Paradise Lost

In slender Book his vast Design unfold,

Messiah Crown'd, Gods Reconcil'd Decree,

Held me a while misdoubting his Intent,

That he would ruine (for I saw him strong)

The sacred Truths to Fable and old Song

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

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

Might hence presume the whole Creations day

To change in Scenes, and show it in a Play.

Pardon me, Mighty Poet, nor despise

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:

That Majesty which through thy Work doth Reign

Draws the devout, deterring the Profane.

And things divine thou treatst of in such state

Thou singst with so much gravity and ease;

And above humane flight dost soar aloft

With plume so strong, so equal, and so soft.

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

With tinkling Rhime, of thy own sense secure;

While the Town-Bayes writes all the while and spells,

And like a Pack-horse tires without his Bells:

I too transported by the Mode offend,

And while I meant to Praise thee must Commend.

Thy Verse created like thy Theme sublime,