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to inquire at St. Giles's Church; where the Sexton fhew'd him a fmall Monument, which he faid was fuppos'd to be MILTON's; but the infcription had never been legible fince he was employ'd in that office, which he has poffefs'd about Forty Years. This, fure, cou'd never have happen'd in fo fhort a space of time, unless the Epitaph had been induftrioufly eras'd: and that fuppofition carries with it fo much inhumanity, that I think we ought to believe it was not erected to his

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IN

Paradifum Amiffam

Summi Poetæ

JOANNIS MILTONI.

Q

UI legis Amiffam Paradifum, grandia Magni
Carmina Miltoni, quid nifi cun&ta legis?

Res cuntas, & cunctarum primordia rerum,
Et fata, & fines, continet ifte liber.
Intima panduntur magni penetralia mundi ;
Scribitur & toto quicquid in orbe latet:
Terræque, tractufque maris, cœlumque profundum,
Sulphureufque Erebi, flammivomufque fpecus.
Quæque colunt terras, pontumque, & Tartara cæca;
Quæque colunt fummi lucida regna poli.

Et quodcunque ullis conclufum eft finibus ufquam ;
Et fine fine Chaos, & fine fine DEUS:
Et fine fine magis, (fi quid magis eft fine fine)
In CHRISTO erga homines conciliatus amor,
Hac qui fperaret, quis crederet effe futura?
Et tamen hæc bodiè terra Britanna legit.
quantos in bella Duces! quæ protulit arma!
Que canit, & quantâ prælia dira tuba!

0

Coeleftes acies! atque in certamine cœlum!
Et quæ coeleftes pugna deceret agros!
Quantus in atheriis tollit fe Lucifer armis !
Atque ipfo graditur vix Michaele minor !
Quantis, & quàm funeftis concurritur iris,
Dum ferus bic ftellas protegit, ille rapit!
Dum vulfos montes, ceu tela reciproca, torquent ;
Et non mortali defuper igne pluunt ;*
Stat dubius cui fe parti concedat Olympus;
Et metuit pugnæ non fuperesse suæ.
At fimul in cælis MESSIE infignia fulgent,
Et currus animes, armaque digna DÃO;
Horrendúmque rota ftrident, & fæva rotarum
Erumpunt torvis fulgura luminibus;
Et flamma vibrant, & vera tonitura rauco
Admiftis flammis infonuere polo:

Excidit attonitis mens omnis, & impetus omnis,
Et caffis dextris irrita tela cadunt.

Ad pœnas fugiunt, & (ceu foret Orcus afylum ! )
Infernis certant condere fe tenebris.

Cedite Romani Scriptores, cedite Graii,

Et quos Fama recens, vel celebravit anus: Hæc quicunque leget, tantùm cecinisse putabit Mæonidem Ranas, Virgilium Culices.

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ON

PARADISE LOST.

W

HEN I beheld the Poet blind, yet bold, In flender book His vaft defign unfold: Meffiab crown'd, God's reconcil'd, decree, Rebelling Angels, the Forbidden Tree, Heav'n, Hell, Earth, Chaos, All! the argument Held me a-while mifdoubting His intent; That He would ruin (for I faw Him strong) The Sacred Truths to fable, and old fong; (So Sampfon grop'd the temple's posts in spight) The world o'erwhelming to revenge His fight. Yet as I read, foon growing less fevere, I lik'd His project, the fuccefs did fear; Through that wide field how he his way should find, O'er which lame faith leads understanding blind; Left He perplex'd the things He would explain, And what was easy, He should render vain. Or, if a work fo infinite He spann'd, Jealous I was that some less skilful hand (Such as difquiet always what is well, And by ill imitating would excell)

Might hence prefume, the whole creation's day
To change in fcenes, and fhew it in a Play.
Pardon me, Mighty Poet! nor despise
My causeless, yet not impious, surmise.
But I am now convinc'd, and none will dare
Within Thy labors to pretend a share.

Thou haft not mifs'd one thought that could be fit;
And all that was improper doft omit:

So that no room is here for writers left,
But to detect their ignorance, or theft.

That majesty which through Thy Work doth reign, Draws the devout, deterring the profane :

And Things Divine Thou treat'ft of in such state,
As them preserves, and Thee inviolate.

At once delight and horror on us feife,
Thou fing'ft with so much gravity and ease
And above human flight doft foar aloft,
With plume so strong, so equal, and so soft!
The bird nam'd from that Paradise You fing
So never flags, but always keeps on wing.

Where could'st Thou words of fuch a compass find?
Whence furnish such a vast expense of mind?
Just Heav'n Thee, like Tirefias, to requite,
Rewards with prophefy Thy loss of fight.

Well might'ft thou fcorn thy readers to allure With tinkling rhyme, of Thy own fense secure; While the Town-Bays writes all the while and spells, And, like a pack-horse, tires without his bells. Their fancies like our bushy-points appear, The poets tag them, we for fashion wear.

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