John Milton

Descend from Heaven, Urania, by that name If rightly thou art called, whose voice divine Following, above the Olympian hill I soar, Above the flight of Pegasean wing! The meaning, not the name, I

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

Fairfax, whose Name in Arms through Europe rings, And fills all Mouths with Envy or with Praise, And all her Jealous Monarchs with Amaze. And Rumours loud which daunt remotest Kings, Thy firm unshaken

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stoln on his wing my three and twentieth year! My hasting days fly on wtih full career, But my late spring no bud or blossom

In this Monody the author bewails a learned Friend, unfortunately Drowned in his passage from Chester on the Irish Seas, 1637; And, by occasion, foretells the ruin of our corrupted Clergy, Then in their

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

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

I, who erewhile the happy Garden sung By one man’s disobedience lost, now sing Recovered Paradise to all mankind, By one man’s firm obedience fully tried Through all temptation, and the Tempter foiled In

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

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

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

XXII Cyriac, this three years’ day these eyes, though clear, To outward view, of blemish or of spot, Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot; Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear Of

OH how comely it is and how reviving To the Spirits of just men long opprest! When God into the hands of thir deliverer Puts invincible might To quell the mighty of the Earth,

The Angel ended, and in Adam’s ear So charming left his voice, that he a while Thought him still speaking, still stood fixed to hear; Then, as new waked, thus gratefully replied. What thanks

How lovely are thy dwellings fair! O Lord of Hoasts, how dear The pleasant Tabernacles are! Where thou do’st dwell so near. My Soul doth long and almost die Thy Courts O Lord to

Thy Land to favour graciously Thou hast not Lord been slack, Thou hast from hard Captivity Returned Jacob back. Th’ iniquity thou didst forgive That wrought thy people woe, And all their Sin, that

When I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodg’d with me useless, though my soul

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

Of Man’s first disobedience, and the fruit Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste Brought death into the World, and all our woe, With loss of Eden, till one greater Man Restore us, and

Captain, or colonel, or knight in arms, Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize, If deed of honour did thee ever please, Guard them, and him within protect from harms. He can requite

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

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

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

Hence, vain deluding Joys, …………The brood of Folly without father bred! How little you bested …………Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys! Dwell in some idle brain, …………And fancies fond with gaudy

Now Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl, When Adam waked, so customed; for his sleep Was aery-light, from pure digestion bred, And temperate vapours bland,

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.

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

O, for that warning voice, which he, who saw The Apocalypse, heard cry in Heaven aloud, Then when the Dragon, put to second rout, Came furious down to be revenged on men, Woe to

Hence, loathed Melancholy, …………Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born In Stygian cave forlorn …………’Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights Unholy! Find out some uncouth cell, …………Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, And

XXI Cyriac, whose grandsire on the royal bench Of British Themis, with no mean applause Pronounced and in his volumes taught our laws, Which others at their bar so often wrench; Today deep thoughts

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

To God our strength sing loud, and clear, Sing loud to God our King, To Jacobs God, that all may hear Loud acclamations ring. Prepare a Hymn, prepare a Song The Timbrel hither bring

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

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

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

All night the dreadless Angel, unpursued, Through Heaven’s wide champain held his way; till Morn, Waked by the circling Hours, with rosy hand Unbarred the gates of light. There is a cave Within the

Thy gracious ear, O Lord, encline, O hear me I thee pray, For I am poor, and almost pine With need, and sad decay. Preserve my soul, for *I have trod Heb. I am

HAIL holy light, ofspring of Heav’n first-born, Or of th’ Eternal Coeternal beam May I express thee unblam’d? since God is light, And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from Eternitie, dwelt then in

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

Perplexed and troubled at his bad success The Tempter stood, nor had what to reply, Discovered in his fraud, thrown from his hope So oft, and the persuasive rhetoric That sleeked his tongue, and

IT was the Winter wilde, While the Heav’n-born-childe, 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

Lady! that in the prime of earliest youth Wisely hast shunned the broad way and the green, And with those few art eminently seen, That labour up the Hill of Heavenly Truth, The better

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

O Nightingale! that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, Thou with fresh hope the lover’s heart dost fill, While the jolly hours lead on propitious May. Thy

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

I did but prompt the age to quit their clogs By the known rules of ancient liberty, When straight a barbarous noise environs me Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes, and dogs; As when

High on a throne of royal state, which far Outshone the wealth or Ormus and of Ind, Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold, Satan

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,

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

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

XXIII Methought I saw my late espoused saint Brought to me, like Alcestis, from the grave, Whom Jove’s great son to her glad husband gave, Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint.