Of fun, or moon, or far, throughout the year,
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not
Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate a jot

5

Of heart or hope; but still bear and steer up Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask ? The conscience, Friend, to' have loft them overply'd In liberty's defence, my noble task,

Of which all Europe talks from fide to fide.

This thought might lead me through the world's

vain mask

Content though blind, had I no better guide.

XXIII.

On his deceafed WIFE *.

Methought I saw my late efpoufed faint

Brought to me like Alceftis from the grave,

Whom Jove's great fon to her glad husband gave, Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint.

Mine, as whom wash'd from spot of child-bed taint 5
Purification in the old Law did fave,

And fuch, as yet once more I trust to have
Full fight of her in Heav'n without restraint,
Came vested all in white, pure as her mind:
Her face was veil'd, yet to my fancied fight
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shin'd

This was his fecond wife, Catharine the daughter of Captain Woodcock of Hackney, who lived with him not above a year after their marriage, and died in child-bed of a daughter.

So clear, as in no face with more delight.

But O as to embrace me she inclin❜d,

I wak'd, fhe fled, and day brought back my night,

XXIV.

On occafion of the PLAGUE in LONDON.

Found on a glass window at Chalfont, in Buckinghamshire, where Milton refided during the continuance of that calamity.

[From Birch's Life.]

Fair mirror of foul times; whofe fragile sheen
Shall, as it blazeth, break; while Providence
(Aye watching o'er his faints with eye unseen)
Spreads the red rod of angry peftilence,

To sweep the wicked and their counfels hence; 5
Yea, all to break the pride of luftful kings,
Who heaven's lore reject for brutish sense;
As erft he fcourg'd Jeffides' fin of yore,

For the fair Hittite, when, on feraph's wings, He fent him war, or plague, or famine fore.

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PSALMS.

PSA L M S.

PSALM I. Done into verse, 1653.

Lefs'd is the man who hath not walk'd astray
Lefs'd

Blinds theme wicked, and i' th' way

Of finners hath not stood, and in the feat
Of scorners hath not fat. But in the great
Jehovah's law is ever his delight,

And in his law he ftudies day and night,
He shall be as a tree which planted grows
By watery ftreams, and in his feafon knows
To yield his fruit, and his leaf shall not fall,
And what he takes in hand shall profper all.
Not fo the wicked, but as chaff which fann'd
The wind drives, fo the wicked fhall not stand
In judgment, or abide their trial then,
Nor finners in th' affembly of juft men.
For the Lord knows th' upright way of the juft,
And the way of bad men to ruin must.

PSA L. II. Done' Aug. 8, 1653. Terzette.

W

HY do the Gentiles tumult, and the nations

5

10

15

Mufe a vain thing, the kings of th' earth up stand With power, and princes in their congregations. Lay deep their plots together through each land

Against

Against the Lord and his Meffiah dear ?

Let us break off, say they, by strength of hand Their bonds, and caft from us, no more to wear,

5

Their twisted cords: He who in Heav'n doth dwell Shall laugh, the Lord shall scoff them, then severe Speak to them in his wrath, and in his fell

And fierce ire trouble them; but I, faith he,
Anointed have my king (though ye rebel)

On Sion my holy' hill. A firm decree
I will declare; the Lord to me hath faid
Thou art my Son, I have begotten thee
This day; afk of me, and the grant is made;
As thy poffeffion I on thee bestow

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15

Th' Heathen, and as thy conqueft to be sway'd Earth's utmost bounds: them fhalt thou bring full

low

With iron scepter bruis'd, and them disperse
Like to a potter's veffel shiver'd fo.

And now be wife at length, ye Kings averse,
Be taught, ye Judges of the earth; with fear
Jehovah ferve, and let your joy converse
With trembling; kifs the Son, left he appear
In anger, and ye perish in the way,

If once his wrath take fire like fuel fere.
Happy all those who have in him their stay!

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25

PSAL. III.

PSAL. III. Aug. 9, 1653.

When he fled from Abfalom.

LORD, how many are my foes!

How many those

That in arms against me rise!
Many are they

That of my life diftruftfully thus fay,
No help for him in God there lies.

But thou, Lord, art my fhield, my glory,
Thee through my ftory

Th' exalter of my head I count;

Aloud I cry'd

Unto Jehovah, he full foon reply'd
And heard me from his holy mount.
I lay and flept, I wak'd again,
For my fuftain

Was the Lord. Of many millions

The populous rout

I fear not, though incamping round about They pitch against me their pavilions.

Rise, Lord; save me, my God; for thou

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10

15

20

Haft broke the teeth. This help was from the Lord;

Thy bleffing on thy people flows.

PSAL. IV.