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TABLE of CONTENT S.
PARADISE REGAIN'D, BOOK I.
POEMS on several OCCASIONS.
On the death of a fair Infant, dying of a Cough.
On the MORNING of CHRIST'S NATIVITY.
On the University Carrier.
Another on the fame.
Upon the CIRCUMCISION.
At a SOLEMN MUSIC.
An EPITAPH on the MARCHIONESS of WINCHESTER. 188 Song. On MAY MORNING.
On the fame.
To Mr. H. LAWES on his Airs.
On the religious memory of Mrs. Catharine Thompfon.
To the Lord General FAIRFAX,
The Fifth ODE of Horace, Lib. 1. English'd.
On the new-forcers of confcience under the Long PARLA
To the NIGHTINGALE.
On his being arriv'd to the age of 23.
When the affault was intended to the City.
To a virtuous young Lady.
To the Lady Margaret Ley.
On the detraction which followed upon my writing certain
To the Lord General CROMWELL.
On the late Maffacre in Piemont.
Elegia Prima. Ad Carolum Deodatum.
Elegia Tertia. In obitum Præfulis Wintonienfis.
Elegia Quarta. Ad Thomam Junium.
Elegia Quinta. In adventum veris.
Elegia Sexta. Ad Carolum Deodatum, ruri commorantem. 340
SYLVARUM LIBER. In obitum Procancellarii Medici. 351
De Idea Platonica quemadmodum Ariftoteles intellexit.
Ad Salfillum poetam Romanum ægrotantem.
Ad Joannem Roufium Oxonienfis Academia Bibliothecarium 386
Ad Chriftinam, Suecorum reginam.
REGA I N'D.
Who ere while the happy garden fung, By one man's disobedience loft, now fing Recover'd Paradife to all mankind, By one man's firm obedience fully try'd Through all temptation, and the tempter foil'd In all his wiles, defeated and repuls'd, And Eden rais'd in the waste wilderness.
Thou Spirit who ledst this glorious eremite Into the defert, his victorious field, Against the spiritual foe, and brought'ft him thence 10 By proof th' undoubted Son of God, inspire, As thou art wont, my prompted fong else mute, And bear through highth or depth of nature's bounds With profp'rous wing full fumm'd, to tell of deeds Above heroic, though in fecret done, 15 And unrecorded left through many an age, Worthy t' have not remain'd so long unfung. Now had the great Proclamer, with a voice
More awful than the found of trumpet, cry'd
O ancient Pow'rs of air and this wide world,
Our hated habitation; well ye know