John Milton

Diodati, e te'l diro con maraviglia,
Quel ritroso io ch'amor spreggiar soleaE de suoi lacci spesso mi
Gia caddi, ov'huom dabben talhor s'impiglia
Ne treccie d'oro, ne guancia vermigliaM' abbaglian si, ma sotto nova

In this Monody the author bewails a learned Friend, unfortunately drowned in his passage from Chester on the Irish Seas, 1637; and, by occasion, foretells the ruin of our corrupted Clergy, then in their height
Yet once more,
O ye laurels...

Thus they, in lowliest plight, repentant stood Praying; for from the mercy-seat above Prevenient grace descending had removed The stony from their hearts, and made new flesh Regenerate grow instead; that sighs now breathed Unutterable; which the S...

Fairfax, whose Name in Arms through Europe rings, And fills all Mouths with Envy or with Praise, And all her Jealous Monarchs with Amaze
And Rumours loud which daunt remotest Kings,
Thy firm unshaken Valour ever brings Victory home, whil...

High on a throne of royal state, which far Outshone the wealth or Ormus and of Ind,
Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold,
Satan exalted sat, by merit raised To that bad eminence; and, ...

Now the bright morning Star,
Dayes harbinger,
Comes dancing from the East, and leads with
The Flowry May, who from her green lap

O, for that warning voice, which he, who saw The Apocalypse, heard cry in Heaven aloud,
Then when the Dragon, put to second rout,
Came furious down to be revenged on men,
Woe to the inhabitants on earth

Meanwhile the new-baptized, who yet
At Jordan with the Baptist, and had
Him whom they heard so late expressly
Jesus Messiah,

Avenge,
O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose
Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold,
Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old,

All night the dreadless Angel, unpursued,
Through Heaven's wide champain held his way; till Morn,
Waked by the circling Hours, with rosy hand Unbarred the gates of light
There is a cave Within the mount of God, fast by his throne,

When He Fled From Absalom
Lord how many are my
How many
That in arms against me

I
O fairest flower no sooner blown but blasted,
Soft silken Primrose fading timeless lie,
Summers chief honour if thou hadst

The Scene before the Prison in Gaza
Samson:  A little onward lend thy guiding
To these dark steps, a little further on;
For yonder bank hath choice of Sun or shade,

No more of talk where God or Angel guest With Man, as with his friend, familiar us'd,
To sit indulgent, and with him partake Rural repast; permitting him the while Venial discourse unblam'd
I now must change Those notes to tragick; foul ...

Donna leggiadra il cui bel nome honoraL'herbosa val di Rheno, e il nobil varco,
Ben e colui d'ogni valore
Qual tuo spirto gentil non innamora,
Che dolcemente mostra si di

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,
Stol'n on his wing my three-and-twentieth year
My hasting days fly on with full career,
But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th