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ON TIME.*

FLY envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,
Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace;
And glut thyself with what thy womb devours,
Which is no more than what is false and vain,
And merely mortal dross;

So little is our loss,

So little is thy gain!

For when as each thing bad thou hast intomb'd,
And last of all thy greedy self consum'd,
Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss

With an individual kiss;

And Joy shall overtake us as a flood,

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When every thing that is sincerely good

And perfectly divine,

With truth, and peace, and love, shall ever shine
About the supreme throne

Of him, t' whose happy-making sight alone
When once our heav'nly-guided soul shall clime,
Then all this earthly grossness quit,

Attir'd with stars, we shall for ever sit,

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Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O Time.

* In Milton's MS. written with his own hand,-On Time. To be set on a clock-case.' Warton.

2 leaden-stepping hours] Carew's Poems, p. 78, ed. 1642.

"They [the hours] move with leaden feet.' A. Dyce. 12 individual] Inseparable. P. L. iv. 485. v. 610. Warton.

UPON THE CIRCUMCISION.

YE flaming Pow'rs, and winged Warriors bright,
That erst with music, and triumphant song,
First heard by happy watchful shepherds' ear,
So sweetly sung your joy the clouds along
Through the soft silence of the list'ning night;
Now mourn, and if sad share with us to bear
Your fiery essence can distil no tear,
Burn in your sighs, and borrow

Seas wept from our deep sorrow:

He who with all heav'n's heraldry whilere

Enter'd the world, now bleeds to give us ease;
Alas, how soon our sin

Sore doth begin

His infancy to seize !

O more exceeding love, or law more just?
Just law indeed, but more exceeding love!
For we by rightful doom remediless
Were lost in death, till he that dwelt above
High thron'd in secret bliss, for us frail dust
Emptied his glory, ev'n to nakedness;

And that great covenant which we still transgress
Entirely satisfied,

And the full wrath beside

Of vengeful justice bore for our excess,

1 flaming] So P. Lost, ix. 156. xi. 101. Warton.

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17 remediless] P. Lost, ix. 919. Sams. Agon. v. 648. All remediless.' Warton, Todd.

And seals obedience first, with wounding smart, 25

This day, but O ere long,

Huge pangs and strong

Will pierce more near his heart.

AT A SOLEMN MUSIC.*

BLEST pair of Sirens, pledges of heav'n's joy,
Sphere-born harmonious sisters, Voice and Verse,
Wed your divine sounds, and mix'd pow'r employ
Dead things with imbreath'd sense able to pierce;
And to our high-rais'd phantasy present
That undisturbed song of pure concent,
Aye sung before the sapphire-colour'd throne
To him that sits thereon

With saintly shout, and solemn 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 those just Spirits that wear victorious palms,
Hymns devout and holy psalms

Singing everlastingly:

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* There are three copies of this ode, all in Milton's own hand writing.

6 concent] So the Cant. MS. not 'consent.' Ed. 1645, 'content ;' 1673, 'concent.' Warton.

12 And Cherubim, sweet winged Squires.' So Cant. MS. Todd.

That we on earth with undiscording voice
May rightly answer that melodious noise;
As once we did, till disproportion'd sin

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

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To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd In perfect diapason, whilst they stood,

In first obedience, and their state of good.

O may we soon again renew that song,

And keep in tune with Heav'n, till God ere long
To his celestial consort us unite,

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To live with him, and sing in endless morn of light!

AN EPITAPH ON THE MARCHIONESS OF

WINCHESTER.

THIS rich marble doth inter

The honour'd wife of Winchester,

A Viscount's daughter, an Earl's heir,
Besides what her virtues fair

Added to her noble birth,

More than she could own from earth.
Summers three times eight save one
She had told; alas! too soon,

After so short time of breath,

To house with darkness, and with death.

20 nature's chime] Jonson's Epithal. vol. vii. 2.

"To do their offices in nature's chime. Warton.

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Yet had the number of her days
Been as complete as was her praise,
Nature and Fate had had no strife
In giving limit to her life.

Her high birth, and her graces sweet
Quickly found a lover meet;
The virgin quire for her request
The God that sits at marriage feast;
He at their invoking came,

But with a scarce well-lighted flame;

And in his garland as he stood,

Ye might discern a cyprus bud.
Once had the early matrons run

Το

greet her of a lovely son,

And now with second hope she goes,
And calls Lucina to her throes;

But whether by mischance 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.

19 He] See Ov. Metam. x. 4.

'Adfuit ille quidem: sed nec solennia verba, Nec letos vultus, nec felix attulit omen: Fax quoque, quam tenuit, lacrymoso stridula fumo, Usque fuit, nullosque invenit motibus ignes.' Jortin. 33 womb] Browne's Brit. Past. b. ii. s. 1. ed. 1616. 'Where never plowshare ript his mother's wombe To give an aged seede a living tombe.' Todd.

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