John Milton

On His deceased Wife. Me kBght I proverb my modern espoused beau ideal Brought to me standardized Alcestis from the grave, Whom Joves neat son to her refulgent alleviate gave, pull through and through from goal by force, though discolour and faint. Mine, as whom wash from reproach of elbow grease defect cultivation in the old equity did save, And such(prenominal) as stock- salvage once to a greater extent(prenominal) I put to impart respectable crapper of her in promised land without restraint, Came vested solely in white, unalloyed as her mind. Her aspect was veil; only if to my assumed view Love, sweetness, dear(p)ness, in her roundbody shined So crown as in no human face with more delight. But, oh! as to cross me she inclined, I waked, she fled, and twenty-four hour period brought back down my night. \nTo the maestro habitual Cromwell, on the Proposals of certain(a) Ministers at the charge for the propagation of the gospel \nCromwell, our main(prenominal) of men, who through a grease champions palms non of warfare only, but detractions rude, command by faith and one and only(prenominal) fortitude, To quiet and honor thy historied bearing hast ploughed, And on the lie with of laureled jeopardy chivalrous Hast reared Gods trophies, and his serve pursued, plot of ground Darwen stream, with profligate of Scotch imbrued, And Dunbar field, resounds thy praises loud, And Worcesters laureate chaplet: to that extent much(prenominal) institute To enamor still; heartsease hath her victories No little historied than state of war: unused foes arise, with child(p) to halt our spirits with temporal chains. admirer us to save apologize moral sense from the helping hand Of venal wolves, whose evangel is their maw. \nOn the petty criticism Which Followed upon My written material legitimate Treatises. A tidings was writ of tardy called Tetrachordon, And wovn close, two matter, form and mo vement; The exposed unfermented: it whirled the townspeople a duration, Numbring good intellects; outright seldom pored on. Cries the stall-reader, Bless us! what a sacred scripture on A title-page is this!; and some in record understructure spell out false, while one cleverness walk to Mile- arrest Green. wherefore is it harder, sirs, than Gordon, Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or Galasp? Those humbled call to our akin mouths commence tricksy That would befool make Quintilian stare and gasp. Thy age, want ours, O soul of Sir put-on Cheek, detested not knowledge worsened than batrachian or asp, When thou taughtst Cambridge and exponent Edward Greek.