Delphi Complete Works of John Milton (Illustrated) E-Book

John Milton

• Herausgeber: Delphi Classics
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Serie: Delphi Poets Series
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Seitenzahl: 6722

Beschreibung

A preeminent figure of English literature, the seventeenth century poet John Milton wrote at a time of religious flux and political upheaval, while serving as a civil servant for the Commonwealth of England and later under Oliver Cromwell. His most famous work, the epic poem ‘Paradise Lost’ (1667) is widely considered to be one of the greatest works of literature ever written. A diverse, intellectual and bilingual author, Milton achieved international renown within his lifetime. His celebrated prose work ‘Areopagitica’ (1644), written in condemnation of pre-publication censorship, still stands as one of the most influential defences of freedom of speech and the press. Milton introduced many new words to the English language and was the first modern writer to employ unrhymed verse outside of the theatre or translations. The Delphi Poets Series offers readers the works of literature’s finest poets, with superior formatting. This volume presents Milton’s complete English works in poetry and prose, with related illustrations and the usual Delphi bonus material. (Version 2)

* Beautifully illustrated with images relating to Milton's life and works
* Concise introductions to the poetry and major works
* Images of how the poetry books were first printed, giving your eReader a taste of the original texts
* Excellent formatting of the poems
* Special chronological and alphabetical contents tables for the poetry
* Easily locate the poems you want to read
* Includes line numbers, ideal for students
* The complete English prose
* ‘Paradise Lost’ is beautifully illustrated with Gustave Doré’s celebrated engravings
* Features five biographies - discover Milton's intriguing life
* Scholarly ordering of texts into chronological order and literary genres
* UPDATED with rare prose works and two more biographies

The Poetry Books
Poems, 1645
Paradise Lost (1667)
Paradise Regained (1671)
Samson Agonistes (1671)
Poems, 1673
Verses from Milton’s Commonplace Book (1874)

The Poems
List of Poems in Chronological Order
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

The Prose Works
Of Reformation (1641)
Of Prelatical Episcopacy (1641)
Animadversions (1641)
The Reason of Church-Government Urged against Prelaty (1642)
Apology for Smectymnuus (1642)
The Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce (1643)
Judgement of Martin Bucer Concerning Divorce (1644)
Areopagitica (1644)
On Education (1644)
Tetrachordon (1645)
Colasterion (1645)
Observations on the Articles of Peace (1648)
Eikonoklastes (1649)
The Tenure of Kings and Magistrates (1649)
A Defence of the People of England (1651)
The Second Defence of the People of England (1654)
The Likeliest Means to Remove Hirelings from the Church (1659)
A Treatise of Civil Power (1659)
The Ready and Easy Way to Establish a Free Commonwealth (1660)
Brief Notes upon a Late Sermon (1660)
Accedence Commenced Grammar (1669)
The History of Britain (1670)
Of True Religion (1673)
Epistolae Familiaries (1674)
De Doctrina Christiana (1674)
A Brief History of Moscovia (1682)
Miscellaneous Prose Works

The Biographies
Milton by Mark Pattison
The Life of John Milton by Richard Garnett
Milton by Sir Walter Alexander Raleigh
John Milton by David Masson
John Milton by Leslie Stephen

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Leseprobe

John Milton

(1608–1674)

Contents

The Poetry Books

Poems, 1645

Paradise Lost (1667)

Paradise Regained (1671)

Samson Agonistes (1671)

Poems, 1673

Verses from Milton’s Commonplace Book (1874)

The Poems

List of Poems in Chronological Order

List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

The Prose Works

Of Reformation (1641)

Of Prelatical Episcopacy (1641)

Animadversions (1641)

The Reason of Church-Government Urged against Prelaty (1642)

Apology for Smectymnuus (1642)

The Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce (1643)

Judgement of Martin Bucer Concerning Divorce (1644)

Areopagitica (1644)

On Education (1644)

Tetrachordon (1645)

Colasterion (1645)

Observations on the Articles of Peace (1648)

Eikonoklastes (1649)

The Tenure of Kings and Magistrates (1649)

A Defence of the People of England (1651)

The Second Defence of the People of England (1654)

The Likeliest Means to Remove Hirelings from the Church (1659)

A Treatise of Civil Power (1659)

The Ready and Easy Way to Establish a Free Commonwealth (1660)

Brief Notes upon a Late Sermon (1660)

Accedence Commenced Grammar (1669)

The History of Britain (1670)

Of True Religion (1673)

Epistolae Familiaries (1674)

De Doctrina Christiana (1674)

A Brief History of Moscovia (1682)

Miscellaneous Prose Works

The Biographies

Milton by Mark Pattison

The Life of John Milton by Richard Garnett

Milton by Sir Walter Alexander Raleigh

John Milton by David Masson

John Milton by Leslie Stephen

The Delphi Classics Catalogue

©Delphi Classics 2012

Version 2

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John Milton

By Delphi Classics, 2012

COPYRIGHT

John Milton - Delphi Poets Series

First published in the United Kingdom in 2015 by Delphi Classics.

© Delphi Classics, 2015.

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form other than that in which it is published.

ISBN: 9781908909541

Delphi Classics

is an imprint of

Delphi Publishing Ltd

Hastings, East Sussex

United Kingdom

Contact: [email protected]

www.delphiclassics.com

NOTE

When reading poetry on an eReader, it is advisable to use a small font size, which will allow the lines of poetry to display correctly.

The Poetry Books

Bread Street, London — Milton’s birthplace

A plaque by the place where Milton was born

London in Milton’s time

Poems, 1645

Few collections of John Milton’s poetry were published during his lifetime. His first printed poem was On Shakespear in 1630, which was anonymously included in the Second Folio edition of Shakespeare’s works:

ON SHAKESPEAR

  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.

In 1645 Milton published Poems, a collection of poetic works divided into English and Latin sections.  It comprises Milton’s youthful poetry in a variety of genres, including notable works such as An Ode on the Morning of Christ’s Nativity, the famous masque Comus and the pastoral elegy Lycidas. The octavo volume was issued by the Royalist publisher Humphrey Moseley. At the time, Milton was a keen advocate of republican politics, but it is uncertain to what extent the collection adopted his views. Milton’s publisher was known to support Royalist poets at the time, but the collection also contains praises of aristocrats and traditionally Royalist forms, such as the masque.

A year before his death, Milton released a revised edition of the Poems, which also included 32 new works.

The original titlepage

CONTENTS

ENGLISH POEMS

ON THE MORNING OF CHRISTS NATIVITY

THE HYMN

A PARAPHRASE ON PSALM 114

PSALM 136

THE PASSION

ON TIME

UPON THE CIRCUMCISION

AT A SOLEMN MUSIC

AN EPITAPH ON THE MARCHIONESS OF WINCHESTER

SONG ON MAY MORNING

ON SHAKESPEARE. 1630

ON THE UNIVERSITY CARRIER

ANOTHER ON THE SAME

L’ALLEGRO

IL PENSEROSO

SONNETS

O NIGHTINGALE, THAT ON YON BLOOMY SPRAY

DONNA LEGGIADRA IL CUI BEL NOME HONORA

QUAL IN COLLE ASPRO, AL IMBRUNIR DI SERA

CANZONE

RIDONSI DONNE E GIOVANI AMOROSI

PER CERTO I BEI VOSTR’OCCH DONNA MIA

GIOVANE PIANO, E SEMPLICETTO AMANTE

HOW SOON HATH TIME THE SUTTLE THEEF OF YOUTH

CAPTAIN OR COLONEL, OR KNIGHT IN ARMS

LADY THAT IN THE PRIME OF EARLIEST YOUTH

DAUGHTER TO THAT GOOD EARL, ONCE PRESIDENT

OTHER POEMS

ARCADES

LYCIDAS

COMUS: A MASK

LATIN POEMS

TRIBUTES (LATIN)

ELEGIARUM

ELEGIA PRIMA

ELEGIA SECUNDA

ELEGIA TERTIA

ELEGIA QUARTA

ELEGIA QUINTA

ELEGIA SEXTA

ELEGIA SEPTIMA

HAEC EGO MENTE

IN PRODITIONEM BOMBARDICAM

IN EANDEM

IN EANDEM

IN EANDEM

IN INVENTOREM BOMBARDÆ

AD LEONORAM

AD EANDEM

AD EANDEM

SYLVARUM

ANNO ÆTATIS 16.

IN QUINTUM NOVEMBRIS.

ANNO ÆTATIS 17.

NATURAM NON PATI SENIUM.

DE IDEA PLATONICA.

AD PATREM.

AD SALSILLUM.

SCAZONTES

MANSUS.

Milton, close to the time of publication

ENGLISH POEMS

ON THE MORNING OF CHRISTS NATIVITY

Compos’d 1629

I

This is the Month, and this the happy mornWherein 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,   5That 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,   10To 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   15Afford 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,   20And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright?

IV

See how from far upon the Eastern rodeThe Star-led Wisards haste with odours sweet:O run, prevent them with thy humble ode,And lay it lowly at his blessed feet;   25Have 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,   30All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies;Nature in aw to himHad doff’t her gawdy trim,With her great Master so to sympathize:It was no season then for her   35To wanton with the Sun her lusty Paramour.

II

Onely with speeches fairShe woo’s the gentle AirTo hide her guilty front with innocent Snow,And on her naked shame,   40Pollute with sinfull blame,The Saintly Vail of Maiden white to throw,Confounded, that her Makers eyesShould look so neer upon her foul deformities.

III

But he her fears to cease,   45Sent down the meek-eyd Peace,She crown’d with Olive green, came softly slidingDown through the turning sphear,His ready Harbinger,With Turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing,   50And waving wide her mirtle wand,She strikes a universall Peace through Sea and Land.

IV

No War, or Battails soundWas heard the World around:The idle spear and shield were high up hung;   55The hooked Chariot stoodUnstain’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 nightWherin the Prince of lightHis raign of peace upon the earth began:The Windes, with wonder whist,Smoothly the waters kist,   65Whispering 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 amazeStand fixt in stedfast gaze,   70Bending one way their pretious influence,And will not take their flight,For all the morning light,Or Lucifer that often warn’d them thence;But in their glimmering Orbs did glow,   75Untill their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.

VII

And though the shady gloomHad given day her room,The Sun himself with-held his wonted speed,And hid his head for shame,   80As his inferiour flame,The new-enlightn’d world no more should need;He saw a greater Sun appearThen his bright Throne, or burning Axletree could bear.

VIII

The Shepherds on the Lawn,   85Or ere the point of dawn,Sate simply chatting in a rustick row;Full little thought they than,That the mighty PanWas kindly com to live with them below;   90Perhaps their loves, or els their sheep,Was all that did their silly thoughts so busie keep.

IX

When such musick sweetTheir hearts and ears did greet,As never was by mortall finger strook,   95Divinely-warbled voiceAnswering 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 soundBeneath the hollow roundOf Cynthia’s seat, the Airy region thrilling,Now was almost wonTo think her part was don,   105And that her raign had here its last fulfilling;She knew such harmony aloneCould hold all Heav’n and Earth in happier union.

XI

At last surrounds their sightA Globe of circular light,   110That with long beams the shame-fac’t night array’d,The helmed CherubimAnd sworded SeraphimAre seen in glittering ranks with wings displaid,Harping in loud and solemn quire,   115With 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   120His constellations set,And the well-balanc’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,   125Once bless our human ears,(If ye have power to touch our senses so)And let your silver chimeMove in melodious time;And let the Base of Heav’ns deep Organ blow,   130And with your ninefold harmonyMake up full consort to th’ Angelike symphony.

XIV

For if such holy SongEnwrap our fancy long,Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold,   135And speckl’d vanityWill sicken soon and die,And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould,And Hell itself will pass away,And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.   140

XV

Yea Truth, and Justice thenWill down return to men,Th’ enameld Arras of the Rainbow wearing,And Mercy set between,Thron’d in Celestiall sheen,   145With 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,   150The Babe lies yet in smiling Infancy,That on the bitter crossMust redeem our loss;So both himself and us to glorifie:Yet first to those ychain’d in sleep,   155The wakefull trump of doom must thunder through the deep,

XVII

With such a horrid clangAs on mount Sinai rangWhile the red fire, and smouldring clouds out brake:The aged Earth agast   160With 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   165Full and perfect is,But now begins; for from this happy dayTh’ old Dragon under ground,In straiter limits bound,Not half so far casts his usurped sway,   170And wrath to see his Kingdom fail,Swindges the scaly Horrour of his foulded tail.

XIX

The Oracles are dumm,No voice or hideous hummRuns through the arched roof in words deceiving.   175Apollo from his shrineCan 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 daleEdg’d with poplar pale,   185The parting Genius is with sighing sent,With flowre-inwov’n tresses tornThe Nimphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.

XXI

In consecrated Earth,And on the holy Hearth,   190The Lars, and Lemures moan with midnight plaint,In Urns, and Altars round,A drear, and dying soundAffrights the Flamins at their service quaint;And the chill Marble seems to sweat,   195While 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,   200Heav’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,   205Hath 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;   210The brutish gods of Nile as fast,Isis and Orus, and the Dog Anubis hast.

XXIV

Nor is Osiris seenIn Memphian Grove, or Green,Trampling the unshowr’d Grasse with lowings loud:   215Nor can he be at restWithin his sacred chest,Naught but profoundest Hell can be his shroud:In vain with Timbrel’d Anthems darkThe sable-stoled Sorcerers bear his worshipt Ark.   220

XXV

He feels from Juda’s landThe dredded Infants hand,The rayes of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn;Nor all the gods beside,Longer dare abide,   225Nor Typhon huge ending in snaky twine:Our Babe, to shew his Godhead true,Can in his swadling bands controul the damned crew.

XXVI

So when the Sun in bed,Curtain’d with cloudy red,   230Pillows his chin upon an Orient wave.The flocking shadows paleTroop to th’ infernall jail,Each fetter’d Ghost slips to his severall grave,And the yellow-skirted Fayes   235Fly after the Night-steeds, leaving their Moon-lov’d maze.

XXVII

But see the Virgin blest,Hath laid her Babe to rest.Time is our tedious Song should here have ending,

A PARAPHRASE ON PSALM 114

This and the following Psalm were don by the Author at fifteen yeers old.

WHen the blest seed of Terah’s faithfull Son,After long toil their liberty had won,And past from Pharian fields to Canaan Land,Led by the strength of the Almighties hand,Jehovah’s wonders were in Israel shown,   5His praise and glory was in Israel known.That saw the troubl’d Sea, and shivering fled,And sought to hide his froth-becurled headLow in the earth, Jordans clear streams recoil,As a faint host that hath receiv’d the foil.   10The high, huge-bellied Mountains skip like RamsAmongst their Ews, the little Hills like Lambs.Why fled the Ocean? And why skipt the Mountains?Why turned Jordan toward his Crystall Fountains?Shake earth, and at the presence be agast   15Of him that ever was, and ay shall last,That glassy flouds from rugged rocks can crush,And make soft rills from the fiery flint-stones gush.

PSALM 136

Let us with a gladsom mindPraise the Lord, for he is kind,For his mercies ay endure,Ever faithfull, ever sure.

Let us blaze his Name abroad,   5For of gods he is the God;For, &c.

O let us his praises tell,That doth the wrathfull tyrants quell.   10For, &c.

That with his miracles doth makeAmazed Heav’n and Earth to shake.For, &c.   15

That by his wisdom did createThe painted Heav’ns so full of state.For his, &c.   20

That did the solid Earth ordainTo rise above the watry plain.For his, &c.

That by his all-commanding might,   25Did fill the new-made world with light.

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,   5In Wintry solstice like the shortn’d lightSoon 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,   10Dangers, and snares, and wrongs, and worse then so,Which he for us did freely undergoMost perfect Heroe, try’d in heaviest plightOf labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight.

III

He sov’ran Priest stooping his regall head   15That 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,   20Then lies him meekly down fast by his Brethrens side.

IV

These latter scenes confine my roving vers,To this Horizon is my Phœbus bound,His Godlike acts, and his temptations fierce,And former sufferings other where are found;   25Loud o’re the rest Cremona’s Trump doth sound;Me softer airs befit, and softer stringsOf Lute, or Viol still, more apt for mournful things.

V

Befriend me night best Patroness of grief,Over the Pole thy thickest mantle throw,   30And work my flatter’d 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.   35

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;   40There doth my soul in holy vision sitIn pensive trance, and anguish, and ecstatick fit.

VII

Mine eye hath found that sad Sepulchral rockThat was the Casket of Heav’ns richest store,And here though grief my feeble hands up-lock,   45Yet on the softned Quarry would I scoreMy plaining vers as lively as before;For sure so well instructed are my tears,That they would fitly fall in order’d Characters.

VIII

Or should I thence hurried on viewles wing,   50Take up a weeping on the Mountains wilde,The gentle neighbourhood of grove and springWould soon unboosom all thir Echoes milde,And I (for grief is easily beguild)Might think th’ infection of my sorrows loud,   55Had got a race of mourners on som pregnant cloud.

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,   5And 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,   10Then long Eternity shall greet our blissWith an individual kiss;And Joy shall overtake us as a flood,When every thing that is sincerely goodAnd perfectly divine,   15With Truth, and Peace, and Love shall ever shineAbout the supreme ThroneOf him, t’ whose happy-making sight alone,When once our heav’nly-guided soul shall clime,Then all this Earthy grosnes quit,   20Attir’d with Stars, we shall for ever sit,Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee O Time.

UPON THE CIRCUMCISION

Ye flaming Powers, and winged Warriours bright,That erst with Musick, and triumphant songFirst heard by happy watchful Shepherds ear,So sweetly sung your Joy the Clouds alongThrough the soft silence of the list’ning night;   5Now mourn, and if sad share with us to bearYour fiery essence can distill no tear,Burn in your sighs, and borrowSeas wept from our deep sorrow,He who with all Heav’ns heraldry whileare   10Enter’d the world, now bleeds to give us ease;Alas, how soon our sinSore doth beginHis Infancy to sease!

O more exceeding love or law more just?   15Just law indeed, but more exceeding love!For we by rightfull doom remedilesWere lost in death, till he that dwelt aboveHigh thron’d in secret bliss, for us frail dustEmptied his glory, ev’n to nakednes;   20And that great Cov’nant which we still transgressIntirely satisfi’d,And the full wrath besideOf vengeful Justice bore for our excess,And seals obedience first with wounding smart   25This day, but O ere longHuge pangs and strong

AT A SOLEMN MUSIC

Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav’ns joy,Sphear-born harmonious Sisters, Voice, and Vers,Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employDead things with inbreath’d sense able to pierce,And to our high-rais’d phantasie present,   5That undisturbed Song of pure concent,Ay sung before the saphire-colour’d throneTo him that sits theronWith Saintly shout, and solemn Jubily,Where the bright Seraphim in burning row   10Their loud up-lifted Angel trumpets blow,And the Cherubick host in thousand quiresTouch their immortal Harps of golden wires,With those just Spirits that wear victorious Palms,Hymns devout and holy Psalms   15Singing everlastingly;That we on Earth with undiscording voiceMay rightly answer that melodious noise;As once we did, till disproportion’d sinJarr’d against natures chime, and with harsh din   20Broke the fair musick that all creatures madeTo their great Lord, whose love their motion sway’dIn perfect Diapason, whilst they stoodIn first obedience, and their state of good.O may we soon again renew that Song,   25And keep in tune with Heav’n, till God ere longTo his celestial consort us unite,

AN EPITAPH ON THE MARCHIONESS OF WINCHESTER

This rich Marble doth enterrThe honour’d Wife of Winchester,A Vicounts daughter, an Earls heir,Besides what her vertues fairAdded to her noble birth,   5More then she could own from Earth.Summers three times eight save oneShe had told, alas too soon,After so short time of breath,To house with darknes, and with death.   10Yet had the number of her daysBin as compleat as was her praise,Nature and fate had had no strifeIn giving limit to her life.Her high birth, and her graces sweet,   15Quickly found a lover meet;The Virgin quire for her requestThe God that sits at marriage feast;He at their invoking cameBut with a scarce-wel-lighted flame;   20And in his Garland as he stood,Ye might discern a Cipress bud.Once had the early Matrons runTo greet her of a lovely son,And now with second hope she goes,   25And calls Lucina to her throws;But whether by mischance or blameAtropos for Lucina came;And with remorsles cruelty,Spoil’d at once both fruit and tree:   30The haples Babe before his birthHad burial, yet not laid in earth,And the languisht Mothers WombWas not long a living Tomb.So have I seen som tender slip   35Sav’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 flowrNew shot up from vernall showr;   40But the fair blossom hangs the headSide-ways as on a dying bed,And those Pearls of dew she wears,Prove to be presaging tearsWhich the sad morn had let fall   45On her hast’ning funerall.Gentle Lady may thy gravePeace and quiet ever have;After this thy travail soreSweet rest sease thee evermore,   50That to give the world encrease,Shortned hast thy own lives lease,Here besides the sorrowingThat thy noble House doth bring,Here be tears of perfect moan   55Weept 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;   60Whilst thou bright Saint high sit’st in glory,Next her much like to thee in story,That fair Syrian Shepherdess,Who after yeers of barrennesThe highly favour’d Joseph bore   65To him that serv’d for her before,And at her next birth much like thee,Through pangs fled to felicity,Far within the boosom brightOf blazing Majesty and Light,   70There with thee, new welcom Saint,Like fortunes may her soul acquaint,With thee there clad in radiant sheen,

SONG ON MAY MORNING

Now the bright morning Star, Dayes harbinger,Comes dancing from the East, and leads with herThe Flowry May, who from her green lap throwsThe yellow Cowslip, and the pale Primrose.Hail bounteous May that dost inspire   5Mirth 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 SHAKESPEARE. 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 hidUnder a Star-ypointing Pyramid?Dear son of memory, great heir of Fame,   5What need’st thou such weak witnes of thy name?Thou in our wonder and astonishmentHast built thy self a live-long Monument.For whilst to th’ shame of slow-endeavouring art,Thy easie numbers flow, and that each heart   10Hath 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,   15That Kings for such a Tomb would wish to die.

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,   5Death 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;   10But 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 ChamberlinShew’d him his room where he must lodge that night,   15Pull’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 rotWhile he might still jogg on, and keep his trot,Made of sphear-metal, never to decayUntill his revolution was at stay.   5Time 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,   10Rest that gives all men life, gave him his death,And too much breathing put him out of breath,Nor were it contradiction to affirmToo long vacation hastned on his term.Meerly to drive the time away he sickn’d,   15Fainted, and died, nor would with Ale be quickn’d;Nay, quoth he, on his swooning bed outstretch’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.   20Ease 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)   25As 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 dateIn cours reciprocal, and had his fate   30Linkt to the mutual flowing of the Seas,Yet (strange to think) his wain was his increase:His Letters are deliver’d all and gon,

L’ALLEGRO

Hence loathed MelancholyOf Cerberus, and blackest midnight born,In Stygian Cave forlorn‘Mongst horrid shapes, and shreiks, and sights unholy,Find out som uncouth cell,   5Wher 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 birthWith two sister Graces more   15To 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,   20There 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   25Jest 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;   30Sport that wrincled Care derides,And Laughter holding both his sides.Com, and trip it as ye goOn the light fantastick toe,And in thy right hand lead with thee,   35The Mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty;And if I give thee honour due,Mirth, admit me of thy crueTo live with her, and live with thee,In unreproved pleasures free;   40To 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,   45And 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,   50And 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,   55Through the high wood echoing shrill.Som time walking not unseenBy Hedge-row Elms, on Hillocks green,Right against the Eastern gate,Wher the great Sun begins his state,   60Rob’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,   65And the Mower whets his sithe,And every Shepherd tells his taleUnder the Hawthorn in the dale.*Streit mine eye hath caught new pleasuresWhilst the Lantskip round it measures,   70Russet Lawns, and Fallows Gray,Where the nibling flocks do stray,Mountains on whose barren brestThe labouring clouds do often rest:Meadows trim with Daisies pide,   75Shallow Brooks, and Rivers wide.Towers, and Battlements it seesBoosom’d high in tufted Trees,Wher perhaps som beauty lies,The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes.   80Hard by, a Cottage chimney smokes,From betwixt two aged Okes,Where Corydon and Thyrsis met,Are at their savory dinner setOf Hearbs, and other Country Messes,   85Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses;And then in haste her Bowre she leaves,With Thestylis to bind the Sheaves;Or if the earlier season leadTo the tann’d Haycock in the Mead,   90Som times with secure delightThe up-land Hamlets will invite,When the merry Bells ring round,And the jocond rebecks soundTo many a youth, and many a maid,   95Dancing in the Chequer’d shade;And young and old com forth to playOn a Sunshine Holyday,Till the live-long day-light fail,Then to the Spicy Nut-brown Ale,   100With 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 ledTells how the drudging Goblin swet   105To ern his Cream-bowle duly set,When in one night, ere glimps of morn,His shadowy Flale hath thresh’d the CornThat ten day-labourers could not end,Then lies him down the Lubbar Fend.   110And 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,   115By 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,   120With store of Ladies, whose bright eiesRain influence, and judge the priseOf Wit, or Arms, while both contendTo win her Grace, whom all commend.There let Hymen oft appear   125In Saffron robe, with Taper clear,And pomp, and feast, and revelry,With mask, and antique Pageantry,Such sights as youthfull Poets dreamOn Summer eeves by haunted stream.   130Then 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,   135Lap me in soft Lydian Aires,Married to immortal verse,Such as the meeting soul may pierceIn notes, with many a winding boutOf lincked sweetnes long drawn out,   140With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,The melting voice through mazes running;Untwisting all the chains that tyThe hidden soul of harmony.That Orpheus self may heave his head   145From golden slumber on a bedOf heapt Elysian flowres, and hearSuch streins as would have won the earOf Pluto, to have quite set freeHis half regain’d Eurydice.

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,   5And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess,As thick and numberlessAs the gay motes that people the Sun Beams,Or likest hovering dreamsThe fickle Pensioners of Morpheus train.   10

But hail thou Goddes, sage and holy,Hail divinest Melancholy,Whose Saintly visage is too brightTo hit the Sense of human sight;And therfore to our weaker view,   15Ore laid with black staid Wisdoms hue.Black, but such as in esteem,Prince Memnons sister might beseem,Or that Starr’d Ethiope Queen that stroveTo set her beauties praise above   20The 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,   25Such mixture was not held a stain).Oft in glimmering Bowres, and gladesHe met her, and in secret shadesOf woody Ida’s inmost grove,While yet there was no fear of Jove.   30Com 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,   35Over 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:   40There held in holy passion still,Forget thy self to Marble, tillWith a sad Leaden downward cast,Thou fix them on the earth as fast.And joyn with thee calm Peace, and Quiet,   45Spare 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;   50But 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,   55‘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;   60Sweet Bird that shunn’st the noise of folly,Most musicall, most melancholy!Thee Chauntress oft the Woods among,I woo to hear thy eeven-Song;And missing thee, I walk unseen   65On the dry smooth-shaven Green,To behold the wandring Moon,Riding neer her highest noon,Like one that had bin led astrayThrough the Heav’ns wide pathles way;   70And 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,   75Swinging slow with sullen roar;Or if the Ayr will not permit,Som still removed place will fit,Where glowing Embers through the roomTeach light to counterfeit a gloom,   80Far from all resort of mirth,Save the Cricket on the hearth,Or the Belmans drousie charm,To bless the dores from nightly harm:Or let my Lamp at midnight hour,   85Be seen in som high lonely Towr,Where I may oft out-watch the Bear,With thrice great Hermes, or unsphearThe spirit of Plato to unfoldWhat Worlds, or what vast Regions hold   90The immortal mind that hath forsookHer mansion in this fleshly nook:And of those Dæmons that are foundIn fire, air, flood, or under ground,Whose power hath a true consent   95With Planet, or with Element.Som time let Gorgeous TragedyIn Scepter’d Pall com sweeping by,Presenting Thebs, or Pelops line,Or the tale of Troy divine.   100Or what (though rare) of later age,Ennobled hath the Buskind stage.But, O sad Virgin, that thy powerMight raise Musæus from his bower,Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing   105Such 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 toldThe story of Cambuscan bold,   110Of 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;   115And 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.   120Thus 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,   125While 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.   130And when the Sun begins to flingHis flaring beams, me Goddes bringTo arched walks of twilight groves,And shadows brown that Sylvan lovesOf Pine, or monumental Oake,   135Where 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,   140Hide me from Day’s garish eie,While the Bee with Honied thie,That at her flowry work doth sing,And the Waters murmuringWith such consort as they keep,   145Entice 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.   150And as I wake, sweet musick breathAbove, about, or underneath,Sent by som spirit to mortals good,Or th’ unseen Genius of the Wood.But let my due feet never fail,   155To 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.   160There 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,   165And bring all Heav’n before mine eyes.And may at last my weary ageFind out the peacefull hermitage,The Hairy Gown and Mossy Cell,Where I may sit and rightly spell,   170Of every Star that Heav’n doth shew,And every Herb that sips the dew;Till old experience do attainTo somthing like Prophetic strain.These pleasures Melancholy give,

SONNETS

O NIGHTINGALE, THAT ON YON BLOOMY SPRAY

O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy SprayWarbl’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,   5First heard before the shallow Cuccoo’s billPortend success in love; O if Jove’s willHave linkt that amorous power to thy soft lay,

Now timely sing, ere the rude Bird of HateForetell my hopeles doom in som Grove ny:   10As thou from yeer to yeer hast sung too late

For my relief; yet hadst no reason why,Whether the Muse, or Love call thee his mate,Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

DONNA LEGGIADRA IL CUI BEL NOME HONORA

Donna leggiadra il cui bel nome honoraL’herbosa val di Rheno, e il nobil varco,Ben è colui d’ogni valore scarcoQual tuo spirto gentil non innamora,

Che dolcemente mostra si di fuora   5De suoi atti soavi giamai parco,E i don’, che son d’amor saette ed arco,La onde l’alta tua virtù s’infiora.

Quando tu vaga parli, o lieta cantiChe mover possa duro alpestre legno,   10Guardi ciascun a gli occhi, ed a gli orecchi

L’entrata, chi di te si truova indegno;Gratia sola di su gli vaglia, inantiChe’l disio amoroso al cuor s’invecchi.

QUAL IN COLLE ASPRO, AL IMBRUNIR DI SERA

Qual in colle aspro, al imbrunir di seraL’avezza giovinetta pastorellaVa bagnando l’herbetta strana e bellaChe mal si spande a disusata spera

Fuor di sua natia alma primavera,Cosi Amor meco insù la lingua snellaDesta il fior novo de strania favella,Mentre io di te, vezzosamente altera,

Canto, dal mio buon popol non intesoE’l bel Tamigi cangio col bel Arno.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 senoA chi pianta dal ciel si buon terreno.

CANZONE

RIDONSI DONNE E GIOVANI AMOROSI

Ridonsi Donne E Giovani AmorosiM’accostandosi attorno, e perche scrivi,Perche tu scrivi in lingua ignota e stranaVerseggiando d’amor, e come t’osi?Dinne, se la tua speme si mai vana,   5E de pensieri lo miglior t’arrivi;Cosi mi van burlando, altri riviAltri lidi t’aspettan, & altre ondeNelle cui verdi spondeSpuntati ad hor, ad hora la tua chioma   10L’immortal guiderdon d’eterne frondiPerche alle spalle tue soverchia soma?Canzon dirotti, e tu per me rispondiDice mia Donna, e’l suo dir, è il mio cuoreQuesta è lingua di cui si vanta Amore.   15

PER CERTO I BEI VOSTR’OCCH DONNA MIA

Per certo i bei vostr’occh Donna miaEsser non puo che non sian lo mio soleSì mi percuoton forte, come ei suolePer l’arene di Libia chi s’invia,

Mentre un caldo vapor (ne senti pria)   5Da quel lato si spinge ove mi duole,Che forse amanti nelle lor paroleChiaman sospir; io non so che si sia:

Parte rinchiusa, e turbida si celaScosso mi il petto, e poi n’uscendo poco   10Quivi d’attorno o s’agghiaccia, o s’ingiela;

Ma quanto a gli occhi giunge a trovar locoTutte le notti a me suol far piovoseFinche mia Alba rivien colma di rose.

GIOVANE PIANO, E SEMPLICETTO AMANTE

Giovane piano, e semplicetto amantePoi che fuggir me stesso in dubbio sono,Madonna a voi del mio cuor l’humil donoFarò divoto; io certo a prove tante

L’hebbi fedele, intrepido, costante,   5De 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   10Quanto d’ingegno, e d’alto valor vago,

E di cetra sonora,e delle muse:Sol troverete in tal parte men duroOve amor mise l’insanabil ago.

HOW SOON HATH TIME THE SUTTLE THEEF OF YOUTH

How soon hath Time the suttle theef of youth,Stoln on his wing my three and twentieth 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,   5That 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   10To 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.

CAPTAIN OR COLONEL, OR KNIGHT IN ARMS

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   5That 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   10The house of Pindarus, when Temple and Towre

Went to the ground: and the repeated airOf sad Electra’s Poet had the powerTo save th’ Athenian Walls from ruine bare.

LADY THAT IN THE PRIME OF EARLIEST YOUTH

Lady that in the prime of earliest youth,Wisely hast 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,   5Chosen 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 attendsTo fill thy odorous Lamp with deeds of light,   10And Hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be sure

Thou, when the Bridegroom with his feastfull friendsPasses to bliss at the mid hour of night,Hast gain’d thy entrance, Virgin wise and pure.

DAUGHTER TO THAT GOOD EARL, ONCE PRESIDENT

Daughter to that good Earl, once PresidentOf 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   5Broke him, as that dishonest victoryAt Chæronéa,fatal to liberty,Kil’d with report that Old man eloquent,

Though later born, then to have known the dayesWherin your Father flourisht, yet by you   10Madam, 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.

OTHER POEMS

ARCADES

Part of an entertainment presented to the Countess Dowager of Darby at Harefield,by some Noble persons of her Family, who appear on the Scene in pastoral habit, moving toward the seat of State, with this Song.

1. SONG.

Look Nymphs, and Shepherds look, What sudden blaze of majestyIs that which we from hence descryToo divine to be mistook:This this is she   5To 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   10Of 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,   15Shooting 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,   20Or the towred Cybele,Mother of a hunderd gods;Juno dare’s not give her odds;Who had thought this clime had heldA deity so unparalel’d?   25

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 sprungOf that renowned flood, so often sung,Divine Alpheus, who by secret sluse,   30Stole 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 intentWas all in honour and devotion ment   35To the great Mistres of yon princely shrine,Whom with low reverence I adore as mine,And with all helpful service will complyTo further this nights glad solemnity;And lead ye where ye may more neer behold   40What shallow-searching Fame hath left untold;Which I full oft amidst these shades aloneHave sate to wonder at, and gaze upon:For know by lot from Jove I am the powrOf this fair Wood, and live in Oak’n bowr,   45To nurse the Saplings tall, and curl the groveWith 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,   50And 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 roundOver the mount, and all this hallow’d ground,   55And early ere the odorous breath of mornAwakes the slumbring leaves, or tasseld hornShakes the high thicket, haste I all about,Number my ranks, and visit every sproutWith puissant words, and murmurs made to bless,   60But els in deep of night when drowsinesHath lockt up mortal sense, then listen ITo the celestial Sirens harmony,That sit upon the nine enfolded SphearsAnd sing to those that hold the vital shears   65And 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,   70And the low world in measur’d motion drawAfter the heavenly tune, which none can hearOf human mould with grosse unpurged ear;And yet such musick worthiest were to blazeThe peerles height of her immortal praise,   75Whose lustre leads us, and for her most fit,If my inferior hand or voice could hitInimitable sounds, yet as we go,What ere the skill of lesser gods can show,I will assay, her worth to celebrate,   80And so attend ye toward her glittering state;Where ye may all that are of noble stemmApproach, and kiss her sacred vestures hemm.

2. SONG.

O’Re the smooth enameld greenWhere no print of step hath been,   85Follow me as I sing,And touch the warbled string.

Under the shady roofOf branching Elm Star-proof,Follow me,   90I will bring you where she sits,Clad in splendor as befitsHer deity.Such a rural QueenArcadia hath not seen.   95

3. SONG.

NYmphs and Shepherds dance no moreBy sandy Ladons Lillied banks.On old Lycæus or Cyllene hoar,Trip no more in twilight ranks,Through Erymanth your loss deplore,   100A better soyl shall give ye thanks.From the stony Mænalus,Bring your Flocks, and live with us,Here ye shall have greater grace,To serve the Lady of this place.   105Though Syrinx your Pans Mistres were,Yet Syrinx well might wait on her.Such a rural QueenAll Arcadia hath not seen.

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 fortels the ruine of our corrupted Clergy then in their height.

Yet once more, O ye Laurels, and once moreYe 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.   5Bitter 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   10Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.He must not flote upon his watry bearUnwept, and welter to the parching wind,Without the meed of som melodious tear.

Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well,   15That 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 MuseWith lucky words favour my destin’d Urn,   20And 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   25Under the opening eye-lids of the morn,We drove a field, and both together heardWhat 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   30Toward 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,   35And old Damœtas 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,   40And 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,   45Or 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   50Clos’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:   55Ay 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 sonWhom Universal nature did lament,   60When 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 careTo tend the homely slighted Shepherds trade,   65And 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 Neæra’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,   75And slits the thin spun life. But not the praise,Phœbus repli’d, and touch’d my trembling ears;Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil,Nor in the glistering foilSet off to th’ world, nor in broad rumour lies,   80But 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 flood,   85Smooth-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 SeaThat came in Neptune’s plea,   90He 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 wingsThat blows from off each beaked Promontory,They knew not of his story,   95And 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   100Built 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   105Like 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?   115Of 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 holdA Sheep-hook, or have learn’d ought els the least   120That to the faithfull Herdmans art belongs!What recks it them? What need they? They are sped;And when they list, their lean and flashy songsGrate on their scrannel Pipes of wretched straw,