234 lines
11 KiB
Plaintext
234 lines
11 KiB
Plaintext
1645
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SONNETS
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by John Milton
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I
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O NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy Spray
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Warbl'st at eeve, when all the Woods are still,
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Thou with fresh hope the Lovers heart dost fill,
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While the jolly hours lead on propitious May,
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Thy liquid notes that close the eye of Day,
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First heard before the shallow Cuccoo's bill
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Portend success in love; O if Jove's will
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Have linkt that amorous power to thy soft lay,
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Now timely sing, ere the rude Bird of Hate
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Foretell my hopeles doom in som Grove ny:
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As thou from yeer to yeer hast sung too late
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For my relief; yet hadst no reason why,
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Whether the Muse, or Love call thee his mate,
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Both them I serve, and of their train am I.
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VII
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How soon hath Time the suttle theef of youth,
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Stoln on his wing my three and twentith yeer!
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My hasting dayes flie on with full career,
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But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th.
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Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,
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That I to manhood am arriv'd so near,
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And inward ripenes doth much less appear,
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That som more timely-happy spirits indu'th.
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Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,
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It shall be still in strictest measure eev'n,
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To that same lot, however mean, or high,
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Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heav'n;
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All is, if I have grace to use it so,
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As ever in my great task Masters eye.
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VIII
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Captain or Colonel, or Knight in Arms,
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Whose chance on these defenceless dores may sease,
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If ever deed of honour did thee please,
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Guard them, and him within protect from harms,
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He can requite thee, for he knows the charms
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That call Fame on such gentle acts as these,
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And he can spred thy Name o're Lands and Seas,
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What ever clime the Suns bright circle warms.
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Lift not thy spear against the Muses Bowre,
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The great Emathian Conqueror bid spare
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The house of Pindarus, when Temple and Towre
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Went to the ground: And the repeated air
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Of sad Electra's Poet had the power
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To save th' Athenian Walls from ruine bare.
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IX
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Lady that in the prime of earliest youth,
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Wisely hath shun'd the broad way and the green,
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And with those few art eminently seen,
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That labour up the Hill of heav'nly Truth,
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The better part with Mary and with Ruth,
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Chosen thou hast, and they that overween,
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And at thy growing vertues fret their spleen,
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No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth.
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Thy care is fixt and zealously attends
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To fill thy odorous Lamp with deeds of light,
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And Hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be sure
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Thou, when the Bridegroom with his feastfull friends
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Passes to bliss at the mid hour of night,
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Hast gain'd thy entrance, Virgin wise and pure.
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X
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Daughter to that good Earl, once President
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Of Englands Counsel, and her Treasury,
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Who liv'd in both, unstain'd with gold or fee,
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And left them both, more in himself content,
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Till the sad breaking of that Parlament
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Broke him, as that dishonest victory
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At Chaeronea, fatal to liberty
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Kil'd with report that Old man eloquent,
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Though later born, then to have known the dayes
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Wherin your Father flourisht, yet by you
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Madam, me thinks I see him living yet;
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So well your words his noble vertues praise,
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That all both judge you to relate them true,
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And to possess them, Honour'd Margaret.
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XI
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A Book was writ of late call'd Tetrachordon;
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And wov'n close, both matter, form and stile;
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The Subject new: it walk'd the Town a while,
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Numbring good intellects; now seldom por'd on.
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Cries the staff-reader, bless us! what a word on
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A title page is this! and some in file
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Stand spelling fals, while one might walk to Mile-
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End Green. Why is it harder Sirs then Gordon,
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Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or Galasp?
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Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek
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That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp.
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Thy age, like ours, O Soul of Sir John Cheek,
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Hated Learning wors then Toad or Asp;
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When thou taught'st Cambridge, and King Edward Greek.
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XII
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On the same
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I did but prompt the age to quit their cloggs
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By the known rules of antient libertie,
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When strait a barbarous noise environs me
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Of Owles and Cuckoes, Asses, Apes and Doggs.
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As when those Hinds that were transform'd to Froggs
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Raild at Latona's twin-born progenie
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Which after held the Sun and Moon in fee.
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But this is got by casting Pearl to Hoggs;
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That bawle for freedom in their senceless mood,
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And still revolt when truth would set them free.
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Licence they mean when they cry libertie;
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For who loves that, must first be wise and good;
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But from that mark how far they roave we see
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For all this wast of wealth, and loss of blood.
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XIII
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To Mr. H. Lawes, on his Aires
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Harry whose tuneful and well measur'd Song
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First taught our English Musick how to span
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Words with just note and accent, not to scan
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With Midas Ears, committing short and long;
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Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng,
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With praise enough for Envy to look wan;
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To after age thou shalt be writ the man,
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That with smooth aire couldst humor best our tongue.
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Thou honour'st Verse, and Verse must send her wing
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To honour thee, the Priest of Phoebus Quire
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That tun'st their happiest lines in Hymn, or Story.
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Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher
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Then his Casella, whom he woo'd to sing
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Met in the milder shades of Purgatory.
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XIV
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When Faith and Love which parted from thee never,
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Had ripen'd thy just soul to dwell with God,
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Meekly thou did'st resign this earthly load
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Of Death, call'd Life; which us from Life doth sever.
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Thy Works and Alms and all thy good Endeavour
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Staid not behind, nor in the grave were trod;
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But as Faith pointed with her golden rod,
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Follow'd thee up to joy and bliss for ever.
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Love led them on, and Faith who knew them best
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Thy hand-maids, clad them o're with purple beams
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And azure wings, that up they flew so drest,
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And speak the truth of thee on glorious Theams
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Before the Judge, who thenceforth bid thee rest
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And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams.
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XV
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On the late Massacher in Piemont
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Avenge O Lord thy slaughter'd Saints, whose bones
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Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold,
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Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old
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When all our Fathers worship't Stocks and Stones,
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Forget not: in thy book record their groanes
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Who were thy Sheep and in their antient Fold
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Slayn by the bloody Piemontese that roll'd
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Mother with Infant down the Rocks. Their moans
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The Vales redoubl'd to the Hills, and they
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To Heav'n. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow
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O're all th' Italian fields ;Where still doth sway
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The triple Tyrant: that from these may grow
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A hunder'd-fold, who having learnt thy way
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Early may fly the Babylonian wo.
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XVI
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When I consider how my light is spent,
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E're half my days, in this dark world and wide,
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And that one Talent which is death to hide,
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Lodg'd with me useless, though my Soul more bent
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To serve therewith my Maker, and present
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My true account, least he returning chide,
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Doth God exact day-labour, light deny'd,
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I fondly ask; But patience to prevent
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That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need
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Either man's work or his own gifts, who best
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Bear his milde yoak, they serve him best, his State
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Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
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And post o're Land and Ocean without rest:
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They also serve who only stand and waite.
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XVII
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Lawrence of vertuous Father vertuous Son,
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Now that the Fields are dank, and ways are mire,
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Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire
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Help wast a sullen day; what may be won
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From the hard Season gaining: time will run
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On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire
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The frozen earth; and cloth in fresh attire
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The Lillie and Rose, that neither sow'd nor spun.
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What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,
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Of Attick tast, with Wine, whence we may rise
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To hear the Lute well toucht, or artfull voice
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Warble immortal Notes and Tuskan Ayre?
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He who of those delights can judge, and spare
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To interpose them oft, is not unwise.
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XVIII
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Cyriack, whose Grandsire on the Royal Bench
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Of Brittish Themis, with no mean applause
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Pronounc't and in his volumes taught our Lawes,
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Which others at their Barr so often wrench:
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To day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
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In mirth, that after no repenting drawes;
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Let Euclid rest and Archimedes pause,
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And what the Swede intend, and what the French.
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To measure life, learn thou betimes, and know
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Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;
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For other things mild Heav'n a time ordains,
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And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
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That with superfluous burden loads the day,
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And when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.
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XIX
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Methought I saw my late espoused Saint
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Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave,
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Whom Joves great Son to her glad Husband gave,
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Rescu'd from death by force though pale and faint.
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Mine as whom washt from spot of child-bed taint,
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Purification in the old Law did save,
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And such, as yet once more I trust to have
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Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint,
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Came vested all in white, pure as her mind:
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Her face was vail'd, yet to my fancied sight,
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Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shin'd
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So clear, as in no face with more delight.
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But O as to embrace me she enclin'd
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I wak'd, she fled, and day brought back my night.
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-THE END-
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