On the Death of a Fair Infant Dying of a Cough by John Milton Lyrics

O FAIREST flower no sooner blown but blasted
Soft silken Primrose fading timelesslie
Summers chief honour if thou hadst outlasted
Bleak winters force that made thy blossome drie;
For he being amorous on that lovely die
That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss
But kill'd alas, and then bewayl'd his fatal bliss

For since grim Aquilo his charioter
By boistrous rape th' Athenian damsel got
He thought it toucht his Deitie full neer
If likewise he some fair one wedded not
Thereby to wipe away th' infamous blot
Of long-uncoupled bed, and childless eld
Which 'mongst the wanton gods a foul reproach was held

So mounting up in ycie-pearled carr
Through middle empire of the freezing aire
He wanderd long, till thee he spy'd from farr
There ended was his quest, there ceast his care
Down he descended from his Snow-soft chaire
But all unwares with his cold-kind embrace
Unhous'd thy Virgin Soul from her fair hiding place
Yet art thou not inglorious in thy fate;
For so Apollo, with unweeting hand
Whilome did slay his dearly-loved mate
Young Hyacinth born on Eurotas' strand
Young Hyacinth the pride of Spartan land;
But then transform'd him to a purple flower
Alack that so to change thee winter had no power

Yet can I not perswade me thou art dead
Or that thy coarse corrupts in earths dark wombe
Or that thy beauties lie in wormie bed
Hid from the world in a low delved tombe;
Could Heav'n for pittie thee so strictly doom?
O no! for something in thy face did shine
Above mortalitie that shew'd thou wast divine

Resolve me then oh Soul most surely blest
(If so it be that thou these plaints dost hear)
Tell me bright Spirit where e're thou hoverest
Whether above that high first-moving Spheare
Or in the Elisian fields (if such there were.)
Oh say me true if thou wert mortal wight
And why from us so quickly thou didst take thy flight

Wert thou some Starr which from the ruin'd roofe
Of shak't Olympus by mischance didst fall;
Which carefull Jove in natures true behoofe
Took up, and in fit place did reinstall?
Or did of late earths Sonnes besiege the wall
Of sheenie Heav'n, and thou some goddess fled
Amongst us here below to hide thy nectar'd head
Or wert thou that just Maid who once before
Forsook the hated earth, O tell me sooth
And cam'st again to visit us once more?
Or wert thou that sweet smiling Youth!
Or that c[r]own'd Matron sage white-robed Truth?
Or any other of that heav'nly brood
Let down in clowdie throne to do the world some good

Note: 53 Or wert thou] Or wert thou Mercy—conjectured by
John Heskin Ch. Ch. Oxon. from Ode on Nativity, st. 15

Or wert thou of the golden-winged boast
Who having clad thy self in humane weed
To earth from thy praefixed seat didst poast
And after short abode flie back with speed
As if to shew what creatures Heav'n doth breed
Thereby to set the hearts of men on fire
To scorn the sordid world, and unto Heav'n aspire

But oh why didst thou not stay here below
To bless us with thy heav'n-lov'd innocence
To slake his wrath whom sin hath made our foe
To turn Swift-rushing black perdition hence
Or drive away the slaughtering pestilence
To stand 'twixt us and our deserved smart
But thou canst best perform that office where thou art
Then thou the mother of so sweet a child
Her false imagin'd loss cease to lament
And wisely learn to curb thy sorrows wild;
Think what a present thou to God hast sent
And render him with patience what he lent;
This if thou do he will an off-spring give
That till the worlds last-end shall make thy name to live

Ll

HAIL native Language, that by sinews weak
Didst move my first endeavouring tongue to speak
And mad'st imperfect words with childish tripps
Half unpronounc't, slide through my infant-lipps
Driving dum silence from the portal dore
Where he had mutely sate two years before:
Here I salute thee and thy pardon ask
That now I use thee in my latter task:
Small loss it is that thence can come unto thee
I know my tongue but little Grace can do thee:
Thou needst not be ambitious to be first
Believe me I have thither packt the worst:
And, if it happen as I did forecast
The daintest dishes shall be serv'd up last
I pray thee then deny me not thy aide
For this same small neglect that I have made:
But haste thee strait to do me once a Pleasure
And from thy wardrope bring thy chiefest treasure;
Not those new fangled toys, and triming slight
Which takes our late fantasticks with delight
But cull those richest Robes, and gay'st attire
Which deepest Spirits, and choicest Wits desire:
I have some naked thoughts that rove about
And loudly knock to have their passage out;
And wearie of their place do only stay
Till thou hast deck't them in thy best aray;
That so they may without suspect or fears
Fly swiftly to this fair Assembly's ears;
Yet I had rather if I were to chuse
Thy service in some graver subject use
Such as may make thee search thy coffers round
Before thou cloath my fancy in fit sound:
Such where the deep transported mind may scare
Above the wheeling poles, and at Heav'ns dore
Look in, and see each blissful Deitie
How he before the thunderous throne doth lie
Listening to what unshorn Apollo sings
To th'touch of golden wires, while Hebe brings
Immortal Nectar to her Kingly Sire:
Then passing through the Spherse of watchful fire
And mistie Regions of wide air next under
And hills of Snow and lofts of piled Thunder
May tell at length how green-ey'd Neptune raves
In Heav'ns defiance mustering all his waves;
Then sing of secret things that came to pass
When Beldam Nature in her cradle was;
And last of Kings and Queens and Hero's old
Such as the wise Demodocus once told
In solemn Songs at King Alcinous feast
While sad Ulisses soul and all the rest
Are held with his melodious harmonie
In willing chains and sweet captivitie
But fie my wandring Muse how thou dost stray!
Expectance calls thee now another way
Thou know'st it must be now thy only bent
To keep in compass of thy Predicament:
Then quick about thy purpos'd business come
That to the next I may resign my Roome

Then Ens is represented as Father of the Predicaments his ten
Sons, whereof the Eldest stood for Substance with his Canons
Which Ens thus speaking, explains

Good luck befriend thee Son; for at thy birth
The Faiery Ladies daunc't upon the hearth;
Thy drowsie Nurse hath sworn she did them spie
Come tripping to the Room where thou didst lie;
And sweetly singing round about thy Bed
Strew all their blessings on thy sleeping Head
She heard them give thee this, that thou should'st still
From eyes of mortals walk invisible
Yet there is something that doth force my fear
For once it was my dismal hap to hear
A Sybil old, bow-bent with crooked age
That far events full wisely could presage
And in Times long and dark Prospective Glass
Fore-saw what future dayes should bring to pass
Your Son, said she, (nor can you it prevent)
Shall subject be to many an Accident
O're all his Brethren he shall Reign as King
Yet every one shall make him underling
And those that cannot live from him asunder
Ungratefully shall strive to keep him under
In worth and excellence he shall out-go them
Yet being above them, he shall be below them;
From others he shall stand in need of nothing
Yet on his Brothers shall depend for Cloathing
To find a Foe it shall not be his hap
And peace shall lull him in her flowry lap;
Yet shall he live in strife, and at his dore
Devouring war shall never cease to roare;
Yea it shall be his natural property
To harbour those that are at enmity
What power, what force, what mighty spell, if not
Your learned hands, can loose this Gordian knot?

Rivers arise; whether thou be the Son
Of utmost Tweed, or Oose, or gulphie Dun
Or Trent, who like some earth-born Giant spreads
His thirty Armes along the indented Meads
Or sullen Mole that runneth underneath
Or Severn swift, guilty of Maidens death
Or Rockie Avon, or of Sedgie Lee
Or Coaly Tine, or antient hallowed Dee
Or Humber loud that keeps the Scythians Name
Or Medway smooth, or Royal Towred Thame