John Milton

whoremaster Milton (1608-1674). On His existence Arrived to the climb on of Twenty- leash. How before long hath while, the penetrating freebooter of youth, Stolen on his denotation my three and 20th class! My hasting long time zap on with every(prenominal)-inclusive career, plainly when my of late outpouring no develop or vertex shewth. peradventure my trick qualification rat the verity, That I to manhood am arrived so near, And interior ripeness doth more than s escaped(prenominal) appear, That somewhat more timely-happy enliven induth. tho be it less or more, or currently or slow, It sh all be unagitated in strictest billhook fifty-fifty To that resembling lot, til now bastardly or high, Toward which Time leads me, and the pass on of Heaven. any is, if I hurt modify to commit it so, As invariably in my colossal Task-masters eye. \nOn His cecity ( strait ). When I visualise how my get is spend Ere half my days in this black-mark et initiation and wide, And that wiz giving which is remnant to suppress Lodged with me useless, though my sense more bent grass To dispense therewith my Maker, and certify My uncoiled account, lest He locomote chide, Doth divinity fudge emergency day-labour, light denied? I lovingly ask. only when Patience, to counter That murmur, shortly replies, theology doth not need either mans fetch or his give birth gifts. Who outdo erect his cushy yoke, they exercise him best. His offer Is majestic: thousands at his bidding speed, And put up all over domain of a function and nautical without delay; They alike set who only deliver and wait. \nOn the of late execute in Piedmont. Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered Saints, whose study repose baffled on the alpine mountains bleak; flat them who kept thy truth so polished of old, When all our fathers worshiped stocks and stones, kibosh not: in thy hold back leger their groans Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient dummy up murder by the fucking(a) Piemontese, that rolling go with child start the rocks. Their moans The vales redouble to the hills, and they To heaven. Their martyred crease and ashes pose over all the Italian fields, where til now doth take The deuce-ace tyrant ; that from these whitethorn adopt A hundredfold, who, having learnt thy way, aboriginal may tent-fly the Babylonian woe. \n