Excidit attonitis mens omnis, et impetus omnis, Ad poenas fugiunt, et, ceu foret Orcus asylum, Et quos fama recens vel celebravit anus: S. B., M.D. ON PARADISE LOST. /WHEN I beheld the Poet blind, yet bold, Heaven, Hell, Earth, Chaos, All-the argument (So Samson groped the temple's posts in spite), I liked his project, the success did fear Through that wide field how he his way should find O'er which lame Faith leads Understanding blind; 5 Lest he perplexed the things he would explain, And what was easy he should render vain. Or, if a work so infinite he spanned, Might hence presume the whole Creation's day But I am now convinced, and none will dare Thou hast not missed one thought that could be fit, So that no room is here for writers left, But to detect their ignorance or theft. The majesty which through thy work doth reign Draws the devout, deterring the profane. And things divine thou treat'st of in such state At once delight and horror on us seize; Thou sing'st with so much gravity and ease, Where could'st thou words of such a compass find? Well might'st thou scorn thy readers to allure While the Town-Bayes writes all the while and spells, I too, transported by the mode, offend, And, while I meant to praise thee, must commend. Thy verse, created, like thy theme sublime, In number, weight, and measure, needs not rime. A. M. |