ON PARADISE LOST. WH E N I beheld the Poet blind, yet bold, In limier book His vaft defign unfold : Meffiah crown'd, God's reconcil'd decree, Rebelling Angels, the Forbidden Tie; Heav'n, Hell, Earth, Chaos, All ! the argument Held me a while mifdoubting His intent That He would ruin (for I law bias flrong) The Sacred Truths to fable, and old lot* ; (So Sampfon grop'd the Temple's polls in fpight) The world o'erwhelming to revenge His fight. Yet as I read, loon growing lets fevere, I lik'd His projea, the fuccefs did fear ; Through that wide field how He His way fhould finds' O'er which lame faith leads underftanding blind ; Left He perplex'd the things He would explain, And what was eafy, He fhould render vain. Or if a work fo infinite He fpann'd, Jealous I was that fome lets fkilful hand (Such as difquiet always what is well, And by ill imitating would excel) Might hence prefume, the whole creation's day To change in fcenes, and thew it in a Play. Pardon me, Mighty Poet ! nor delpife My caufelefs, yet not impious, furmife. But I am now convinc'd, and none will dare Within Thy labours to pretend a 'hare, Thou haft not mifs'd one thought that could be fit ; And all that was improper dolt omit : So
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