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Fuor di sua natia alma primavera,

Cosi Amor meco insù la lingua snella Desta il fior novo di strania favella, Mentre io di te, vezzosamente altera, Canto, dal mio buon popol non inteso

E'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 seno
A chi pianta dal ciel si buon terreno.

CANZONE.

RIDONSI donne e giovani amorosi

*

M' accostandosi attorno, e perche scrivi,
Perche tu scrivi in lingua ignota e strana
Verseggiando d' amor, e come t'osi?
Dinne, se la tua speme sia mai vana,
E de pensieri lo miglior t'arrivi ;ˇˇ
Cosi mi van burlando, altri rivi
Altri lidi t'aspettan, ed altre onde
Nelle cui verdi sponde

Spuntati ad hor, ad hor a la tua chioma
L'immortal guiderdon d' eterne frondi
Perche alle spalle tue soverchia soma?

Canzon dirotti, e tu per me rispondi
Dice mia Donna, e'l suo dir, é il mio cuore
Questa e lingua di cui si vanta Amore.

IV.

DIODATI, e te'l dirò con maraviglia,

Quel ritroso io ch'amor spreggiar soléa
E de suoi lacci spesso mi ridéa
Gia caddi, ov'huom dabben talhor s'impiglia.
Ne treccie d'oro, ne guancia vermiglia
M'abbaglian sì, ma sotto nova idea
Pellegrina bellezza che'l cuor bea,
Portamenti alti honesti, e nelle ciglia
Quel sereno fulgor d'amabil nero,

Parole adorne di lingua piu d'una,
E'l cantar che di mezzo l'hemispero
Traviar ben puo la faticosa Luna,
gran fuoco

E degli occhi suoi auventa
Che l'incerar gli orecchi mi fia poco.

V.

PER certo i bei vostr'occhi, Donna mia
Esser non puo che non sian lo mio sole
Si mi percuoton forte, come ei suole
Per l'arene di Libia chi s'invia,
Mentre un caldo vapor (ne sentì pria)

Da quel lato si spinge ove mi duole,
Che forse ainanti nelle lor parole
Chiaman sospir; io non so che si sia :
Parte rinchiusa, e turbida si cela

Scosso mi il petto, e poi n'uscendo poco Quivi d' attorno o s'agghiaccia, o s'ingiela; Ma quanto a gli occhi giunge a trovar loco

Tutte le notti a me suol far piovose
Finche, mia Alba rivien colma di rose,
VI.

GIOVANE piano, è semplicette amante

Poi che fuggir me stesso in dubbio sono, Madonna a voi del mio cuor l'humil dono Farò divoto; io certo a prove tante,

L'hebbi fedele, intrepido, costante,

501

De 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,
Quanto d'ingegno, e d'alto valor vago,
E di cetta sonora, e delle muse :

Sol troverete in tal parte men duro,
Ove Amor mise l'insanabil ago.

VII.

ON HIS BEING ARRIVED TO THE AGE OF 23. How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stol'n on his wing my three and twentieth year My hasting days fly on with full career, But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th. Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth, That I to manhood am arriv'd so near;

And inward ripeness doth much less appear, That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th. Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,

It shall be still in strictest measure even To that same lot, however mean or high, Toward which Time leads me, and the Will of All is, if I have grace to use it so, [Heaven: As ever in my great Task-Master's eye.

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TO A VIRTUOUS YOUNG LADY.

LADY, that in the prime of earliest youth [green,
Wisely hast shunn'd the broad way and the
And with those few art eminently seen,
That labour up the hill of heavenly truth,
The better part with Mary and with Ruth
Chosen thou hast; and they that overween,
And at thy growing virtues fret their spleen,
No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth.
Thy care is fix'd, and zealously attends

To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light, And hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be [friends

sure

Thou, when the bridegroom with his feastful
Passes to bliss at the mid hour of night,
Hast gain'd thy entrance, Virgin wise and

pure.

X.

TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY.

DAUGHTER to that good earl, once president
Of England's council and her treasury,
Who liv'd in both, unstain'd with gold or fee,
And left them both, more in himself content,
Till sad the breaking of that parliament
Broke him, as that dishonest victory
At Chæronea, fatal to liberty,

Kill'd with report that old man eloquent.
Though later born than to have known the days,
Wherein your father flourish'd, yet by you,
Madam, methinks, I see him living yet;
So well your words his noble virtues praise,
That all both judge you to relate them true,
And to possess them, honour'd Margaret.

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Ver. 1. Daughter to that good earl,] She was the daughter of sir James Ley, whose singular learning and abilities raised him through all the great posts of the law, till he came to be made earl of Malborough, and lord higù treasurer, and lord president of the council to king James I. He died in an advanced age; and Milton attributes his death to the breaking of the parliament; and it is true that the parliament was dissolved the 10th of March 1628-9, and he died on the 14th of the same month. He left sereral sons and daughters; and the lady Margaret was married to captain Hobson of the Isle of Wight. It appears from the accounts of Milton's life, that in 1643 he used frequently to visit this lady and her husband; about which time we may suppose this sonnet to have been composed.

Ver. 1. A book was writ of late call'd Tetrachordon,] This elaborate discussion, unworthy in many respects of Milton, and in which much acuteness of argument, and comprehension of reading, were idly thrown away, was received with contempt, or rather ridicule, as we learn from Howel's Letters. A better proof that it was treated with neglect, is, that it was attacked by two nameless and obscure writers duly; one

XII.

ON THE SAME.

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 those hinds that were transform'd to
frogs

Rail'd at Latona's twin-born progeny,
Which after held the Sun and Moon in fee.
But this is got by casting pearl to hogs;
That baw! for freedom in their senseless mood,
And still revolt when truth would set them
free.

Licence they mean when they cry Liberty; For who loves that, must first be wise and good; But from that mark how far they rove we see, For all this waste of wealth, and loos of blood.

XIII.

TO MR. H. LAWES ON THE PUBLISHING HIS AIRS.

HARRY, whose tuneful and well measur'd song
First taught our English musie how to span
Words with just note and accent, not to scan
With Midas ears, committing short and long;
Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the
throng,

With praise enough for Envy to look wan;
To after age thou shalt be writ the man,
That with smooth air could'st humour best our

tongue. [wing Thou honour'st verse, and verse must lend her To honour thee, the priest of Phoebus' quire, That tun'st their happiest lines in hymn or

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Thy works, and alms, and all thy good endea- | Whether to settle peace, or to unfold

vour,

Staid not behind, nor in the grave were trod; But, as Faith pointed with her golden rod, Follow'd thee up to joy and bliss for ever. Love led them on, and Faith, who knew them best Thy hand-maids, clad them o'er with purple beams

And azure wings, that up they flew so drest, And spake the truth of thee on glorious themes Before the Judge; who thenceforth bid thee rest,

And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams.

XV.

TO THE LORD GENERAL FAIRFAX.

FAIRFAX, whose name in arms through Europe rings,

Filling each mouth with envy or with praise, And all her jealous monarchs with amaze And rumours loud, that daunt remotest kings; Thy firm unshaken virtue ever brings

Victory home, though new rebellions raise Their Hydra heads, and the false North displays

Her broken league to imp their serpent-wings. O yet a nobler task awaits thy hand,

(For what can war, but endless war still breed?) Till truth and right from violence be freed, And public faith clear'd from the shameful brand Of public fraud. In vain doth valour bleed, While avarice and rapine share the land.

XVI.

TO THE LORD GENERAL CROMWELL.

CROMWELL, Our chief of men, who through a cloud

Not of war only, but detractions rude,
Guided by faith and matchless fortitude,
To peace and truth thy glorious way hast
plough'd,

And on the neck of crowned fortune proud
Hast rear'd God's trophies, and his work pur-
sued,
[imbrued,

While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots And Dunbar field resounds thy praises loud, And Worcester's laureat wreath. Yet much remains

To conquer still; peace hath her victories No less renown'd than war: new foes arise Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains: Help us to save free conscience from the paw Of hireling wolves, whose gospel is their maw.

XVII.

TO SIR HENRY VANE, THE YOUNGER. VANE, young in years, but in sage counsel old, Than whom a better senator ne'er held The helm of Rome, when gowns, not arms, reThe fierce Epirot and the African bold; [pell'd

made Latin secretary, he lodged at one Thomson's next door to the Bull-head tavern at Charing-Cross. This Mrs. Thomson was in al probability one of that family. NEWTON.

The drift of hollow states hard to be spell'd; Then to advise how war may, best upheld, Move by her two main nerves, iron and gold, In all her equipage: besides to know

Both spiritual power and civil, what each

means,

What severs each, thou hast learn'd, which few have done:

The bounds of either sword to thee we owe:
Therefore on thy firm hand religion leans
In peace, and reckons thee her eldest son.

XVIII.

ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEMONT.

AVENCE, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones

Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains co'd; Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipt stocks and stones,

Forget not: in thy book record their groans

Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piemontese that roll'd Mother with infant down the rocks. The

moans

The vales redoubled to the hills, and they
To Heaven. Their martyr'd blood and ashes

SOW

O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth swar The triple tyrant; that from these may grow A hundred fold, who, having fearn'd thy way, Early may fly the Babylonian woe.

XIX.

ON HIS BLINDNESS.

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 more bent

To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he, returning, chide; "Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?" I fondly ask: but Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need "Either man's work, or his own gifts; who

best

Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his

state

Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest; They also serve who only stand and wait."

XX.

TO MR. LAWRENCE.

LAWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son,
Now that the fields are dank, and ways are

mire,

Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire Help waste a sullen day, what may be won

Ver. 1. Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son, &c.] The virtuous father Henry Lawrence, was member for Herefordshire in the Little Par

From the hard season gaining? Time will run
On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire
The frozen Earth, and clothe in fresh attire
The lily and rose, that neither sow'd nor spun.
What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,
Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may
rise

To hear the lute well touch'd, or artful voice Varble immortal notes and Tuscan air?

He who of those delights can judge, and spare To interpose them oft, is not unwise.

XXI.

TO CYRIACK SKINNER'.

CYRIACK, whose grandsire, on the royal bench
Of British Themis, with no mean applause
-Pronounc'd, and in his volumes taught, our
laws,

Which others at their bar so often wrench;
To day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth that, after, no repenting draws;
Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause,
And what the Swede intends, and what the
French.

To measure life learn thou betimes, and know
Toward solid good what leads the nearest

way;

For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show, That with superfluous burden loads the day, And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.

XXII.

TO THE SAME.

Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask? The conscience, friend, to have lost them overplied

In liberty's defence, my noble task, Of which all Europe rings from side to side. This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask

Content though blind, had I no better guide.

XXIII.

ON HIS DECEASED WIPE.

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,

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[faint. Rescu'd from death by force, though pale and Mine, as whom wash'd from spot of child-bed taint

Purification in the old Law did save,

And such, as yet once more I trust to have Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint, Came vested all in white, pure as her mind:

Her face was veil'd; yet to my fancied sight Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shin'd So clear, as in no face with more delight. But O, as to embrace me she inclin'd,

I wak'd; she fled; and day brought back my night.

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Title. "On his dore when the Citty expected an

CYRIACK, this three years day these eyes, though assault." Then, as at present; with an addition

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 Sun, or Moon, or star, throughout the year, Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer

liament which began in 1653, and was active in settling the protectorate of Cromwell. In consequence of his services, he was made president of Cromwell's council; where he appears to have signed many severe and arbitrary decrees, not only against the royalists, but the Brownists, fifth-monarchy men, and other sectarists. He continued high in favour with Richard Cromwell. Henry Lawrence, the virtuous son, is the author of a work entitled Of our Communion and Warre with Angels, &c. Printed Anno Dom. 1646. 4, 189 pages. The dedication is "To my Most deare and Most honoured Mother, the lady Lawrence." He is perhaps the same Henry Lawrence, who printed A Vindication of the Scriptures and Christian Ordinances, 1649. Lond. 4°.

1 Son of William Skinner, esq. and grandson of sir Vincent Skinner; and his mother was Bridget, one of the daughters of the famous sir Edward Coke, lord chief justice of the King's Bench.

of the date 1642, afterwards expunged.

Ver. 3. If ever deed of honour did thee please. As in the edit. 1645. The present reading occurs first in the edit. 1673.

This sonnet is written in a female hand. Only the title, now prefix'd to it, is written by Milton.

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Then rough-hewn, and lastly rugged. All in Milton's own hand,

SONN. xii.

Ver. 4. Of owls and buzzards.

From ver. 1. to ver. 8, as now printed. Ver. 9. And twenty battles more.

So it was at first written, afterwards corrected to the present reading, Worcester's laureat wreath. Ver. 11, & 12, as now printed. This sonnet

Ver. 10. And hate the truth whereby they should is in a female hand, unlike that in which the 8th

be free.

All in Milton's own hand.

sonnet is written.

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