Paradise Lost. A POEM IN TWELVE BOOKS. ------------------------------------------------------------ The Author JOHN MILTON. ------------------------------------------------------------ The Second Edition Revised and Augmented by the Same Author. ------------------------------------------------------------ LONDON. Printed by S. Simmons next door to the Golden Lion in Aldergate-street, 1674. PARADISE LOST. 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: So that no room is here for Writers left, But to detect their Ignorance or Theft. That Majesty which through thy Work doth Reign Draws the Devout, deterring the Profane, And things divine thou treatst of in such state As them preserves, and thee, inviolate. At once delight and horrour on us seise, Thou singst with so much gravity and ease; And above humane flight dost soar aloft With Plume so strong, so equal, and so soft. The Bird nam'd from that Paradise you sing So never flaggs, but always keeps on Wing. Where couldst thou words of such a compass find? Whence furnish such a vast expence of mind? Just Heav'n thee like Tiresias to requite Rewards with Prophesie thy loss of sight.