John Milton (1608 – 1674)
English poet and politician, most famous for his epic poem Paradise Lost.
O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray
Warbl'st at eve, when all the woods are still.
Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil.
And pomp, and feast, and revelry,
With mask, and antique pageantry,
Such sights as youthful poets dream
On summer eves by haunted stream.
Then to the well-trod stage anon,
If Jonson's learned sock be on,
Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild,
And ever, against eating cares,
Lap me in soft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal verse
Such as the meeting soul may pierce,
In notes with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out.
Yet I argue not
Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate one jot
Of heart or hope; but still bear up, and steer
Right onward.
No war, or battle's sound
Was heard the world around.
The idle spear and shield were high up hung.
Such as may make thee search the coffers round.
And add to these retired Leisure,
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure.
Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly,
Most musical, most melancholy!
The gay motes that people the sunbeams.
Or call up him that left half told
The story of Cambuscan bold.
[Rhyme is] but the invention of a barbarous age, to set off wretched matter and lame Meter; ... Not without cause therefore some both Italian and Spanish poets of prime note have rejected rhyme, ... as have also long since our best English tragedies, as... trivial and of no true musical delight; which [truly] consists only in apt numbers, fit quantity of syllables, and the sense variously drawn out from one verse into another, not in the jingling sound of like endings, a fault avoided by the learned ancients both in poetry and all good oratory.
Then to the spicy nut-brown ale.
Truth is as impossible to be soiled by any outward touch as the sunbeam.
For stories teach us, that liberty sought out of season, in a corrupt and degenerate age, brought Rome itself to a farther slavery: for liberty hath a sharp and double edge, fit only to be handled by just and virtuous men; to bad and dissolute, it becomes a mischief unwieldy in their own hands: neither is it completely given, but by them who have the happy skill to know what is grievance and unjust to a people, and how to remove it wisely; what good laws are wanting, and how to frame them substantially, that good men may enjoy the freedom which they merit, and the bad the curb which they need.
Litigious terms, fat contentions, and flowing fees.
Meadows trim, with daisies pied,
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide;
Towers and balements it sees
Bosomed high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies,
The cynosure of neighboring eyes.
Where glowing embers through the room
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom,
Far from all resort of mirth,
Save the cricket on the hearth.
When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless.
Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day.
License they mean when they cry, Liberty!
For who loves that must first be wise and good.