Stat dubius cui se parti concedat Olympus,
Et metuit pugnae non superesse suae.
At simul in clis Messiae insignia fulgent,
Et currus animes, armaque digna Deo,
Horrendumque rotae strident, & soeva rotaruns
Erumpunt torvis fulgura luminibus,
Et flammae vibrant, & vera tonitrua rauco
Admistis flammis insonuere Polo:
Excidit attonitis mens omnis, & impetus omnis
Et cassis dextris irrita Telacadunt.
Ad poenas fugiunt, & ceu foret Orcus asylum
Infernis certant condere se tenebris.
Cedite Romani Scriptores, cedite Graii
Et quos fama recens vel celebravit anus.
Haec quicunque leget tantum cecinesse putabit
Maeonidem ranas, Virgilium culices.
S. B. M. D.
ON Paradise Lost.
WHen I beheld the Poet blind, yet bold,
In slender Book his vast Design unfold,
Messiah Crown'd, Gods 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 ruine (for I saw him strong)
The sacred Truths to Fable and old Song
(So Sampson groap'd the Temples Posts in spight)
The World o'rewhelming to revenge his sight.
Yet as I read, soon growing less severe,
I lik'd his Project, the success did fear;
Through that wide Field how he his way should find
O're which lame Faith leads Understanding blind;
Lest he perplex'd the things he would explain,
And what was easie he should render vain.
Or if a Work so infinite he spann'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 Creations day
To change in Scenes, and show it in a Play.
Pardon me, Mighty Poet, nor despise
My causeless, yet not impious, surmise.
But I am now convinc'd, and none will dare
Within thy Labours to pretend a share.
Thou hast not miss'd one thought that could be fit,
And all that was improper dost omit:
