No More Learning

Full six chill winters would the child have seen
Had her life only six days longer been.
Sweet child, with our lost friends to guard thee, play,
And lisp my name in thine own prattling way.
Soft be the turf that shrouds her! Tenderly
Rest on her, earth, for she trod light on thee.




_III. --Poems on Friendship and Life_


A WORTHY FRIEND

If there be one to rank with those few friends
Whom antique faith and age-long fame attends;
If, steeped in Latin or Athenian lore,
There be a good man truthful at the core;
If one who guards the right and loves the fair,
Who could not utter an unworthy prayer;
If one whose prop is magnanimity,
I swear, my Decianus, thou art he.


A RETROSPECT

Good comrades, Julius, have we been,
And four-and-thirty harvests seen:
We have had sweetness mixed with sour;
Yet oftener came the happy hour.
If for each day a pebble stood,
And either black or white were hued,
Then, ranged in masses separate,
The brighter ones would dominate.
If thou wouldst shun some heartaches sore,
And ward off gloom that gnaws thy core,
Grapple none closely to thy heart:
If less thy joy, then less thy smart.


GIFTS TO FRIENDS ARE NOT LOST

A cunning thief may rob your money-chest,
And cruel fire lay low an ancient home;
Debtors may keep both loan and interest;
Good seed may fruitless rot in barren loam.
A guileful mistress may your agent cheat,
And waves engulf your laden argosies;
But boons to friends can fortune's slings defeat:
The wealth you give away will never cease.


ON MAKING THE BEST OF LIFE

Julius, in friendship's scroll surpassed by none,
If life-long faith and ancient ties may count,
Nigh sixty consulates by thee have gone:
The days thou hast to live make small amount.
Defer not joys them mayst not win from fate
Judge only what is past to be thine own.
Cares with a linked chain of sorrows wait.
Mirth tarries not; but soon on wing is flown.
With both hands hold it--clasped in full embrace,
Still from thy breast it oft will glide away!
To say, "I mean to live," is folly's place:
To-morrow's life comes late; live, then, to-day.


A DAY IN ROME

(First Century A. D. )

The first two hours Rome spends on morning calls,
And with the third the busy lawyer bawls.
Into the fifth the town plies varied tasks;
The sixth, siesta; next hour closing asks.
The eighth sees bath and oil and exercise;
The ninth brings guest on dining-couch who lies.
The tenth is claimed for Martial's poetry,
When you, my friend, contrive high luxury
To please great Caesar, and fine nectar warms
The mighty hand that knows a wine-cup's charms.
Eve is the time for jest: with step so bold
My muse dare not at morn great Jove behold.


BOREDOM, VERSUS ENJOYMENT

If you and I, dear Martial, might
Enjoy our days in Care's despite,
And could control each leisure hour,
Both free to cull life's real flower,
Then should we never know the halls
Of patrons or law's wearying calls,
Or troublous court or family pride;
But we should chat or read or ride,
Play games or stroll in porch or shade,
Visit the hot baths or "The Maid. "

Such haunts should know us constantly,
Such should engage our energy.
Now neither lives his life, but he
Marks precious days that pass and flee.
These days are lost, but their amount
Is surely set to our account.
Knowledge the clue to life can give;
Then wherefore hesitate to live?


THE HAPPY LIFE

The things that make a life of ease,
Dear Martial, are such things as these:
Wealth furnished not by work but birth,
A grateful farm, a blazing hearth,
No lawsuit, seldom formal dress;
But leisure, stalwart healthiness,
A tactful candour, equal friends,
Glad guests at board which naught pretends,
No drunken nights, but sorrow free,
A bed of joy yet chastity;
Sleep that makes darkness fly apace,
So well content with destined place,
Unenvious so as not to fear
Your final day, nor wish it near.


AT THE SEASIDE

Sweet strand of genial Formiae,
Apollinaris loves to flee
From troublous thought in serious Rome,
And finds thee better than a home.
Here Thetis' face is ruffled by
A gentle wind; the waters lie
Not in dead calm, but o'er the main
A peaceful liveliness doth reign,
Bearing gay yachts before a breeze
Cool as the air that floats with ease
From purple fan of damozel
Who would the summer heat dispel.
The angler need not far away
Seek in deep water for his prey--
Your line from bed or sofa throw,
And watch the captured fish below!
How seldom, Rome, dost thou permit
Us by such joys to benefit?
How many days can one long year
Credit with wealth of Formian cheer?
We, round whom city worries swarm,
Envy our lacqueys on a farm.
Luck to you, happy slaves, affords
The joys designed to please your lords!


THE POET'S FINAL RETREAT IN SPAIN

Mayhap, my Juvenal, your feet
Stray down some noisy Roman street,
While after many years of Rome
I have regained my Spanish home.
Bilbilis, rich in steel and gold,
Makes me a rustic as of old.
With easy-going toil at will
Estates of uncouth name I till.
Outrageous lengths of sleep I take,
And oft refuse at nine to wake.
I pay myself nor more nor less
For thirty years of wakefulness!
No fine clothes here--but battered dress,
The first that comes, snatched from a press!
I rise to find a hearth ablaze
With oak the nearest wood purveys.
This is a life of jollity:
So shall I die contentedly.




PHILIP MASSINGER[Z]




A New Way to Pay Old Debts


_Persons in the Play_

LOVELL, _an English lord_
SIR GILES OVERREACH, _a cruel extortioner_
WELLBORN, _a prodigal, nephew to Sir Giles_
ALLWORTH, _a young gentleman, page to_ Lord Lovell,
_stepson to_ Lady Allworth
MARRALL, _a creature of_ Sir Giles Overreach
WILLDO, _a parson_
LADY ALLWORTH, _a rich widow_
MARGARET, _Sir Giles's daughter_

_The scene is laid in an English county_


ACT I

SCENE I. --_A room in_ OVERREACH'S _house. Enter_ OVERREACH _and_
MARRALL.

OVERREACH: This varlet, Wellborn, lives too long to upbraid me
With my close cheat put on him. Will not cold
Nor hunger kill him?

MARRALL: I've used all means; and the last night I caused
His host, the tapster, to turn him out of doors;
And since I've charged all of your friends and tenants
To refuse him even a crust of mouldy bread.

OVERREACH: Persuade him that 'tis better steal than beg:
Then, if I prove he have but robbed a hen roost,
Not all the world shall save him from the gallows.

MARRALL: I'll do my best, sir.

OVERREACH: I'm now on my main work, with the Lord Lovell;
The gallant-minded, popular Lord Lovell.
He's come into the country; and my aims
Are to invite him to my house.

MARRALL: I see.
This points at my young mistress.

OVERREACH: She must part with
That humble title, and write honourable--
Yes, Marrall, my right honourable daughter,
If all I have, or e'er shall get, will do it.

[_Exit_ OVERREACH. _Enter_ WELLBORN.

MARRALL: Before, like you, I had outlived my fortunes,
A withe had served my turn to hang myself.
Is there no purse to be cut? House to be broken?
Or market-woman with eggs that you may murder,
And so dispatch the business?

WELLBORN: Here's variety,
I must confess; but I'll accept of none
Of all your gentle offers, I assure you.
Despite the rhetoric that the fiend has taught you,
I am as far as thou art from despair.
Nay, I have confidence, which is more than hope,
To live, and suddenly, better than ever.
Come, dine with me, and with a gallant lady.

MARRALL: With the lady of the lake or queen of fairies?
For I know it must be an enchanted dinner.

WELLBORN: With the Lady Allworth, knave.

MARRALL: Nay, now there's hope
Thy brain is cracked.

WELLBORN: Mark thee with what respect
I am entertained.

MARRALL: With choice, no doubt, of dog-whips!

WELLBORN: 'Tis not far off; go with me; trust thine
eyes.

MARRALL: I will endure thy company.

WELLBORN: Come along, then.

[_Exeunt. _


SCENE II. --_The country_. MARRALL _assures_ OVERREACH _that the plot
on_ WELLBORN _succeeds. The rich_ LADY ALLWORTH _has
feasted him and is fallen in love with him; he lives to
be a greater prey than ever to_ OVERREACH. _Angered at
the information_, OVERREACH, _who has himself attempted
in vain to see her, knocks his creature down, mollifying
him afterwards with gold_.


ACT II

SCENE I. --_A chamber in_ LADY ALLWORTH'S _house_. LOVELL _and_
ALLWORTH _discovered. Having heard of the mutual attachment
of_ MARGARET _and_ ALLWORTH, LORD LOVELL _has assured the
latter that he will help bring it to a successful issue,
and that neither the beauty nor the wealth of_ SIR GILES'S
_daughter shall tempt him to betray_ ALLWORTH'S _confidence.
Enter_ MARRALL, _and with him_ SIR GILES, _who from what
he has seen of their behaviour at a dinner given by him in_
LORD LOVELL'S _honour believes that_ LOVELL _wishes to marry_
MARGARET _and that_ LADY ALLWORTH _is enamoured of_ WELLBORN.
_To further this latter match and to prosecute new designs
against_ WELLBORN _he has lent him a thousand pounds_.

OVERREACH: A good day to my lord.

LOVELL: You are an early riser, Sir Giles.

OVERREACH: And reason, to attend your lordship.
Go to my nephew, Marrall.
See all his debts discharged, and help his worship
To fit on his rich suit.

[_Exit_ MARRALL

LOVELL: I have writ this morning
A few lines to my mistress, your fair daughter.

OVERREACH: 'Twill fire her, for she's wholly yours already.
Sweet Master Allworth, take my ring; 'twill carry
To her presence, I dare warrant you; and there plead
For my good lord, if you shall find occasion.
That done, pray ride to Nottingham; get a licence
Still by this token. I'll have it dispatched,
And suddenly, my lord, that I may say
My honourable, nay, right honourable daughter.

LOVELL: Haste your return.

ALLWORTH: I will not fail, my lord.

[_Exit. _

OVERREACH: I came not to make offer with my daughter
A certain portion; that were poor and trivial:
In one word, I pronounce all that is mine,
In lands, or leases, ready coin, or goods,
With her, my lord, comes to you; nor shall you have
One motive to induce you to believe
I live too long, since every year I'll add
Something unto the heap, which shall be yours too.

LOVELL: You are a right kind father.

OVERREACH: You'll have reason
To think me such. How do you like this seat?
Would it not serve to entertain your friends?

LOVELL: A well-built pile; and she that's mistress of it,
Worthy the large revenue.

OVERREACH: She, the mistress?
It may be so for a time; but let my lord
Say only he but like it, and would have it,
I say ere long 'tis his.

LOVELL: Impossible.

OVERREACH: You do conclude too fast. 'Tis not alone
The Lady Allworth's lands; for these, once Wellborn's
(As, by her dotage on him, I know they will be),
Shall soon be mine. But point out any man's
In all the shire, and say they lie convenient
And useful for your lordship, and once more
I say aloud, they are yours.

LOVELL: I dare not own
What's by unjust and cruel means extorted:
My fame and credit are too dear to me.

OVERREACH: Your reputation shall stand as fair
In all good men's opinions as now.
All my ambition is to have my daughter
Right honourable; which my lord can make her:
And might I live to dance upon my knee
A young Lord Lovell, borne by her unto you,
I write _nil ultra_ to my proudest hopes.
I'll ruin the country to supply your waste:
The scourge of prodigals, want, shall never find you.

LOVELL: Are you not moved with the imprecations
And curses of whole families, made wretched
By these practices?

OVERREACH: Yes, as rocks are,
When foamy billows split themselves against
Their flinty ribs; or as the moon is moved
When wolves, with hunger pined, howl at her brightness.
I only think what 'tis to have my daughter
Right honourable; and 'tis a powerful charm,
Makes me insensible of remorse, or pity,
Or the least sting of conscience.

LOVELL: I admire
The toughness of your nature.

OVERREACH: 'Tis for you,
My lord, and for my daughter I am marble.
My haste commands me hence: in one word, therefore,
Is it a match, my lord?

LOVELL: I hope that is past doubt now.

OVERREACH: Then rest secure; not the hate of all mankind,
Not fear of what can fall on me hereafter,
Shall make me study aught but your advancement
One storey higher: an earl! if gold can do it. [_Exit. _

LOVELL: He's gone; I wonder how the earth can bear
Such a portent! I, that have lived a soldier,
And stood the enemy's violent charge undaunted,
Am bathed in a cold sweat.


SCENE II. --_A chamber in_ SIR GILES'S _house. Enter_ WELLBORN _and_
MARRALL.

WELLBORN: Now, Master Marrall, what's the weighty secret
You promised to impart?

MARRALL: This only, in a word: I know Sir Giles
Will come upon you for security
For his thousand pounds; which you must not consent to.
As he grows in heat (as I'm sure he will),
Be you but rough, and say, he's in your debt
Ten times the sum upon sale of your land.
The deed in which you passed it over to him
Bid him produce: he'll have it to deliver
To the Lord Lovell, with many other writings,
And present moneys. I'll instruct you farther
As I wait on your worship.

WELLBORN: I trust thee.

[_Exeunt. Enter_ MARGARET _as if in anger, followed
by_ ALLWORTH.

MARGARET: I'll pay my lord all debts due to his title;
And when with terms not taking from his honour
He does solicit me, I shall gladly hear him:
But in this peremptory, nay, commanding way,
To appoint a meeting, and without my knowledge,
Shows a confidence that deceives his lordship.

ALLWORTH: I hope better, good lady.

MARGARET: Hope, sir, what you please; I have
A father, and, without his full consent,
I can grant nothing.

[_Enter_ OVERREACH, _having overheard_.

OVERREACH _(aside)_: I like this obedience.
But whatever my lord writes must and shall be
Accepted and embraced. (_Addressing_ Allworth. ) Sweet Master Allworth,
You show yourself a true and faithful servant.
How! frowning, Meg? Are these looks to receive
A messenger from my lord? In name of madness,
What could his honour write more to content you?

MARGARET: Why, sir, I would be married like your daughter,
Not hurried away in the night, I know not whither,
Without all ceremony; no friends invited,
To honour the solemmnity.

ALLWORTH: My lord desires this privacy, in respect
His honourable kinsmen are far off;
And he desires there should be no delay.

MARGARET: Give me but in the church, and I'm content.

OVERREACH: So my lord have you, what care I who gives you?
Lord Lovell would be private, I'll not cross him.
Use my ring to my chaplain; he is beneficed
At my manor of Gotham, and called Parson Willdo.

MARGARET: What warrant is your ring? He may suppose
I got that twenty ways without your knowledge.
Your presence would do better.

OVERREACH: Still perverse!
Paper and ink there.

ALLWORTH: I can furnish you.

OVERREACH: I thank you; I can write then.

[_Writes on his book_.

ALLWORTH: You may, if you please, leave out the name of my lord,
In respect he comes disguised, and only write,
"Marry her to this gentleman. "

OVERREACH: Well advised.

[MARGARET _kneels_.

'Tis done; away--my blessing, girl? Thou hast it.

[_Exeunt_ ALLWORTH _and_ MARGARET.

OVERREACH: Farewell! Now all's cock sure.
Methink I hear already knights and ladies
Say, "Sir Giles Overreach, how is it with
Your honourable daughter? Has her honour
Slept well to-night? " Now for Wellborn
And the lands; were he once married to the widow--I
have him here. [_Exit. _


ACT III

SCENE I. --_A chamber in_ LADY ALLWORTH'S _house. Enter_ LOVELL
_and_ LADY ALLWORTH _contracted to one another. He has
told her that only a desire to promote the union of her
promising young stepson_, ALLWORTH, _with_ MARGARET
OVERREACH _tempted him into a seeming courtship of_ SIR
GILES'S _daughter. She has told him that her somewhat
exaggerated courtesies and attentions to_ WELLBORN _were
an obligation paid to one who in his prosperous days had
ventured all for her dead husband. To them enter_
WELLBORN _in a rich habit_.

LADY ALLWORTH: You're welcome, sir. Now you look like yourself.

WELLBORN: Your creature, madam. I will never hold
My life my own, when you please to command it.

LADY ALLWORTH: I'm glad my endeavours prospered. Saw you lately
Sir Giles, your uncle?

WELLBORN: I heard of him, madam,
By his minister, Marrall. He's grown into strange passions
About his daughter. This last night he looked for
Your lordship at his house; but missing you,
And she not yet appearing, his wise head
Is much perplexed and troubled.

OVERREACH (_outside_): Ha! find her, booby; thou huge lump of nothing.
I'll bore thine eyes out else.

WELLBORN: May't please your lordship,
For some ends of my own, but to withdraw
A little out of sight, though not of hearing.

LOVELL: You shall direct me.

[_Steps aside.
Enter_ OVERREACH, _with distracted looks,
driving in_ MARRALL _before him_.

OVERREACH: Lady, by your leave, did you see my daughter, lady,
And the lord, her husband? Are they in your house?
If they are, discover, that I may bid them joy;
And, as an entrance to her place of honour,
See your ladyship on her left hand, and make curt'sies
When she nods on you; which you must receive
As a special favour.

LADY ALLWORTH: When I know, Sir Giles,
Her state require such ceremony I shall pay it;
Meantime, I neither know nor care where she is.

OVERREACH: Nephew!

WELLBORN: Well.

OVERREACH: No more!

WELLBORN: 'Tis all I owe you.

OVERREACH: I am familiar with the cause that makes you
Bear up thus bravely; there's a certain buz
Of a stolen marriage--do you hear? Of a stolen marriage;
In which, 'tis said, there's somebody hath been cozened.
I name no parties.

[LADY ALLWORTH _turns away_.

WELLBORN: Well, sir, and what follows?

OVERREACH: Marry, this, since you are peremptory. Remember
Upon mere hope of your great match I lent you
A thousand pounds. Put me in good security,
And suddenly, by mortgage or by statute,
Of some of your new possessions, or I'll have you
Dragged in your lavender robes to the jail.
Shall I have security?

WELLBORN: No, indeed, you shall not:
Nor bond, nor bill, nor bare acknowledgment;
Your great looks fright not me. And whereas, sir,
You charge me with a debt of a thousand pounds,
Either restore my land, or I'll recover
A debt, that is truly due to me from you,
In value ten times more than what you challenge.

OVERREACH: Oh, monstrous impudence! Did I not purchase
The land left by thy father? [_Enter servant with a box_.
Is not here
The deed that does confirm it mine?

MARRALL: Now, now.

WELLBORN: I do acknowledge none; I ne'er passed o'er
Any such land; I grant, for a year or two,
You had it in trust; which if you do discharge,
Surrendering the possession, you shall ease
Yourself and me of chargeable suits in law.

LADY ALLWORTH: In my opinion, he advises well.

OVERREACH: Good, good; conspire with your new husband, lady.
(_To_ WELLBORN) Yet, to shut up thy mouth, and make thee give
Thyself the lie, the loud lie! I draw out
The precious evidence. (_Opens the box_. ) Ha!

LADY ALLWORTH: A fair skin of parchment.

WELLBORN: Indented, I confess, and labels too;
But neither wax nor words. How? Thunderstruck!
Is this your precious evidence, my wise uncle?

OVERREACH: What prodigy is this? What subtle devil
Hath razed out the inscription--the wax
Turned into dust? Do you deal with witches, rascal?
This juggling shall not save you.

WELLBORN: To save thee would beggar the stock of mercy.

OVERREACH: Marrall!

MARRALL: Sir.

OVERREACH (_flattering him_): Though the witnesses are dead,
Help with an oath or two; and for thy master
I know thou wilt swear anything to dash
This cunning sleight; the deed being drawn, too,
By thee, my careful Marrall, and delivered
When thou wert present, will make good my title.
Wilt thou not swear this?

MARRALL: I have a conscience not seared up like yours;
I know no deeds.

OVERREACH: Wilt thou betray me?

MARRALL: Yes, and uncase you, too. The lump of flesh,
The idiot, the patch, the slave, the booby,
The property fit only to be beaten,
Can now anatomise you, and lay open
All your black plots.

OVERREACH: But that I will live, rogue, to torture thee,
And make thee wish and kneel in vain to die,
These swords, that keep thee from me, should fix here.
I play the fool and make my anger but ridiculous.
There will be a time, and place, there will be, cowards!
When you shall feel what I dare do.
After these storms, at length a calm appears.

[_Enter_ PARSON WILLDO.

Welcome, most welcome; is the deed done?

WILLDO: Yes, I assure you.

OVERREACH: Vanish all sad thoughts!
My doubts and fears are in the titles drowned
Of my right honourable, right honourable daughter.
A lane there for my lord!

[_Loud music. Enter_ ALLWORTH, MARGARET, _and_ LOVELL.

MARGARET: Sir, first your pardon, then your blessing, with
Your full allowance of the choice I have made.
(_Kneeling_) This is my husband.

OVERREACH: How?

ALLWORTH: So I assure you.

OVERREACH: Devil! Are they married?

WILLDO: They are married, sir; but why this rage to me?
Is not this your letter, sir? And these the words,
"Marry her to this gentleman"?

OVERREACH: I never will believe it, 'death! I will not;
That I should be gulled, baffled, fooled, defeated
By children, all my hopes and labours crossed.

WELLBORN: You are so, my grave uncle, it appears.

OVERREACH: Village nurses revenge their wrongs with curses,
I'll waste no words, but thus I take the life
Which, wretch, I gave to thee.

[_Offers to kill_ MARGARET.

LOVELL: Hold, for your own sake!

OVERREACH: Lord! thus I spit at thee,
And at thy counsel; and again desire thee
As thou'rt a soldier, let us quit the house
And change six words in private.

LOVELL: I am ready.

LADY ALLWORTH: Stay, sir; would you contest with
one distraited?

OVERREACH: Are you pale?
Borrow his help; though Hercules call it odds,
I'll stand against both, as I am, hemmed in thus.
Alone, I can do nothing, but I have servants
And friends to succour me; and if I make not
This house a heap of ashes, or leave one throat uncut,
Hell add to my afflictions! [_Exit. _

MARRALL: Is't not brave sport?

ALLWORTH (_to_ MARGARET): Nay, weep not, dearest,
though't express your pity.

MARRALL: Was it not a rare trick,
An't please your worship, to make the deed nothing?
I can do twenty neater, if you please
To purchase and grow rich. They are mysteries
Not to be spoke in public; certain minerals
Incorporated in the ink and wax.

WELLBORN: You are a rascal. He that dares be false
To a master, though unjust, will ne'er be true
To any other. Look not for reward
Or favour from me. Instantly begone.

MARRALL: At this haven false servants still arrive.

[_Exit. Re-enter_ OVERREACH.


WILLDO: Some little time I have spent, under your favours,
In physical studies, and, if my judgment err not,
He's mad beyond recovery.

OVERREACH: Were they a squadron of pikes, when I am mounted
Upon my injuries, shall I fear to charge them?

[_Flourishing his sword sheathed_.

I'll fall to execution--ha! I am feeble:
Some undone widow sits upon mine arm,
And takes away the use of 't! And my sword,
Glued to my scabbard with wronged orphans' tears,
Will not be drawn. Are these the hangmen?
But I'll be forced to hell like to myself;
Though you were legions of accursed spirits,
Thus would I fly among you. [_Rushes forward_.

WELLBORN: There's no help;
Disarm him first, then bind him.

MARGARET: Oh, my dear father!

[_They force_ OVERREACH _off_.

ALLWORTH: You must be patient, mistress.

LOVELL: Pray take comfort.
I will endeavour you shall be his guardians
In his distraction: and for your land, Master Wellborn,
Be it good or ill in law, I'll be an umpire
Between you and this the undoubted heir
Of Sir Giles Overreach; for me, here's the anchor
That I must fix on.

[_Takes_ LADY ALLWORTH'S _hand_.


FOOTNOTES:

[Z] Of all Shakespeare's immediate successors one of the most
powerful, as well as the most prolific, was Philip Massinger. The son
of a retainer in the household of the Earl of Pembroke, he was born
during the second half of 1583, and entered St. Alban's Hall, Oxford,
in 1602, but left without a degree four years later. Coming to London,
he appears to have mixed freely with writers for the stage, and soon
made a reputation as playwright. The full extent of his literary
activities is not known, inasmuch as a great deal of his work has
been lost. He also collaborated with other authors, particularly with
Fletcher (see Vol. XVI, p. 133) in whose grave he was buried on March
18, 1639. It is certain, however, that he wrote single-handed fifteen
plays, of which the best known is the masterly and satirical comedy,
"A New Way to Pay Old Debts. " Printed in 1633, but probably written
between 1625 and 1626, the piece retained its popularity longer than
any other of Massinger's plays. The construction is ingenious, the
dialogue witty, but the _dramatis personae_, with the exception of Sir
Giles Overreach, are feeble and without vitality.




JOHN MILTON[AA]




Paradise Lost


_I. --The Army of the Rebel Angels_

The poem opens with an invocation to the Heavenly Muse for
enlightenment and inspiration.

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 regain the blissful seat,
Sing, Heavenly Muse, that, on the secret top
Of Horeb, or of Sinai, didst inspire
That Shepherd who first taught the chosen seed
In the beginning how the heavens and earth
Rose out of Chaos; or, if Sion's hill
Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flowed
Fast by the oracle of God, I thence
Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song,
That with no middle flight intends to soar
Above the Aonian mount, while it pursues
Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.
And chiefly Thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer
Before all temples the upright heart and pure,
Instruct me, for Thou know'st; Thou from the first
Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread,
Dove-like sat'st brooding on the vast Abyss,
And mad'st it pregnant: what in me is dark
Illumine, what is low raise and support;
That, to the highth of this great argument,
I may assert Eternal Providence,
And justify the ways of God to men.

Say first--for Heaven hides nothing from thy view,
Nor the deep tract of Hell--say first what cause
Moved our grand Parents, in that happy state,
Favoured of Heaven so highly, to fall off
From their Creator, and trangress his will.

The infernal serpent; he it was whose guile,
Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived
The mother of mankind, what time his pride
Had cast him out from Heaven, with all his host
Of rebel angels. Him the Almighty Power
Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky,
With hideous ruin and combustion, down
To bottomless perdition, there to dwell
In adamantine chains and penal fire,
Who durst defy the Omnipotent to arms.

For nine days and nights the apostate Angel lay silent, "rolling in
the fiery gulf," and then, looking round, he discerned by his side
Beelzebub, "one next himself in power and next in crime. " With him he
took counsel, and rearing themselves from off the pool of fire they
found footing on a dreary plain. Walking with uneasy steps the burning
marle, the lost Archangel made his way to the shore of "that inflamed
sea," and called aloud to his associates, to "Awake, arise, or be for
ever fallen! " They heard, and gathered about him, all who were "known
to men by various names and various idols through the heathen world,"
but with looks "downcast and damp. " He--

Then straight commands that, at the warlike sound
Of trumpets loud and clarions, be upreared
His mighty standard. That proud honour claimed
Azazel as his right, a cherub tall,
Who forthwith from the glittering staff unfurled
The imperial ensign. . . .
At which the universal host up-sent
A shout that tore Hell's conclave, and beyond
Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night.

The mighty host now circled in orderly array about "their dread
Commander. "

He, above the rest
In shape and gesture proudly eminent,
Stood like a tower. His form had not yet lost
All its original brightness, nor appeared
Less than an Archangel ruined, and the excess
Of glory obscured: as when the sun new-risen
Looks through the horizontal misty air
Shorn of his beams, or, from behind the moon,
In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds
On half the nations, and with fear of change
Perplexes monarchs. Darkened so, yet shone
Above them all the Archangel. But his face
Deep scars of thunder had intrenched, and care
Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows
Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride,
Waiting revenge. . . .
He now prepared
To speak; whereat their doubled ranks they bend
From wing to wing, and half enclose him round
With all his peers. Attention held them mute.
Thrice he assayed and thrice, in spite of scorn,
Tears, such as Angels weep, burst forth; at last
Words interwove with sighs found out their way:
"O myriads of immortal Spirits! O Powers,
Matchless, but with the Almighty! --and that strife
Was not inglorious, though the event was dire,
As this place testifies, and this dire change,
Hateful to utter. But what power of mind,
Foreseeing or presaging, from the depth
Of knowledge past or present, could have feared
How such united force of gods, how such
As stood like these, could ever know repulse?
He who reigns
Monarch in Heaven till then as one secure
Sat on his throne, upheld by old repute,
Consent, or custom, and his regal state
Put forth at full, but still his strength concealed--
Which tempted our attempt, and wrought our fall.
Henceforth his might we know, and know our own,
So as not either to provoke, or dread
New war provoked. Our better part remains
To work in close design, by fraud or guile,
What force effected not; that he no less
At length from us may find, Who overcomes
By force hath overcome but half his foe.
Space may produce more Worlds, whereof so rife
There went a fame in Heaven that He ere long
Intended to create, and therein plant
A generation whom his choice regard
Should favour equal to the Sons of Heaven.
Thither, if but to pry, shall be perhaps
Our first eruption--thither, or elsewhere;
For this infernal pit shall never hold
Celestial Spirits in bondage, nor the Abyss
Long under darkness cover. But these thoughts
Full counsel must mature. Peace is despaired;
For who can think submission? War, then, war
Open or understood, must be resolved. "
He spake; and to confirm his words, out-flew
Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs
Of mighty Cherubim. The sudden blaze
Far round illumined Hell. Highly they raged.
Against the Highest, and fierce with grasped arms
Clashed on their sounding shields the din of war,
Hurling defiance toward the vault of Heaven.

The exiled host now led by Mammon, "the least erected Spirit that fell
from Heaven," proceeded to build Pandemonium, their architect being
him whom "men called Mulciber," and here

The great Seraphic Lords and Cherubim
In close recess and secret conclave sat
A thousand demi-gods on golden seats.


_II. --The Fiends' Conclave_

High on a throne of royal state, which far
Outshone the wealth of Ormus or of Ind,
Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand
Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold,
Satan exalted sat, by merit raised
To that bad eminence.

Here his compeers gathered round to advise. First Moloch, the
"strongest and the fiercest Spirit that fought in Heaven," counselled
war. Then uprose Belial--"a fairer person lost not Heaven"--and
reasoned that force was futile.

"The towers of Heaven are filled
With armed watch, that render all access
Impregnable. "

Besides, failure might lead to their annihilation, and who wished for
that?

"Who would lose,
Though full of pain, this intellectual being,
These thoughts that wander through eternity? "

They were better now than when they were hurled from Heaven, or when
they lay chained on the burning lake. Their Supreme Foe might in time
remit his anger, and slacken those raging fires. Mammon also advised
them to keep the peace, and make the best they could of Hell, a policy
received with applause; but then Beelzebub, "than whom, Satan except,
none higher sat," rose, and with a look which "drew audience and
attention still as night," developed the suggestion previously made by
Satan, that they should attack Heaven's High Arbitrator through His
new-created Man, waste his creation, and "drive as we are driven. "

"This would surpass
Common revenge, and interrupt His joy
In our confusion, and our joy upraise
In His disturbance. "

This proposal was gleefully received. But then the difficulty arose
who should be sent in search of this new world? All sat mute, till
Satan declared that he would "abroad through all the coasts of dark
destruction," a decision hailed with reverent applause. The Council
dissolved, the Infernal Peers disperse to their several employments:
some to sports, some to warlike feats, some to argument, "in wandering
mazes lost," some to adventurous discovery; while Satan wings his
way to the nine-fold gate of Hell, guarded by Sin, and her abortive
offspring, Death; and Sin, opening the gate for him to go out, cannot
shut it again. The Fiend stands on the brink, "pondering his voyage,"
while before him appear

The secrets of the hoary Deep--on dark
Illimitable ocean, without bound,
Without dimension; where length, breadth, and highth,
And time, and place, are lost; where eldest Night
And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold
Eternal anarchy.

At last he spreads his "sail-broad vans for flight," and, directed by
Chaos and sable-vested Night, comes to where he can see far off

The empyreal Heaven, once his native seat,
And, fast by, hanging in a golden chain,
This pendent World.


_III. --Satan Speeds to Earth_

An invocation to Light, and a lament for the poet's blindness now
preludes a picture of Heaven, and the Almighty Father conferring with
the only Son.

Hail, holy Light, offspring of Heaven first-born!
Bright effluence of bright essence uncreate!
Whose fountain who shall tell? Before the Sun,
Before the Heavens, thou wert, and at the voice
Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest
The rising World of waters dark and deep,
Won from the void and formless Infinite!
. . . . . . . .