Page:The Complete Poetical Works of John Milton.djvu/117

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{{ppoem|{{sc|I did}} but prompt the age to quit their clogs

By the known rules of ancient liberty,

When straight a barbarous noise environs me

Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes, and

dogs;

As when those hinds that were transformed to frogs

Railed at Latona's twin-born progeny,

Which after held the Sun and Moon in fee.

But this is got by casting pearl to hogs, That bawl for freedom in their senseless mood,

And still revolt when Truth would set them free.

Licence they mean when they cry Liberty;

For who loves that must first be wise and good:

But from that mark how far they rove we see,

For all this waste of wealth and loss of blood.

ON THE NEW FORCERS OF CONSCIENCE UNDER THE LONG PARLIAMENT

(1646)

BECAUSE you have thrown off your Prelate

Lord,

And with stiff vows renounced his Liturgy*

To seize the widowed whore Plurality, From them whose sin ye envied, not abhorred,

��Dare ye for this adjure the civil sword To force our consciences that Christ set

free,

And ride us with a Classic Hierarchy, Taught ye by mere A. S. and Rutherford? Men whose life, learning, faith, and pure

intent, Would have been held in high esteem

with Paul

Must now be named and printed heretics By shallow Edwards and Scotch What d' ye-call! But we do hope to find out all your

tricks,

Your plots and packing, worse than those of Trent,

That so the Parliament May with their wholesome and preventive

shears

Clip your phylacteries, though baulk your ears,

And succour our just fears, When they shall read this clearly in your

charge: New Presbyter is but old Priest writ large.

��TO MR. H. LAWES ON HIS AIRS (1646)

HARRY, whose tuneful and well-measured

song First taught our English music how to

span Words with just note and accent, not to

scan With Midas' ears, committing short and

long, Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the

throng, With praise enough for Envy to look

wan;

To after age thou shalt be writ the man That with smooth air couldst humour

best our tongue. Thou honour'st Verse, and Verse must

lend her wing To honour thee, the priest of Phoabus*

quire, That tunest their happiest lines in hymn

or story. Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee

higher

�� �