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to inquire at St. Giles's Church; where the Sexton shew'd him a small Monument, which he said was suppos’d to be Milton's; but the inscription had never been legible fince he was employ'd in that office, which he has possess’d about Forty Years. This, sure, cou'd never have happen'd in fo short a space of time, unless the Epitaph had been indufriously eras'd: and that supposition carries with it so much inhumanity, that I think we ought to believe it was not erected to his Memory.
JOANNIS MILTONI. Q?
U I legis Amissam Paradifum, grandia Magni
Carmina Miltoni, quid nifi cun&ta legis? Res cunetas, & cun&tarum primordia rerum,
Et fata, & fines, continet ifte liber. Intima panduntur magni penetralia mundi ;
Scribitur & toto quicquid in orbe latet : Terræque, tractusque maris, cælumque profundum,
Sulpbureufque Erebi, fammivomufque fpecus. Queque colunt terras, pontumque, & Tartara cæca;
Quæque colunt fummi lucida regna poli.
Et fine fire Chaos, & fine fine DE vs:
In CHRISTO erga homines conciliatus amor,
Et tamen bæc bodiè terra Britanna legit.
Que canit, & quantâ prælia dira tuba!
Cæleftes acies ! atque in certamine cælum !
Et quæ cæleftes pugna deceret agros ! Quantus in ætberiis tollit se Lucifer armis !
Atque ipfo graditur vix Michaele minor !
Dum ferus bic ftellas protegit, ille rapit !
Et non mortali defuper igne pluunt ;
Et metuit pugnæ non superelle fuæ.
Et currus animes, armaque digna DEO;
Erumpunt torvis fulgura luminibus;
Admiftis flammis in fonuere polo :
Et cassis dextris irrita tela cadunt,
Infernis certant condere se tenebris.
Et quos Fama recens, vel celebravit anus : Hæc quicunque leget, tantùm ceciniffe putabit
Mæonidem Ranas, Virgilium Culises.
SAM. BARROW. M.D.
HEN I beheld the Poet blind, yet bold,
In Nender book His vast design unfold : Meffiab crown'd, God's reconcil'd, decree, Rebelling Angels, the Forbidden Tree, Heav'n, Hell, Earth, Chaos, All! the argument Held me a-while misdoubting His intent; That He would ruin (for I faw Him strong) The Sacred Truths to fable, and old song ; (So Sampson grop'd the temple's posts in spight) The world o’erwhelming to revenge His fight.
Yet as I read, foon growing less fevere, I lik’d His project, the success did fear; Through that wide field how he his way Mould find, O'er which lame faith leads understanding blind ; Les He perplex'd the things He would explain, And what was easy, He should render vain.
Or, if a work so infinite He fpann'd, Jealous I was that some less Skilful hand (Such as disquiet always what is well, And by ill imitating would excell)
Might hence presume, the whole creation's day
Pardon me, Mighty Poet! nor despise
That majesty which through Thy Work doth reign,
Where could'ft Thou words of such a compass find?
Well might'ft thou scorn thy readers to allure