throw'st them lower then thou didst exalt them high,
|
|
Unseemly falls in human eie, 690
|
|
Too grievous for the trespass or omission,
|
|
Oft leav'st them to the hostile sword
|
|
Of Heathen and prophane, thir carkasses
|
|
To dogs and fowls a prey, or else captiv'd:
|
|
Or to the unjust tribunals, under change of times,
|
|
And condemnation of the ingrateful multitude.
|
|
If these they scape, perhaps in poverty
|
|
With sickness and disease thou bow'st them down,
|
|
Painful diseases and deform'd, 700
|
|
In crude old age;
|
|
Though not disordinate, yet causless suffring
|
|
The punishment of dissolute days, in fine,
|
|
Just or unjust, alike seem miserable,
|
|
For oft alike, both come to evil end.
|
|
So deal not with this once thy glorious Champion,
|
|
The Image of thy strength, and mighty minister.
|
|
What do I beg? how hast thou dealt already?
|
|
Behold him in this state calamitous, and turn
|
|
His labours, for thou canst, to peaceful end.
|
|
But who is this, what thing of Sea or Land? 710
|
|
Femal of sex it seems,
|
|
That so bedeckt, ornate, and gay,
|
|
Comes this way sailing
|
|
Like a stately Ship
|
|
Of Tarsus, bound for th' Isles
|
|
Of Javan or Gadier
|
|
With all her bravery on, and tackle trim,
|
|
Sails fill'd, and streamers waving,
|
|
Courted by all the winds that hold them play,
|
|
An Amber sent of odorous perfume 720
|
|
Her harbinger, a damsel train behind;
|
|
Some rich Philistian Matron she may seem,
|
|
And now at nearer view, no other certain
|
|
Than Dalila thy wife.
|
|
|
|
Sam: My Wife, my Traytress, let her not come near me.
|
|
|
|
Cho: Yet on she moves, now stands & eies thee fixt,
|
|
About t'have spoke, but now, with head declin'd
|
|
Like a fair flower surcharg'd with dew, she weeps
|
|
And words addrest seem into tears dissolv'd,
|
|
Wetting the borders of her silk'n veil: 730
|
|
But now again she makes address to speak.
|
|
|
|
Dal: With doubtful feet and wavering resolution
|
|
I came, still dreading thy displeasure, Samson,
|
|
Which to have merited, without excuse,
|
|
I cannot but acknowledge; yet if tears
|
|
May expiate (though the fact more evil drew
|
|
In the perverse event then I foresaw)
|
|
My penance hath not slack'n'd, though my pardon
|
|
No way assur'd. But conjugal affection
|
|
Prevailing over fear, and timerous doubt 740
|
|
Hath led me on desirous to behold
|
|
Once more thy face, and know of thy estate.
|
|
If aught in my ability may serve
|
|
To light'n what thou suffer'st, and appease
|
|
Thy mind with what amends is in my power,
|
|
Though late, yet in some part to recompense
|
|
My rash but more unfortunate misdeed.
|
|
|
|
Sam: Out, out Hyaena; these are thy wonted arts,
|
|
And arts of every woman false like thee,
|
|
To break all faith, all vows, deceive, betray, 750
|
|
Then as repentant to submit, beseech,
|
|
And reconcilement move with feign'd remorse,
|
|
Confess, and promise wonders in her change,
|
|
Not truly penitent, but chief to try
|
|
Her husband, how far urg'd his patience bears,
|
|
His vertue or weakness which way to assail:
|
|
Then with more cautious and instructed skill
|
|
Again transgresses, and again submits;
|
|
That wisest and best men full oft beguil'd
|
|
With goodness principl'd not to reject 760
|
|
The penitent, but ever to forgive,
|
|
Are drawn to wear out miserable days,
|
|
Entangl'd with a poysnous bosom snake,
|
|
If not by quick destruction soon cut off
|
|
As I by thee, to Ages an example.
|
|
|
|
Dal: Yet hear me Samson; not that I endeavour
|
|
To lessen or extenuate my offence,
|
|
But that on th' other side if it be weigh'd
|
|
By it self, with aggravations not surcharg'd,
|
|
Or else with just allowance counterpois'd 770
|
|
I may, if possible, thy pardon find
|
|
The easier towards me, or thy hatred less.
|
|
First granting, as I do, it was a weakness
|
|
In me, but incident to all our sex,
|
|
Curiosity, inquisitive, importune
|
|
Of secrets, then with like infirmity
|
|
To publish them, both common female faults:
|
|
Was it not weakness also to make known
|
|
For importunity, that is for naught,
|
|
Wherein consisted all thy strength and safety? 780
|
|
To what I did thou shewdst me first the way.
|
|
But I to enemies reveal'd, and should not.
|
|
Nor shouldst thou have trusted that to womans frailty
|
|
E're I to thee, thou to thy self wast cruel.
|
|
Let weakness then with weakness come to parl
|
|
So near related, or the same of kind,
|
|
Thine forgive mine; that men may censure thine
|
|
The gentler, if severely thou exact not
|
|
More strength from me, then in thy self was found.
|
|
And what if Love, which thou interpret'st hate, 790
|
|
The jealousie of Love, powerful of sway
|
|
In human hearts, nor less in mine towards thee,
|
|
Caus'd what I did? I saw thee mutable
|
|
Of fancy, feard lest one day thou wouldst leave me
|
|
As her at Timna, sought by all means therefore
|
|
How to endear, and hold thee to me firmest:
|
|
No better way I saw then by importuning
|
|
To learn thy secrets, get into my power
|
|
Thy key of strength and safety: thou wilt say,
|
|
Why then reveal'd? I was assur'd by those 800
|
|
Who tempted me, that nothing was design'd
|
|
Against thee but safe custody, and hold:
|
|
That made for me, I knew that liberty
|
|
Would draw thee forth to perilous enterprises,
|
|
While I at home sate full of cares and fears
|
|
Wailing thy absence in my widow'd bed;
|
|
Here I should still enjoy thee day and night
|
|
Mine and Loves prisoner, not the Philistines,
|
|
Whole to my self, unhazarded abroad,
|
|
Fearless at home of partners in my love. 810
|
|
These reasons in Loves law have past for good,
|
|
Though fond and reasonless to some perhaps:
|
|
And Love hath oft, well meaning, wrought much wo,
|
|
Yet always pity or pardon hath obtain'd.
|
|
Be not unlike all others, not austere
|
|
As thou art strong, inflexible as steel.
|
|
If thou in strength all mortals dost exceed,
|
|
In uncompassionate anger do not so.
|
|
|
|
Sam: How cunningly the sorceress displays
|
|
Her own transgressions, to upbraid me mine! 820
|
|
That malice not repentance brought thee hither,
|
|
By this appears : I gave, thou say'st, th' example,
|
|
I led the way; bitter reproach, but true,
|
|
I to my self was false e're thou to me,
|
|
Such pardon therefore as I give my folly,
|
|
Take to thy wicked deed: which when thou seest
|
|
Impartial, self-severe, inexorable,
|
|
Thou wilt renounce thy seeking, and much rather
|
|
Confess it feign'd, weakness is thy excuse,
|
|
And I believe it, weakness to resist 830
|
|
Philistian gold: if weakness may excuse,
|
|
What Murtherer, what Traytor, Parricide,
|
|
Incestuous, Sacrilegious, but may plead it?
|
|
All wickedness is weakness : that plea therefore
|
|
With God or Man will gain thee no remission.
|
|
But Love constrain'd thee; call it furious rage
|
|
To satisfie thy lust: Love seeks to have Love;
|
|
My love how couldst thou hope, who tookst the way
|
|
To raise in me inexpiable hate,
|
|
Knowing, as needs I must, by thee betray'd ? 840
|
|
In vain thou striv'st to cover shame with shame,
|
|
Or by evasions thy crime uncoverst more.
|
|
|
|
Dal: Since thou determinst weakness for no plea
|
|
In man or woman, though to thy own condemning,
|
|
Hear what assaults I had, what snares besides,
|
|
What sieges girt me round, e're I consented;
|
|
Which might have aw'd the best resolv'd of men,
|
|
The constantest to have yielded without blame.
|
|
It was not gold, as to my charge thou lay'st,
|
|
That wrought with me: thou know'st the Magistrates 850
|
|
And Princes of my countrey came in person,
|
|
Sollicited, commanded, threatn'd, urg'd,
|
|
Adjur'd by all the bonds of civil Duty
|
|
And of Religion, press'd how just it was,
|
|
How honourable, how glorious to entrap
|
|
A common enemy, who had destroy'd
|
|
Such numbers of our Nation : and the Priest
|
|
Was not behind, but ever at my ear,
|
|
Preaching how meritorious with the gods
|
|
It would be to ensnare an irreligious 860
|
|
Dishonourer of Dagon : what had I
|
|
To oppose against such powerful arguments?
|
|
Only my love of thee held long debate;
|
|
And combated in silence all these reasons
|
|
With hard contest: at length that grounded maxim
|
|
So rife and celebrated in the mouths
|
|
Of wisest men; that to the public good
|
|
Private respects must yield; with grave authority'
|
|
Took full possession of me and prevail'd;
|
|
Vertue, as I thought, truth, duty so enjoyning. 870
|
|
|
|
Sam: I thought where all thy circling wiles would end;
|
|
In feign'd Religion, smooth hypocrisie.
|
|
But had thy love, still odiously pretended,
|
|
Bin, as it ought, sincere, it would have taught thee
|
|
Far other reasonings, brought forth other deeds.
|
|
I before all the daughters of my Tribe
|
|
And of my Nation chose thee from among
|
|
My enemies, lov'd thee, as too well thou knew'st,
|
|
Too well, unbosom'd all my secrets to thee,
|
|
Not out of levity, but over-powr'd 880
|
|
By thy request, who could deny thee nothing;
|
|
Yet now am judg'd an enemy. Why then
|
|
Didst thou at first receive me for thy husband?
|
|
Then, as since then, thy countries foe profest:
|
|
Being once a wife, for me thou wast to leave
|
|
Parents and countrey; nor was I their subject,
|
|
Nor under their protection but my own,
|
|
Thou mine, not theirs: if aught against my life
|
|
Thy countrey sought of thee, it sought unjustly,
|
|
Against the law of nature, law of nations, 890
|
|
No more thy countrey, but an impious crew
|
|
Of men conspiring to uphold thir state
|
|
By worse than hostile deeds, violating the ends
|
|
For which our countrey is a name so dear;
|
|
Not therefore to be obey'd. But zeal mov'd thee;
|
|
To please thy gods thou didst it; gods unable
|
|
To acquit themselves and prosecute their foes
|
|
But by ungodly deeds, the contradiction
|
|
Of their own deity, Gods cannot be:
|
|
Less therefore to be pleas'd, obey'd, or fear'd, 900
|
|
These false pretexts and varnish'd colours failing,
|
|
Bare in thy guilt how foul must thou appear?
|
|
|
|
Dal: In argument with men a woman ever
|
|
Goes by the worse, whatever be her cause.
|
|
|
|
Sam: For want of words no doubt, or lack of breath,
|
|
Witness when I was worried with thy peals.
|
|
|
|
Dal: I was a fool, too rash, and quite mistaken
|
|
In what I thought would have succeeded best.
|
|
Let me obtain forgiveness of thee, Samson,
|
|
Afford me place to shew what recompence 910
|
|
Towards thee I intend for what I have misdone,
|
|
Misguided: only what remains past cure
|
|
Bear not too sensibly, nor still insist
|
|
To afflict thy self in vain: though sight be lost,
|
|
Life yet hath many solaces, enjoy'd
|
|
Where other senses want not their delights
|
|
At home in leisure and domestic ease,
|
|
Exempt from many a care and chance to which
|
|
Eye-sight exposes daily men abroad.
|
|
I to the Lords will intercede, not doubting 920
|
|
Thir favourable ear, that I may fetch thee
|
|
>From forth this loathsom prison-house, to abide
|
|
With me, where my redoubl'd love and care
|
|
With nursing diligence, to me glad office,
|
|
May ever tend about thee to old age
|
|
With all things grateful chear'd, and so suppli'd,
|
|
That what by me thou hast lost thou least shalt miss.
|
|
|
|
Sam: No, no, of my condition take no care;
|
|
It fits not; thou and I long since are twain;
|
|
Nor think me so unwary or accurst 930
|
|
To bring my feet again into the snare
|
|
Where once I have been caught; I know thy trains
|
|
Though dearly to my cost, thy ginns, and toyls;
|
|
Thy fair enchanted cup, and warbling charms
|
|
No more on me have power, their force is null'd,
|
|
So much of Adders wisdom I have learn't
|
|
To fence my ear against thy sorceries.
|
|
If in my flower of youth and strength, when all men
|
|
Lov'd, honour'd, fear'd me, thou alone could hate me
|
|
Thy Husband, slight me, sell me, and forgo me; 940
|
|
How wouldst thou use me now, blind, and thereby
|
|
Deceiveable, in most things as a child
|
|
Helpless, thence easily contemn'd, and scorn'd,
|
|
And last neglected? How wouldst thou insult
|
|
When I must live uxorious to thy will
|
|
In perfet thraldom, how again betray me,
|
|
Bearing my words and doings to the Lords
|
|
To gloss upon, and censuring, frown or smile?
|
|
This Gaol I count the house of Liberty
|
|
To thine whose doors my feet shall never enter. 950
|
|
|
|
Dal: Let me approach at least, and touch thy hand.
|
|
|
|
Sam: Not for thy life, lest fierce remembrance wake
|
|
My sudden rage to tear thee joint by joint.
|
|
At distance I forgive thee, go with that;
|
|
Bewail thy falshood, and the pious works
|
|
It hath brought forth to make thee memorable
|
|
Among illustrious women, faithful wives:
|
|
Cherish thy hast'n'd widowhood with the gold
|
|
Of Matrimonial treason: so farewel.
|
|
|
|
Dal: I see thou art implacable, more deaf 960
|
|
To prayers, then winds and seas, yet winds to seas
|
|
Are reconcil'd at length, and Sea to Shore:
|
|
Thy anger, unappeasable, still rages,
|
|
Eternal tempest never to be calm'd.
|
|
Why do I humble thus my self, and suing
|
|
For peace, reap nothing but repulse and hate?
|
|
Bid go with evil omen and the brand
|
|
Of infamy upon my name denounc't?
|
|
To mix with thy concernments I desist
|
|
Henceforth, nor too much disapprove my own. 970
|
|
Fame if not double-fac't is double-mouth'd,
|
|
And with contrary blast proclaims most deeds,
|
|
On both his wings, one black, th' other white,
|
|
Bears greatest names in his wild aerie flight.
|
|
My name perhaps among the Circumcis'd
|
|
In Dan, in Judah, and the bordering Tribes,
|
|
To all posterity may stand defam'd,
|
|
With malediction mention'd, and the blot
|
|
Of falshood most unconjugal traduc't.
|
|
But in my countrey where I most desire, 980
|
|
In Ecron, Gaza, Asdod, and in Gath
|
|
I shall be nam'd among the famousest
|
|
Of Women, sung at solemn festivals,
|
|
Living and dead recorded, who to save
|
|
Her countrey from a fierce destroyer, chose
|
|
Above the faith of wedlock-bands, my tomb
|
|
With odours visited and annual flowers.
|
|
Not less renown'd then in Mount Ephraim,
|
|
Jael who with inhospitable guile
|
|
Smote Sisera sleeping through the Temples nail'd. 990
|
|
Nor shall I count it hainous to enjoy
|
|
The public marks of honour and reward
|
|
Conferr'd upon me, for the piety
|
|
Which to my countrey I was judg'd to have shewn.
|
|
At this who ever envies or repines
|
|
I leave him to his lot, and like my own.
|
|
|
|
Chor: She's gone, a manifest Serpent by her sting
|
|
Discover'd in the end, till now conceal'd.
|
|
|
|
Sam: So let her go, God sent her to debase me,
|
|
And aggravate my folly who committed 1000
|
|
To such a viper his most sacred trust
|
|
Of secresie, my safety, and my life.
|
|
|
|
Chor: Yet beauty, though injurious, hath strange power,
|
|
After offence returning, to regain
|
|
Love once possest, nor can be easily
|
|
Repuls't, without much inward passion felt
|
|
And secret sting of amorous remorse.
|
|
|
|
Sam: Love-quarrels oft in pleasing concord end,
|
|
Not wedlock-trechery endangering life.
|
|
|
|
Chor: It is not vertue, wisdom, valour, wit, 1010
|
|
Strength, comliness of shape, or amplest merit
|
|
That womans love can win or long inherit;
|
|
But what it is, hard is to say,
|
|
Harder to hit,
|
|
(Which way soever men refer it)
|
|
Much like thy riddle, Samson, in one day
|
|
Or seven, though one should musing sit;
|
|
If any of these or all, the Timnian bride
|
|
Had not so soon preferr'd
|
|
Thy Paranymph, worthless to thee compar'd, 1020
|
|
Successour in thy bed,
|
|
Nor both so loosly disally'd
|
|
Thir nuptials, nor this last so trecherously
|
|
Had shorn the fatal harvest of thy head.
|
|
Is it for that such outward ornament
|
|
Was lavish't on thir Sex, that inward gifts
|
|
Were left for hast unfinish't, judgment scant,
|
|
Capacity not rais'd to apprehend
|
|
Or value what is best
|
|
In choice, but oftest to affect the wrong? 1030
|
|
Or was too much of self-love mixt,
|
|
Of constancy no root infixt,
|
|
That either they love nothing, or not long?
|
|
What e're it be, to wisest men and best
|
|
Seeming at first all heavenly under virgin veil,
|
|
Soft, modest, meek, demure,
|
|
Once join'd, the contrary she proves, a thorn
|
|
Intestin, far within defensive arms
|
|
A cleaving mischief, in his way to vertue
|
|
Adverse and turbulent, or by her charms 1040
|
|
Draws him awry enslav'd
|
|
With dotage, and his sense deprav'd
|
|
To folly and shameful deeds which ruin ends.
|
|
What Pilot so expert but needs must wreck
|
|
Embarqu'd with such a Stears-mate at the Helm?
|
|
Favour'd of Heav'n who finds
|
|
One vertuous rarely found,
|
|
That in domestic good combines:
|
|
Happy that house! his way to peace is smooth:
|
|
But vertue which breaks through all opposition, 1050
|
|
And all temptation can remove,
|
|
Most shines and most is acceptable above.
|
|
Therefore Gods universal Law
|
|
Gave to the man despotic power
|
|
Over his female in due awe,
|
|
Nor from that right to part an hour,
|
|
Smile she or lowre:
|
|
So shall he least confusion draw
|
|
On his whole life, not sway'd
|
|
By female usurpation, nor dismay'd. 1060
|
|
But had we best retire, I see a storm?
|
|
|
|
Sam: Fair days have oft contracted wind and rain.
|
|
|
|
Chor: But this another kind of tempest brings.
|
|
|
|
Sam: Be less abstruse, my riddling days are past.
|
|
|
|
Chor: Look now for no inchanting voice, nor fear
|
|
The bait of honied words; a rougher tongue
|
|
Draws hitherward, I know him by his stride,
|
|
The Giant Harapha of Gath, his look
|
|
Haughty as is his pile high-built and proud.
|
|
Comes he in peace? what wind hath blown him hither 1070
|
|
I less conjecture then when first I saw
|
|
The sumptuous Dalila floating this way:
|
|
His habit carries peace, his brow defiance.
|
|
|
|
Sam: Or peace or not, alike to me he comes.
|
|
|
|
Chor: His fraught we soon shall know, he now arrives.
|
|
|
|
Har: I come not Samson, to condole thy chance,
|
|
As these perhaps, yet wish it had not been,
|
|
Though for no friendly intent. I am of Gath,
|
|
Men call me Harapha, of stock renown'd
|
|
As Og or Anak and the Emims old 1080
|
|
That Kiriathaim held, thou knowst me now
|
|
If thou at all art known. Much I have heard
|
|
Of thy prodigious might and feats perform'd
|
|
Incredible to me, in this displeas'd,
|
|
That I was never present on the place
|
|
Of those encounters, where we might have tri'd
|
|
Each others force in camp or listed field:
|
|
And now am come to see of whom such noise
|
|
Hath walk'd about, and each limb to survey,
|
|
If thy appearance answer loud report. 1090
|
|
|
|
Sam: The way to know were not to see but taste.
|
|
|
|
Har: Dost thou already single me; I thought
|
|
Gives and the Mill had tam'd thee? O that fortune
|
|
Had brought me to the field where thou art fam'd
|
|
To have wrought such wonders with an Asses Jaw;
|
|
I should have forc'd thee soon with other arms,
|
|
Or left thy carkass where the Ass lay thrown:
|
|
So had the glory of Prowess been recover'd
|
|
To Palestine, won by a Philistine
|
|
>From the unforeskinn'd race, of whom thou hear'st 1100
|
|
The highest name for valiant Acts, that honour
|
|
Certain to have won by mortal duel from thee,
|
|
I lose, prevented by thy eyes put out.
|
|
|
|
Sam: Boast not of what thou wouldst have done, but do
|
|
What then thou would'st, thou seest it in thy hand.
|
|
|
|
Har: To combat with a blind man I disdain
|
|
And thou hast need much washing to be toucht.
|
|
|
|
Sam: Such usage as your honourable Lords
|
|
Afford me assassinated and betray'd,
|
|
Who durst not with thir whole united powers 1110
|
|
In fight withstand me single and unarm'd,
|
|
Nor in the house with chamber Ambushes
|
|
Close-banded durst attaque me, no not sleeping,
|
|
Till they had hir'd a woman with their gold
|
|
Breaking her Marriage Faith to circumvent me.
|
|
Therefore without feign'd shifts let be assign'd
|
|
Some narrow place enclos'd, where sight may give thee.
|
|
Or rather flight, no great advantage on me;
|
|
Then put on all thy gorgeous arms, thy Helmet
|
|
And Brigandine of brass, thy broad Habergeon. 1120
|
|
Vant-brass and Greves, and Gauntlet, add thy Spear
|
|
A Weavers beam, and seven-times-folded shield.
|
|
I only with an Oak'n staff will meet thee,
|
|
And raise such out-cries on thy clatter'd Iron,
|
|
Which long shall not with-hold mee from thy head,
|
|
That in a little time while breath remains thee,
|
|
Thou oft shalt wish thy self at Gath to boast
|
|
Again in safety what thou wouldst have done
|
|
To Samson, but shalt never see Gath more.
|
|
|
|
Har: Thou durst not thus disparage glorious arms 1130
|
|
Which greatest Heroes have in battel worn,
|
|
Thir ornament and safety, had not spells
|
|
And black enchantments, some Magicians Art
|
|
Arm'd thee or charm'd thee strong, which thou from Heaven
|
|
Feigndst at thy birth was giv'n thee in thy hair,
|
|
Where strength can least abide, though all thy hairs
|
|
Were bristles rang'd like those that ridge the back
|
|
Of chaf't wild Boars, or ruffl'd Porcupines.
|
|
|
|
Sam: I know no Spells, use no forbidden Arts;
|
|
My trust is in the living God who gave me 1140
|
|
At my Nativity this strength, diffus'd
|
|
No less through all my sinews, joints and bones,
|
|
Then thine, while I preserv'd these locks unshorn,
|
|
The pledge of my unviolated vow.
|
|
For proof hereof, if Dagon be thy god,
|
|
Go to his Temple, invocate his aid
|
|
With solemnest devotion, spread before him
|
|
How highly it concerns his glory now
|
|
To frustrate and dissolve these Magic spells,
|
|
Which I to be the power of Israel's God 1150
|
|
Avow, and challenge Dagon to the test,
|
|
Offering to combat thee his Champion bold,
|
|
With th' utmost of his Godhead seconded:
|
|
Then thou shalt see, or rather to thy sorrow
|
|
Soon feel, whose God is strongest, thine or mine.
|
|
|
|
Har: Presume not on thy God, what e're he be,
|
|
Thee he regards not, owns not, hath cut off
|
|
Quite from his people, and delivered up
|
|
Into thy Enemies hand, permitted them
|
|
To put out both thine eyes, and fetter'd send thee 1160
|
|
Into the common Prison, there to grind
|
|
Among the Slaves and Asses thy comrades,
|
|
As good for nothing else, no better service
|
|
With those, thy boyst'rous locks, no worthy match
|
|
For valour to assail, nor by the sword
|
|
Of noble Warriour, so to stain his honour,
|
|
But by the Barbers razor best subdu'd.
|
|
|
|
Sam: All these indignities, for such they are
|
|
>From thine, these evils I deserve and more,
|
|
Acknowledge them from God inflicted on me 1170
|
|
Justly, yet despair not of his final pardon
|
|
Whose ear is ever open; and his eye
|
|
Gracious to re-admit the suppliant;
|
|
In confidence whereof I once again
|
|
Defie thee to the trial of mortal fight,
|
|
By combat to decide whose god is God,
|
|
Thine or whom I with Israel's Sons adore.
|
|
|
|
Har: Fair honour that thou dost thy God, in trusting
|
|
He will accept thee to defend his cause,
|
|
A Murtherer, a Revolter, and a Robber. 1180
|
|
|
|
Sam: Tongue-doubtie Giant, how dost thou prove me these?
|
|
|
|
Har: Is not thy Nation subject to our Lords?
|
|
Thir Magistrates confest it, when they took thee
|
|
As a League-breaker and deliver'd bound
|
|
Into our hands: for hadst thou not committed
|
|
Notorious murder on those thirty men
|
|
At Askalon, who never did thee harm,
|
|
Then like a Robber stripdst them of thir robes?
|
|
The Philistines, when thou hadst broke the league,
|
|
Went up with armed powers thee only seeking, 1190
|
|
To others did no violence nor spoil.
|
|
|
|
Sam: Among the Daughters of the Philistines
|
|
I chose a Wife, which argu'd me no foe;
|
|
And in your City held my Nuptial Feast:
|
|
But your ill-meaning Politician Lords,
|
|
Under pretence of Bridal friends and guests,
|
|
Appointed to await me thirty spies,
|
|
Who threatning cruel death constrain'd the bride
|
|
To wring from me and tell to them my secret,
|
|
That solv'd the riddle which I had propos'd. 1200
|
|
When I perceiv'd all set on enmity,
|
|
As on my enemies, where ever chanc'd,
|
|
I us'd hostility, and took thir spoil
|
|
To pay my underminers in thir coin.
|
|
My Nation was subjected to your Lords.
|
|
It was the force of Conquest; force with force
|
|
Is well ejected when the Conquer'd can.
|
|
But I a private person, whom my Countrey
|
|
As a league-breaker gave up bound, presum'd
|
|
Single Rebellion and did Hostile Acts. 1210
|
|
I was no private but a person rais'd
|
|
With strength sufficient and command from Heav'n
|
|
To free my Countrey; if their servile minds
|
|
Me their Deliverer sent would not receive,
|
|
But to thir Masters gave me up for nought,
|
|
Th' unworthier they; whence to this day they serve.
|
|
I was to do my part from Heav'n assign'd,
|
|
And had perform'd it if my known offence
|
|
Had not disabl'd me, not all your force:
|
|
These shifts refuted, answer thy appellant 1220
|
|
Though by his blindness maim'd for high attempts,
|
|
Who now defies thee thrice to single fight,
|
|
As a petty enterprise of small enforce.
|
|
|
|
Har: With thee a Man condemn'd, a Slave enrol'd,
|
|
Due by the Law to capital punishment?
|
|
To fight with thee no man of arms will deign.
|
|
|
|
Sam: Cam'st thou for this, vain boaster, to survey me,
|
|
To descant on my strength, and give thy verdit?
|
|
Come nearer, part not hence so slight inform'd;
|
|
But take good heed my hand survey not thee. 1230
|
|
Har: O Baal-zebub! can my ears unus'd
|
|
Hear these dishonours, and not render death?
|
|
|
|
Sam: No man with-holds thee, nothing from thy hand
|
|
Fear I incurable; bring up thy van,
|
|
My heels are fetter'd, but my fist is free.
|
|
|
|
Har: This insolence other kind of answer fits.
|
|
|
|
Sam: Go baffl'd coward, lest I run upon thee,
|
|
Though in these chains, bulk without spirit vast,
|
|
And with one buffet lay thy structure low,
|
|
Or swing thee in the Air, then dash thee down 1240
|
|
To the hazard of thy brains and shatter'd sides.
|
|
|
|
Har: By Astaroth e're long thou shalt lament
|
|
These braveries in Irons loaden on thee.
|
|
|
|
Chor: His Giantship is gone somewhat crestfall'n,
|
|
Stalking with less unconsci'nable strides,
|
|
And lower looks, but in a sultrie chafe.
|
|
|
|
Sam: I dread him not, nor all his Giant-brood,
|
|
Though Fame divulge him Father of five Sons
|
|
All of Gigantic size, Goliah chief.
|
|
|
|
Chor: He will directly to the Lords, I fear, 1250
|
|
And with malitious counsel stir them up
|
|
Some way or other yet further to afflict thee.
|
|
|
|
Sam: He must allege some cause, and offer'd fight
|
|
Will not dare mention, lest a question rise
|
|
Whether he durst accept the offer or not,
|
|
And that he durst not plain enough appear'd.
|
|
Much more affliction then already felt
|
|
They cannot well impose, nor I sustain;
|
|
If they intend advantage of my labours
|
|
The work of many hands, which earns my keeping 1260
|
|
With no small profit daily to my owners.
|
|
But come what will, my deadliest foe will prove
|
|
My speediest friend, by death to rid me hence,
|
|
The worst that he can give, to me the best.
|
|
Yet so it may fall out, because thir end
|
|
Is hate, not help to me, it may with mine
|
|
Draw thir own ruin who attempt the deed.
|
|
|
|
Chor: Oh how comely it is and how reviving
|
|
To the Spirits of just men long opprest!
|
|
When God into the hands of thir deliverer 1270
|
|
Puts invincible might
|
|
To quell the mighty of the Earth, th' oppressour,
|
|
The brute and boist'rous force of violent men
|
|
Hardy and industrious to support
|
|
Tyrannic power, but raging to pursue
|
|
The righteous and all such as honour Truth;
|
|
He all thir Ammunition
|
|
And feats of War defeats
|
|
With plain Heroic magnitude of mind
|
|
And celestial vigour arm'd, 1270
|
|
Thir Armories and Magazins contemns,
|
|
Renders them useless, while
|
|
With winged expedition
|
|
Swift as the lightning glance he executes
|
|
His errand on the wicked, who surpris'd
|
|
Lose thir defence distracted and amaz'd.
|
|
But patience is more oft the exercise
|
|
Of Saints, the trial of thir fortitude,
|
|
Making them each his own Deliverer,
|
|
And Victor over all 1290
|
|
That tyrannie or fortune can inflict,
|
|
Either of these is in thy lot,
|
|
Samson, with might endu'd
|
|
Above the Sons of men; but sight bereav'd
|
|
May chance to number thee with those
|
|
Whom Patience finally must crown.
|
|
This Idols day hath bin to thee no day of rest,
|
|
Labouring thy mind
|
|
More then the working day thy hands,
|
|
And yet perhaps more trouble is behind. 1300
|
|
For I descry this way
|
|
Some other tending, in his hand
|
|
A Scepter or quaint staff he bears,
|
|
Comes on amain, speed in his look.
|
|
By his habit I discern him now
|
|
A Public Officer, and now at hand.
|
|
His message will be short and voluble.
|
|
|
|
Off: Ebrews, the Pris'ner Samson here I seek.
|
|
|
|
Chor: His manacles remark him, there he sits.
|
|
|
|
Off: Samson, to thee our Lords thus bid me say; 1310
|
|
This day to Dagon is a solemn Feast,
|
|
With Sacrifices, Triumph, Pomp, and Games;
|
|
Thy strength they know surpassing human rate,
|
|
And now some public proof thereof require
|
|
To honour this great Feast, and great Assembly;
|
|
Rise therefore with all speed and come along,
|
|
Where I will see thee heartn'd and fresh clad
|
|
To appear as fits before th' illustrious Lords.
|
|
|
|
Sam: Thou knowst I am an Ebrew, therefore tell them,
|
|
Our Law forbids at thir Religious Rites 1320
|
|
My presence; for that cause I cannot come.
|
|
|
|
Off: This answer, be assur'd, will not content them.
|
|
|
|
Sam: Have they not Sword-players, and ev'ry sort
|
|
Of Gymnic Artists, Wrestlers, Riders, Runners,
|
|
Juglers and Dancers, Antics, Mummers, Mimics,
|
|
But they must pick me out with shackles tir'd,
|
|
And over-labour'd at thir publick Mill,
|
|
To make them sport with blind activity?
|
|
Do they not seek occasion of new quarrels
|
|
On my refusal to distress me more, 1330
|
|
Or make a game of my calamities?
|
|
Return the way thou cam'st, I will not come.
|
|
|
|
Off: Regard thy self, this will offend them highly.
|
|
|
|
Sam: My self? my conscience and internal peace.
|
|
Can they think me so broken, so debas'd
|
|
With corporal servitude, that my mind ever
|
|
Will condescend to such absurd commands?
|
|
Although thir drudge, to be thir fool or jester,
|
|
And in my midst of sorrow and heart-grief
|
|
To shew them feats, and play before thir god, 1340
|
|
The worst of all indignities, yet on me
|
|
Joyn'd with extream contempt? I will not come.
|
|
|
|
Off: My message was impos'd on me with speed,
|
|
Brooks no delay: is this thy resolution?
|
|
|
|
Sam: So take it with what speed thy message needs.
|
|
|
|
Off : I am sorry what this stoutness will produce.
|
|
|
|
Sam: Perhaps thou shalt have cause to sorrow indeed.
|
|
|
|
Chor: Consider, Samson; matters now are strain'd
|
|
Up to the highth, whether to bold or break;
|
|
He's gone, and who knows how he may report 1350
|
|
Thy words by adding fuel to the flame?
|
|
Expect another message more imperious,
|
|
More Lordly thund'ring then thou well wilt bear.
|
|
|
|
Sam: Shall I abuse this Consecrated gift
|
|
Of strength, again returning with my hair
|
|
After my great transgression, so requite
|
|
Favour renew'd, and add a greater sin
|
|
By prostituting holy things to Idols;
|
|
A Nazarite in place abominable
|
|
Vaunting my strength in honour to thir Dagon? 1360
|
|
Besides, how vile, contemptible, ridiculous,
|
|
What act more execrably unclean, prophane?
|
|
|
|
Chor: Yet with this strength thou serv'st the Philistines,
|
|
Idolatrous, uncircumcis'd, unclean.
|
|
|
|
Sam: Not in thir Idol-worship, but by labour
|
|
Honest and lawful to deserve my food
|
|
Of those who have me in thir civil power.
|
|
|
|
Chor: Where the heart joins not, outward acts defile not
|
|
|
|
Sam: Where outward force constrains, the sentence holds:
|
|
But who constrains me to the Temple of Dagon, 1370
|
|
Not dragging? the Philistian Lords command.
|
|
Commands are no constraints. If I obey them,
|
|
I do it freely; venturing to displease
|
|
God for the fear of Man, and Man prefer,
|
|
Set God behind: which in his jealousie
|
|
Shall never, unrepented, find forgiveness.
|
|
Yet that he may dispense with me or thee
|
|
Present in Temples at Idolatrous Rites
|
|
For some important cause, thou needst not doubt.
|
|
|
|
Chor: How thou wilt here come off surmounts my reach. 1380
|
|
|
|
Sam: Be of good courage, I begin to feel
|
|
Some rouzing motions in me which dispose
|
|
To something extraordinary my thoughts.
|
|
I with this Messenger will go along,
|
|
Nothing to do, be sure, that may dishonour
|
|
Our Law, or stain my vow of Nazarite.
|
|
If there be aught of presage in the mind,
|
|
This day will be remarkable in my life
|
|
By some great act, or of my days the last.
|
|
|
|
Chor: In time thou hast resolv'd, the man returns. 1390
|
|
|
|
Off: Samson, this second message from our Lords
|
|
To thee I am bid say. Art thou our Slave,
|
|
Our Captive, at the public Mill our drudge,
|
|
And dar'st thou at our sending and command
|
|
Dispute thy coming? come without delay;
|
|
Or we shall find such Engines to assail
|
|
And hamper thee, as thou shalt come of force,
|
|
Though thou wert firmlier fastn'd then a rock.
|
|
|
|
Sam: I could be well content to try thir Art,
|
|
Which to no few of them would prove pernicious. 1400
|
|
Yet knowing thir advantages too many,
|
|
Because they shall not trail me through thir streets
|
|
Like a wild Beast, I am content to go.
|
|
Masters commands come with a power resistless
|
|
To such as owe them absolute subjection;
|
|
And for a life who will not change his purpose?
|
|
(So mutable are all the ways of men)
|
|
Yet this be sure, in nothing to comply
|
|
Scandalous or forbidden in our Law.
|
|
|
|
Off: I praise thy resolution, doff these links: 1410
|
|
By this compliance thou wilt win the Lords
|
|
To favour, and perhaps to set thee free.
|
|
|
|
Sam: Brethren farewel, your company along
|
|
I will not wish, lest it perhaps offend them
|
|
To see me girt with Friends; and how the sight
|
|
Of me as of a common Enemy,
|
|
So dreaded once, may now exasperate them
|
|
I know not. Lords are Lordliest in thir wine,
|
|
And the well-feasted Priest then soonest fir'd
|
|
With zeal, if aught Religion seem concern'd: 1420
|
|
No less the people on thir Holy-days
|
|
Impetuous, insolent, unquenchable;
|
|
Happ'n what may, of me expect to hear
|
|
Nothing dishonourable, impure, unworthy
|
|
Our God, our Law, my Nation, or my self,
|
|
The last of me or no I cannot warrant.
|
|
|
|
Chor: Go, and the Holy One
|
|
Of Israel be thy guide
|
|
To what may serve his glory best, & spread his name
|
|
Great among the Heathen round: 1430
|
|
Send thee the Angel of thy Birth, to stand
|
|
Fast by thy side, who from thy Fathers field
|
|
Rode up in flames after his message told
|
|
Of thy conception, and be now a shield
|
|
Of fire; that Spirit that first rusht on thee
|
|
In the camp of Dan
|
|
Be efficacious in thee now at need.
|
|
For never was from Heaven imparted
|
|
Measure of strength so great to mortal seed,
|
|
As in thy wond'rous actions Hath been seen. 1440
|
|
But wherefore comes old Manoa in such hast
|
|
With youthful steps? much livelier than e're while
|
|
He seems: supposing here to find his Son,
|
|
Or of him bringing to us some glad news?
|
|
|
|
Man: Peace with you brethren; my inducement hither
|
|
Was not at present here to find my Son,
|
|
By order of the Lords new parted hence
|
|
To come and play before them at thir Feast.
|
|
I heard all as I came, the City rings
|
|
And numbers thither flock, I had no will, 1450
|
|
Lest I should see him forc't to things unseemly.
|
|
But that which moved my coming now, was chiefly
|
|
To give ye part with me what hope I have
|
|
With good success to work his liberty.
|
|
|
|
Chor: That hope would much rejoyce us to partake
|
|
With thee; say reverend Sire, we thirst to hear.
|
|
|
|
Man: I have attempted one by one the Lords
|
|
Either at home, or through the high street passing,
|
|
With supplication prone and Fathers tears
|
|
To accept of ransom for my Son thir pris'ner, 1460
|
|
Some much averse I found and wondrous harsh,
|
|
Contemptuous, proud, set on revenge and spite;
|
|
That part most reverenc'd Dagon and his Priests,
|
|
Others more moderate seeming, but thir aim
|
|
Private reward, for which both God and State
|
|
They easily would set to sale, a third
|
|
More generous far and civil, who confess'd
|
|
They had anough reveng'd, having reduc't
|
|
Thir foe to misery beneath thir fears,
|
|
The rest was magnanimity to remit, 1470
|
|
If some convenient ransom were propos'd.
|
|
What noise or shout was that? it tore the Skie.
|
|
|
|
Chor: Doubtless the people shouting to behold
|
|
Thir once great dread, captive, & blind before them,
|
|
Or at some proof of strength before them shown.
|
|
|
|
Man: His ransom, if my whole inheritance
|
|
May compass it, shall willingly be paid
|
|
And numberd down: much rather I shall chuse
|
|
To live the poorest in my Tribe, then richest,
|
|
And he in that calamitous prison left. 1480
|
|
No, I am fixt not to part hence without him.
|
|
For his redemption all my Patrimony,
|
|
If need be, I am ready to forgo
|
|
And quit: not wanting him, I shall want nothing.
|
|
|
|
Chor: Fathers are wont to lay up for thir Sons,
|
|
Thou for thy Son art bent to lay out all;
|
|
Sons wont to nurse thir Parents in old age,
|
|
Thou in old age car'st how to nurse thy Son,
|
|
Made older then thy age through eye-sight lost.
|
|
|
|
Man: It shall be my delight to tend his eyes, 1490
|
|
And view him sitting in the house, enobl'd
|
|
With all those high exploits by him atchiev'd,
|
|
And on his shoulders waving down those locks,
|
|
That of a Nation arm'd the strength contain'd:
|
|
And I perswade me God had not permitted
|
|
His strength again to grow up with his hair
|
|
Garrison'd round about him like a Camp
|
|
Of faithful Souldiery, were not his purpose
|
|
To use him further yet in some great service,
|
|
Not to sit idle with so great a gift 1500
|
|
Useless, and thence ridiculous about him.
|
|
And since his strength with eye-sight was not lost,
|
|
God will restore him eye-sight to his strength.
|
|
|
|
Chor: Thy hopes are not ill founded nor seem vain
|
|
Of his delivery, and thy joy thereon
|
|
Conceiv'd, agreeable to a Fathers love,
|
|
In both which we, as next participate.
|
|
|
|
Man: I know your friendly minds and -- O what noise!
|
|
Mercy of Heav'n what hideous noise was that!
|
|
Horribly loud unlike the former shout. 1510
|
|
|
|
Chor: Noise call you it or universal groan
|
|
As if the whole inhabitation perish'd,
|
|
Blood, death, and deathful deeds are in that noise,
|
|
Ruin, destruction at the utmost point.
|
|
|
|
Man: Of ruin indeed methought I heard the noise,
|
|
Oh it continues, they have slain my Son.
|
|
|
|
Chor: Thy Son is rather slaying them, that outcry
|
|
>From slaughter of one foe could not ascend.
|
|
|
|
Man: Some dismal accident it needs must be;
|
|
What shall we do, stay here or run and see? 1520
|
|
|
|
Chor: Best keep together here, lest running thither
|
|
We unawares run into dangers mouth.
|
|
This evil on the Philistines is fall'n
|
|
>From whom could else a general cry be heard?
|
|
The sufferers then will scarce molest us here,
|
|
>From other hands we need not much to fear.
|
|
What if his eye-sight (for to Israels God
|
|
Nothing is hard) by miracle restor'd,
|
|
He now be dealing dole among his foes,
|
|
And over heaps of slaughter'd walk his way? 1530
|
|
|
|
Man: That were a joy presumptuous to be thought.
|
|
|
|
Chor: Yet God hath wrought things as incredible
|
|
For his people of old; what hinders now?
|
|
|
|
Man: He can I know, but doubt to think be will;
|
|
Yet Hope would fain subscribe, and tempts Belief.
|
|
A little stay will bring some notice hither.
|
|
|
|
Chor: Of good or bad so great, of bad the sooner;
|
|
For evil news rides post, while good news baits.
|
|
And to our wish I see one hither speeding,
|
|
An Ebrew, as I guess, and of our Tribe. 1540
|
|
|
|
Mess: O whither shall I run, or which way flie
|
|
The sight of this so horrid spectacle
|
|
Which earst my eyes beheld and yet behold;
|
|
For dire imagination still persues me.
|
|
But providence or instinct of nature seems,
|
|
Or reason though disturb'd, and scarse consulted
|
|
To have guided me aright, I know not how,
|
|
To thee first reverend Manoa, and to these
|
|
My Countreymen, whom here I knew remaining,
|
|
As at some distance from the place of horrour, 1550
|
|
So in the sad event too much concern'd.
|
|
|
|
Man: The accident was loud, & here before thee
|
|
With rueful cry, yet what it was we hear not,
|
|
No Preface needs, thou seest we long to know.
|
|
|
|
Mess: It would burst forth, but I recover breath
|
|
And sense distract, to know well what I utter.
|
|
|
|
Man: Tell us the sum, the circumstance defer.
|
|
|
|
Mess: Gaza yet stands, but all her Sons are fall'n,
|
|
All in a moment overwhelm'd and fall'n.
|
|
|
|
Man: Sad, but thou knowst to Israelites not saddest 1560
|
|
The desolation of a Hostile City.
|
|
|
|
Mess: Feed on that first, there may in grief be surfet.
|
|
|
|
Man: Relate by whom.
|
|
Mess: By Samson.
|
|
|
|
Man: That still lessens
|
|
The sorrow, and converts it nigh to joy.
|
|
|
|
Mess: Ah Manoa I refrain, too suddenly
|
|
To utter what will come at last too soon;
|
|
Lest evil tidings with too rude irruption
|
|
Hitting thy aged ear should pierce too deep.
|
|
|
|
Man: Suspense in news is torture, speak them out.
|
|
|
|
Mess: Then take the worst in brief, Samson is dead. 1570
|
|
|
|
Man: The worst indeed, O all my hope's defeated
|
|
To free him hence! but death who sets all free
|
|
Hath paid his ransom now and full discharge.
|
|
What windy joy this day had I conceiv'd
|
|
Hopeful of his Delivery, which now proves
|
|
Abortive as the first-born bloom of spring
|
|
Nipt with the lagging rear of winters frost.
|
|
Yet e're I give the rains to grief, say first,
|
|
How dy'd he? death to life is crown or shame.
|
|
All by him fell thou say'st, by whom fell he, 1580
|
|
What glorious band gave Samson his deaths wound?
|
|
|
|
Mess: Unwounded of his enemies he fell.
|
|
|
|
Man: Wearied with slaughter then or how? explain.
|
|
|
|
Mess: By his own hands.
|
|
Man: Self-violence? what cause
|
|
Brought him so soon at variance with himself
|
|
Among his foes?
|
|
Mess: Inevitable cause
|
|
At once both to destroy and be destroy'd;
|
|
The Edifice where all were met to see him
|
|
Upon thir heads and on his own he pull'd.
|
|
|
|
Man: O lastly over-strong against thy self! 1590
|
|
A dreadful way thou took'st to thy revenge.
|
|
More than anough we know; but while things yet
|
|
Are in confusion, give us if thou canst,
|
|
Eye-witness of what first or last was done,
|
|
Relation more particular and distinct.
|
|
|
|
Mess: Occasions drew me early to this City,
|
|
And as the gates I enter'd with Sun-rise,
|
|
The morning Trumpets Festival proclaim'd
|
|
Through each high street: little I had dispatch't
|
|
When all abroad was rumour'd that this day 1600
|
|
Samson should be brought forth to shew the people
|
|
Proof of his mighty strength in feats and games;
|
|
I sorrow'd at his captive state, but minded
|
|
Not to be absent at that spectacle.
|
|
The building was a spacious Theatre
|
|
Half round on two main Pillars vaulted high,
|
|
With seats where all the Lords and each degree
|
|
Of sort, might sit in order to behold,
|
|
The other side was op'n, where the throng
|
|
On banks and scaffolds under Skie might stand; 1610
|
|
I among these aloof obscurely stood.
|
|
The Feast and noon grew high, and Sacrifice
|
|
Had fill'd thir hearts with mirth, high chear, & wine,
|
|
When to thir sports they turn'd. Immediately
|
|
Was Samson as a public servant brought,
|
|
In thir state Livery clad; before him Pipes
|
|
And Timbrels, on each side went armed guards,
|
|
Both horse and foot before him and behind
|
|
Archers, and Slingers, Cataphracts and Spears.
|
|
At sight of him the people with a shout 1620
|
|
Rifted the Air clamouring thir god with praise,
|
|
Who had made thir dreadful enemy thir thrall.
|
|
He patient but undaunted where they led him.
|
|
Came to the place, and what was set before him
|
|
Which without help of eye, might be assay'd,
|
|
To heave, pull, draw, or break, he still perform'd
|
|
All with incredible, stupendious force,
|
|
None daring to appear Antagonist.
|
|
At length for intermission sake they led him
|
|
Between the pillars; he his guide requested 1630
|
|
(For so from such as nearer stood we heard)
|
|
As over-tir'd to let him lean a while
|
|
With both his arms on those two massie Pillars
|
|
That to the arched roof gave main support.
|
|
He unsuspitious led him; which when Samson
|
|
Felt in his arms, with head a while enclin'd,
|
|
And eyes fast fixt he stood, as one who pray'd,
|
|
Or some great matter in his mind revolv'd.
|
|
At last with head erect thus cryed aloud,
|
|
Hitherto, Lords, what your commands impos'd 1640
|
|
I have perform'd, as reason was, obeying,
|
|
Not without wonder or delight beheld.
|
|
Now of my own accord such other tryal
|
|
I mean to shew you of my strength, yet greater;
|
|
As with amaze shall strike all who behold.
|
|
This utter'd, straining all his nerves he bow'd,
|
|
As with the force of winds and waters pent,
|
|
When Mountains tremble, those two massie Pillars
|
|
With horrible convulsion to and fro,
|
|
He tugg'd, he shook, till down they came and drew 1650
|
|
The whole roof after them, with burst of thunder
|
|
Upon the heads of all who sate beneath,
|
|
Lords, Ladies, Captains, Councellors, or Priests,
|
|
Thir choice nobility and flower, not only
|
|
Of this but each Philistian City round
|
|
Met from all parts to solemnize this Feast.
|
|
Samson with these immixt, inevitably
|
|
Pulld down the same destruction on himself;
|
|
The vulgar only scap'd who stood without.
|
|
|
|
Chor: O dearly-bought revenge, yet glorious! 1660
|
|
Living or dying thou hast fulfill'd
|
|
The work for which thou wast foretold
|
|
To Israel and now ly'st victorious
|
|
Among thy slain self-kill'd
|
|
Not willingly, but tangl'd in the fold
|
|
Of dire necessity, whose law in death conjoin'd
|
|
Thee with thy slaughter'd foes in number more
|
|
Then all thy life had slain before.
|
|
|
|
Semichor: While thir hearts were jocund and sublime
|
|
Drunk with Idolatry, drunk with Wine, 1670
|
|
And fat regorg'd of Bulls and Goats,
|
|
Chaunting thir Idol, and preferring
|
|
Before our living Dread who dwells
|
|
In Silo his bright Sanctuary:
|
|
Among them he a spirit of phrenzie sent,
|
|
Who hurt thir minds,
|
|
And urg'd them on with mad desire
|
|
To call in hast for thir destroyer;
|
|
They only set on sport and play
|
|
Unweetingly importun'd 1680
|
|
Thir own destruction to come speedy upon them.
|
|
So fond are mortal men
|
|
Fall'n into wrath divine,
|
|
As thir own ruin on themselves to invite,
|
|
Insensate left, or to sense reprobate,
|
|
And with blindness internal struck.
|
|
|
|
Semichor: But he though blind of sight,
|
|
Despis'd and thought extinguish't quite,
|
|
With inward eyes illuminated
|
|
His fierie vertue rouz'd 1690
|
|
>From under ashes into sudden flame,
|
|
And as an ev'ning Dragon came,
|
|
Assailant on the perched roosts,
|
|
And nests in order rang'd
|
|
Of tame villatic Fowl; but as an Eagle
|
|
His cloudless thunder bolted on thir heads.
|
|
So vertue giv'n for lost,
|
|
Deprest, and overthrown, as seem'd,
|
|
Like that self-begott'n bird
|
|
In the Arabian woods embost, 1700
|
|
That no second knows nor third,
|
|
And lay e're while a Holocaust,
|
|
>From out her ashie womb now teem'd
|
|
Revives, reflourishes, then vigorous most
|
|
When most unactive deem'd,
|
|
And though her body die, her fame survives,
|
|
A secular bird ages of lives.
|
|
|
|
Man: Come, come, no time for lamentation now,
|
|
Nor much more cause, Samson hath quit himself
|
|
Like Samson, and heroicly hath finish'd 1710
|
|
A life Heroic, on his Enemies
|
|
Fully reveng'd, hath left them years of mourning,
|
|
And lamentation to the Sons of Caphtor
|
|
Through all Philistian bounds. To Israel
|
|
Honour hath left, and freedom, let but them
|
|
Find courage to lay hold on this occasion,
|
|
To himself and Fathers house eternal fame;
|
|
And which is best and happiest yet, all this
|
|
With God not parted from him, as was feard,
|
|
But favouring and assisting to the end. 1720
|
|
Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail
|
|
Or knock the breast, no weakness, no contempt,
|
|
Dispraise, or blame, nothing but well and fair,
|
|
And what may quiet us in a death so noble.
|
|
Let us go find the body where it lies
|
|
Sok't in his enemies blood, and from the stream
|
|
With lavers pure and cleansing herbs wash off
|
|
The clotted gore. I with what speed the while
|
|
(Gaza is not in plight to say us nay)
|
|
Will send for all my kindred, all my friends 1730
|
|
To fetch him hence and solemnly attend
|
|
With silent obsequie and funeral train
|
|
Home to his Fathers house: there will I build him
|
|
A Monument, and plant it round with shade
|
|
Of Laurel ever green, and branching Palm,
|
|
With all his Trophies hung, and Acts enroll'd
|
|
In copious Legend, or sweet Lyric Song.
|
|
Thither shall all the valiant youth resort,
|
|
And from his memory inflame thir breasts
|
|
To matchless valour, and adventures high: 1740
|
|
The Virgins also shall on feastful days
|
|
Visit his Tomb with flowers, only bewailing
|
|
His lot unfortunate in nuptial choice,
|
|
>From whence captivity and loss of eyes.
|
|
|
|
Chor: All is best, though we oft doubt,
|
|
What th' unsearchable dispose
|
|
Of highest wisdom brings about,
|
|
And ever best found in the close.
|
|
Oft he seems to hide his face,
|
|
But unexpectedly returns 1750
|
|
And to his faithful Champion hath in place
|
|
Bore witness gloriously; whence Gaza mourns
|
|
And all that band them to resist
|
|
His uncontroulable intent,
|
|
His servants he with new acquist
|
|
Of true experience from this great event
|
|
With peace and consolation hath dismist,
|
|
And calm of mind all passion spent.
|
|
|
|
The End.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
APPENDIX.
|
|
|
|
Specimen of Milton's spelling, from the Cambridge autograph
|
|
manuscript.
|
|
|
|
|
|
ON TIME
|
|
|
|
set on a clock case
|
|
|
|
Fly envious Time till thou run out thy race
|
|
call on the lazie leaden-stepping howres
|
|
whose speed is but the heavie plummets pace
|
|
& glut thy selfe wth what thy womb devoures
|
|
Wch is no more then what is false & vaine
|
|
& meerly mortall drosse
|
|
so little is our losse
|
|
so little is thy gaine
|
|
for when as each thing bad thou hast entomb'd
|
|
& last of all thy greedie selfe consum'd 10
|
|
then long Aeternity shall greet our blisse
|
|
wth an individuall kisse
|
|
and Joy shall overtake us as a flood
|
|
when every thing yt is sincerely good
|
|
& pfectly divine
|
|
with Truth, & Peace, & Love shall ever shine
|
|
about the supreme throne
|
|
of him t' whose happy-making sight alone
|
|
when once our heav'nly-guided soule shall clime
|
|
then all this earthie grossnesse quit 20
|
|
attir'd wth starres wee shall for ever sit
|
|
Triumphing over Death, & Chance, & thee O Time.
|
|
|