The Penguin Book of English Verse

by Paul Keegan

  Shee most, and in her look summs all Delight.

  Such Pleasure took the Serpent to behold

  This Flourie Plat, the sweet recess of Eve

  Thus earlie, thus alone; her Heav’nly forme

  Angelic, but more soft, and Feminine,

  Her graceful Innocence, her every Aire

  Of gesture or lest action overawd

  His Malice, and with rapin sweet bereav’d

  His fierceness of the fierce intent it brought:

  That space the Evil one abstracted stood

  From his own evil, and for the time remaind

  Stupidly good, of enmitie disarmd,

  Of guile, of hate, of envie, of revenge;

  But the hot Hell that alwayes in him burnes,

  Though in mid Heav’n, soon ended his delight,

  And tortures him now more, the more he sees

  Of pleasure not for him ordaind: then soon

  Fierce hate he recollects, and all his thoughts

  Of mischief, gratulating, thus excites.

  Thoughts, whither have ye led me, with what sweet

  Compulsion thus transported to forget

  What hither brought us, hate, not love, nor hope

  Of Paradise for Hell, hope here to taste

  Of pleasure, but all pleasure to destroy,

  Save what is in destroying, other joy

  To mee is lost.

  from Book XI [‘Michael sets before Adam in vision what shall happ’n till the Flood’]

  To whom thus Michael. Those whom last thou sawst

  In triumph and luxurious wealth, are they

  First seen in acts of prowess eminent

  And great exploits, but of true vertu void;

  Who having spilt much blood, and don much waste

  Subduing Nations, and achievd thereby

  Fame in the World, high titles, and rich prey,

  Shall change thir course to pleasure, ease, and sloth,

  Surfet, and lust, till wantonness and pride

  Raise out of friendship hostil deeds in Peace.

  The conquerd also, and enslav’d by Warr

  Shall with thir freedom lost all vertu loose

  And feare of God, from whom thir pietie feignd

  In sharp contest of Battel found no aide

  Against invaders; therefore coold in zeale

  Thenceforth shall practice how to live secure,

  Worldlie or dissolute, on what thir Lords

  Shall leave them to enjoy; for th’ Earth shall bear

  More then anough, that temperance may be tri’d:

  So all shall turn degenerat, all deprav’d,

  Justice and Temperance, Truth and Faith forgot;

  One Man except, the onely Son of light

  In a dark Age, against example good,

  Against allurement, custom, and a World

  Offended; fearless of reproach and scorn,

  Or violence, hee of thir wicked wayes

  Shall them admonish, and before them set

  The paths of righteousness, how much more safe,

  And full of peace, denouncing wrauth to come

  On thir impenitence; and shall returne

  Of them derided, but of God observd

  The one just Man alive; by his command

  Shall build a wondrous Ark, as thou beheldst,

  To save himself and houshold from amidst

  A World devote to universal rack.

  No sooner hee with them of Man and Beast

  Select for life shall in the Ark be lodg’d,

  And shelterd round, but all the Cataracts

  Of Heav’n set op’n on the Earth shall powre

  Raine day and night, all fountains of the Deep

  Broke up, shall heave the Ocean to usurp

  Beyond all bounds, till inundation rise

  Above the highest Hills: then shall this Mount

  Of Paradise by might of Waves be moovd

  Out of his place, pusht by the horned floud,

  With all his verdure spoild, and Trees adrift

  Down the great River to the op’ning Gulf,

  And there take root an Iland salt and bare,

  The haunt of Seales and Ores, and Sea-mews clang.

  from Book XII [‘Adam and Eve led out of Paradise’]

  but now lead on;

  In mee is no delay; with thee to goe,

  Is to stay here; without thee here to stay,

  Is to go hence unwilling; thou to mee

  Art all things under Heav’n, all places thou,

  Who for my wilful crime art banisht hence.

  This furder consolation yet secure

  I carry hence: though all by mee is lost,

  Such favour I unworthie am voutsaft,

  By mee the Promisd Seed shall all restore.

  So spake our Mother Eve, and Adam heard

  Well pleas’d, but answerd not; for now too nigh

  Th’ Arch-Angel stood, and from the other Hill

  To thir fixt Station, all in bright array

  The Cherubim descended; on the ground

  Gliding meteorous, as Ev’ning Mist

  Ris’n from a River ore the marish glides,

  And gathers ground fast at the Labourers heel

  Homeward returning. High in Front advanc’t,

  The brandisht Sword of God before them blaz’d

  Fierce as a Comet; which with torrid heat,

  And vapour as the Libyan Air adust,

  Began to parch that temperat Clime; whereat

  In either hand the hastning Angel caught

  Our lingring Parents, and to th’ Eastern Gate

  Led them direct, and down the Cliff as fast

  To the subjected Plaine; then disappeerd.

  They looking back, all th’ Eastern side beheld

  Of Paradise, so late thir happie seat,

  Wav’d over by that flaming Brand, the Gate

  With dreadful Faces throngd and fierie Armes:

  Som natural tears they dropd, but wip’d them soon;

  The World was all before them, where to choose

  Thir place of rest, and Providence thir guide:

  They hand in hand with wandring steps and slow,

  Through Eden took thir solitarie way.

  KATHERINE PHILIPS An Answer to Another Perswading a Lady to Marriage

  Forbear bold Youth, all’s Heaven here,

  And what you do aver,

  To others Courtship may appear,

  ’Tis Sacriledge to her.

  She is a publick Deity,

  And were’t not very odd

  She should depose her self to be

  A petty Houshold God?

  First make the Sun in private shine,

  And bid the World adieu,

  That so he may his beams confine

  In complement to you.

  But if of that you do despair,

  Think how you did amiss,

  To strive to fix her beams which are

  More bright and large than this.

  KATHERINE PHILIPS To My Excellent Lucasia, on Our Friendship. 17th. July 1651

  I did not live until this time

  Crown’d my felicity,

  When I could say without a crime,

  I am not Thine, but Thee.

  This Carkasse breath’d, and walk’d, and slept,

  So that the world believ’d

  There was a soule the motions kept;

  But they were all deceiv’d.

  For as a watch by art is wound

  To motion, such was mine:

  But never had Orinda found

  A Soule till she found thine;

  Which now inspires, cures and supply’s,

  And guides my darken’d brest:

  For thou art all that I can prize,

  My Joy, my Life, my rest.

  Nor Bridegroomes nor crown’d conqu’rour’s mirth

  To mine compar’d can be:

  They have but pieces of this Earth,
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  I’ve all the world in thee.

  Then let our flame still light and shine,

  (And no false feare controule)

  As inocent as our design,

  Immortall as our Soule.

  KATHERINE PHILIPS To my Lord Biron’s Tune of — Adieu Phillis

  ’Tis true, our life is but a long disease,

  Made up of reall pain and seeming ease;

  You stars, who these entangled fortunes give,

  O tell me why

  It is so hard to dy,

  Yet such a task to live?

  If with some pleasure we our griefs betray,

  It costs us dearer then it can repay:

  For time or fortune all things so devours;

  Our hopes are cross’d,

  Or els the object lost,

  Ere we can call it ours.

  SIR JOHN DENHAM Sarpedon’s Speech to Glaucus in the 12th Book of Homer 1668

  Thus to Glaucus spake

  Divine Sarpedon, since he did not find

  Others as great in Place, as great in Mind.

  Above the rest, why is our Pomp, our Power?

  Our flocks, our herds, and our possessions more?

  Why all the Tributes Land and Sea affords

  Heap’d in great Chargers, load our sumptuous boards?

  Our chearful Guests carowse the sparkling tears

  Of the rich Grape, whilst Musick charms their ears.

  Why as we pass, do those on Xanthus shore,

  As Gods behold us, and as Gods adore?

  But that as well in danger, as degree,

  We stand the first; that when our Lycians see

  Our brave examples, they admiring say,

  Behold our Gallant Leaders! These are They

  Deserve the Greatness; and un-envied stand:

  Since what they act, transcends what they command.

  Could the declining of this Fate (oh friend)

  Our Date to Immortality extend?

  Or if Death sought not them, who seek not Death,

  Would I advance? Or should my vainer breath

  With such a Glorious Folly thee inspire?

  But since with Fortune Nature doth conspire,

  Since Age, Disease, or some less noble End,

  Though not less certain, doth our days attend;

  Since ’tis decreed, and to this period lead,

  A thousand ways the noblest path we’ll tread;

  And bravely on, till they, or we, or all,

  A common Sacrifice to Honour fall.

  JOHN MILTON from Samson Agonistes

  but chief of all,

  O loss of sight, of thee I most complain!

  Blind among enemies, O worse then chains,

  Dungeon, or beggery, or decrepit age!

  Light the prime work of God to mee is extinct,

  And all her various objects of delight

  Annulld, which might in part my grief have eas’d,

  Inferiour to the vilest now become

  Of man or worm; the vilest here excell me,

  They creep, yet see, I dark in light expos’d

  To daily fraud, contempt, abuse and wrong,

  Within doors, or without, still as a fool,

  In power of others, never in my own;

  Scarce half I seem to live, dead more then half.

  O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon,

  Irrecoverably dark, total Eclipse

  Without all hope of day!

  O first created Beam, and thou great Word,

  Let ther be light, and light was over all;

  Why am I thus bereav’d thy prime decree?

  The Sun to me is dark

  And silent as the Moon,

  When she deserts the night

  Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.

  Since light so necessary is to life,

  And almost life itself, if it be true

  That light is in the Soul,

  She all in every part; why was the sight

  To such a tender ball as th’ eye confin’d?

  So obvious and so easie to be quencht,

  And not as feeling through all parts diffus’d,

  That she might look at will through every pore?

  Then had I not bin thus exil’d from light;

  As in the land of darkness yet in light,

  To live a life half dead, a living death,

  And buried; but O yet more miserable!

  My self, my Sepulcher, a moving Grave,

  Buried, yet not exempt

  By priviledge of death and burial

  From worst of other evils, pains and wrongs,

  But made hereby obnoxious more

  To all the miseries of life,

  Life in captivity

  Among inhuman foes.

  (… )

  CHORUS

  Which shall I first bewail,

  Thy Bondage or lost Sight,

  Prison within Prison

  Inseparably dark?

  Thou art become (O worst imprisonment!)

  The Dungeon of thy self; thy Soul

  (Which Men enjoying sight oft without cause complain)

  Imprisond now indeed;

  In real darkness of the body dwells,

  Shut up from outward light

  To incorporate with gloomy night;

  For inward light alas

  Puts forth no visual beam.

  O mirror of our fickle state,

  Since man on earth unparalleld!

  The rarer thy example stands,

  By how much from the top of wondrous glory,

  Strongest of mortal men,

  To lowest pitch of abject fortune thou art fall’n.

  For him I reckon’d not in high estate

  Whom long descent of birth

  Or the sphear of fortune raises;

  But thee whose strength, while vertue was her mate,

  Might have subdu’d the Earth,

  Universally crowned with highest praises.

  (… )

  CHORUS

  All is best, though we oft doubt,

  What th’ unsearchable dispose

  Of highest wisdom brings about,

  And ever best found in the close.

  Oft he seems to hide his face,

  But unexpectedly returns

  And to his faithful Champion hath in place

  Bore witness gloriously; whence Gaza mourns

  And all that band them to resist

  His uncontroulable intent;

  His servants hee with new acquist