And the full wrath befide

Of vengeful justice bore for our excess,

And feals obedience firft with wounding smart
This day, but O ere long

Huge pangs and strong

Will pierce more near his heart.

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B

VII.

At a SOLEMN MUSIC.

LEST pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav'n's joy,
Sphere-born harmonious fifters, Voice and Verfe,
Wed your divine founds, and mix'd pow'r employ
Dead things with inbreath'd sense able to pierce,
And to our high-raifed phantafy prefent
That undisturbed fong of pure concent,
Ay fung before the faphir-color'd throne
To him,that fits thereon,

With faintly fhout and folemn jubilee,
Where the bright Seraphim in burning row
Their loud up-lifted angel-trumpets blow,
And the cherubic host in thousand quires
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires,
With thofe juft Spirits,that wear victorious palms,
Hymns devout and holy pfalms

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Singing everlaftingly;

That we on earth with undifcording voice

May rightly answer that melodious noife;
As once we did, till difproportion'd fin

Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din
Broke the fair mufic, that all creatures made

To their great Lord, whofe love their motion sway'd

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In perfect diapafon, whilft they flood

In first obedience and their state of good.

O may we foon again renew that fong,

And keep in tune with Heav'n, till God ere long 25 To his celeftial confort us unite.

To live with him and fing in endless morn of light.

VIII.

An EPITAPH on the MARCHIONESS of WINCHESTER *.

HIS rich marble doth enter

ΤΗ

The honor'd Wife of Winchester,

A Vicount's daughter, an Earl's heir,
Befides what her virtues fair
Added to her noble birth,

More than fhe could own from earth,
Summers three times eight fave one
She had told; alas too foon,

After fo fhort time of breath,

To houfe with darkness, and with death.
Yet, had the number of her days

Been as complete, as was her praise,
Nature and fate had had no ftrife

In giving limit to her life.

Her high birth, and her graces fweet
Quickly found a lover meet;

*This Lady was Jane, daughter of Thomas Lord Vifc. Savage of Rock-Savage, Chefhire, who by marriage became the heir of Lord Darcy Earl of Rivers; and was the wife of John Marquis of Winchester, and the mother of Charles first Duke of Bolton. She died in childbed of a fecond fon in the 23d year of her age; and Milton made thefe verfes at Cambridge.

The virgin quire for her request

The God, that fits at marriage feaft;
He at their invoking came

But with a scarce well-lighted flame
And in his garland,as he stood,
Ye might difcern a cypress bud.
Once had the early matrons run
To greet her of a lovely fon,

And now with fecond hope fhe goes,
And calls Lucina to her throws;
But whether by mifchance or blame
Atropos for Lucina came;

And with remorseless cruelty
Spoil'd at once both fruit and tree:
The hapless babe before his birth
Had burial yet not laid in earth,
And the languish'd mother's womb
Was not long a living tomb.
So have I feen fome tender flip,
Sav'd with care from winter's nip,
The pride of her carnation train,
Pluck'd up by fome unheedy fwain,
Who only thought to crop the flow'r
New fhot up from vernal show'r;
But the fair bloffom hangs the head
Side-ways, as on a dying bed,
And thofe pearls of dew, fhe wears,
Prove to be prefaging tears,
Which the fad morn had let fall

On her haft'ning funeral.

Gentle Lady, may thy grave
Peace and quiet ever have;

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30.

35

40

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After this thy travel fore

Sweet reft feife thee evermore,

50%

That to give the world increase,
Shortned haft thy own life's leafe.
Here, befides the forrowing,
That thy noble houfe doth bring,
Here be tears of perfect moan
Wept for thee in Helicon,

And some flowers, and fome bays,

For thy herfe, to ftrow the

ways,

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55.

Sent thee from the banks of Came,

Devoted to thy virtuous name;

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Whilft thou, bright Saint, high fitft in glory,

Next her much like to thee in ftory,

That fair Syrian shepherdess,

Who after years of barrenness.

The highly-favor'd Joseph bore

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To him,that ferv'd for her before,

And at her next birth much like thee
Through pangs fled to felicity,
Far within the bosom bright
Of blazing Majefty and Light:
There with thee, new-welcome Saint,
Like fortunes may her foul acquaint,
With thee there clad in radiant fheen,
No Marchionefs, but now a Queen.

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IX.

SONG. On MAY MORNING.

Now

WOW the bright morning-ftar, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the eaft, and leads with her The flow'ry May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowflip and the pale primrose.

Hail bounteous May, that doft infpire Mirth and youth and warm defire; Woods and groves are of thy dreffing, Hill and dale doth boaft thy bleffing. Thus we falute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

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W

X.

On SHAKESPEAR. 1630.

HAT needs my Shakespear for his honor'd bones
The labor of an age in piled ftones,

Or that his hallow'd reliques fhould be hid

Under a ftar-ypointing pyramid?

Dear fon of memory, great heir of fame,

What need'st thou fuch weak witness of thy name?
Thou in our wonder and aftonishment

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Haft built thyself a live-long monument.

For, whilft to th' fhame of flow-endevoring art

Thy eafy numbers flow, and that each heart
Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book
Thofe Delphic lines with deep impreffion took,
Then thou our fancy of itself bereaving.
Doft make us marble with too much conceiving;
And fo fepulcher'd in fuch pomp doft lie,
That kings for fuch a tomb would wish to die.

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XI. On