JOHN MILTON

TO CYRIACK SKINNER

CYRIACK, whose grandsire1 on the royal bench
Of British Themis, with no mean applause,
Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws,
Which others at their bar so often wrench,
To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth that after no repenting draws
Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause,

;

And what the Swede intends, and what the
French.

To measure life learn thou betimes, and know

Toward solid good what leads the nearest way; For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show, That with superfluous burden loads the day, And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.

1 Sir Edward Coke, the maternal grandfather of Cyriack Skinner.

JOHN MILTON

ON HIS DECEASED WIFE

METHOUGHT I Saw my late espoused saint

Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave, Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave, Rescued from Death by force, though pale and faint. Mine, as whom washed from spot of child-bed taint Purification in the Old Law did save,

And such as yet once more I trust to have Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint, Came vested all in white, pure as her mind.

Her face was veiled, yet to my fancied sight 1 Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined So clear as in no face with more delight.

But oh! as to embrace me she inclined,

I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night.

1 It seems to be implied that Milton had never seen his second wife, whom he married after he was blind (Masson, ii., 309).

BENJAMIN STILLINGFLEET

(1702-71)

TO WILLIAMSON

1

WHEN I behold thee, blameless Williamson,
Wreckt like an infant on a savage shore,
While others round on borrow'd pinions soar,
My busy fancy calls thy thread mispun;
Till Faith instructs me the deceit to shun;
While thus she speaks:

the store

Those wings that from

Of virtue were not lent, howe'er they bore In this gross air, will melt when near the sun. The truly-ambitious wait for Nature's time;

Content, by certain, but by slow degrees,
To mount above the reach of vulgar flight;
Nor is that man confin'd to this low clime,

Who but the extremest skirts of glory sees,
And hears celestial tidings with delight.'

1 The Rev. John Williamson, a man of great learning and various accomplishments, whose extreme simplicity of character and ignorance of the world hindered his preferment' (D. Main). Williamson died in 1763, aged fifty.

BENJAMIN STILLINGFLEET

TO DAMPIER 1

THRICE Worthy guardian of that sacred spring
That erst with copious stream enrich'd this land,
When Cæsar taught our nobles to command,
Tully to speak, Maeonides to sing ;

Till Fashion, stealing with unheeded wing
Into this realm, with touch of foreign hand,
Our girls embolden'd, and our boys unmann'd,
And drew all ages in her magic ring:
Yet shalt thou not be backward in thy sphere

To thwart a sickly world; the sceptre giv'n
Thou know'st to wield, and force the noble youth

To merit titles they were born to bear:

Thou know'st that every sceptre is from Heaven
That guides mankind to virtue and to truth.

1' Rev. Mr. Dampier, then one of the upper masters of Eton School, and afterwards Dean of Durham, an intimate and much respected friend of Mr. Stillingfleet' (Coxe).

THOMAS GRAY

1716-71

ON THE DEATH OF RICHARD WEST

In vain to me the smiling mornings shine,

And reddening Phoebus lifts his golden fire: The birds in vain their amorous descant join ; Or cheerful fields resume their green attire: These ears, alas! for other notes repine,

A different object do these eyes require : My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine; And in my breast the imperfect joys expire. Yet morning smiles the busy race to cheer,

And new-born pleasure brings to happier men: The fields to all their wonted tribute bear; To warm their little loves the birds complain : I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear,

And weep

the more because I weep in vain.