Milton - PR3550 D77 1777 M2

464. SONNET VI. On his own blindnefs. When I confider how my light is fpent Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide, Lodg'd with me ufelefs, though my foul more bent To ferve therewith my Maker, and prefent My true account, left he returning chide ; Doth God exalt day-labor, light deny'd, I fondly afk : But patience to prevent That murmur, foon replies, God cloth not need Either man's work or his own gifts ; who heft io Bear his mild yoke, they ferve him bell : his {late Is kingly; thuufands at his bidding fpeed, And pat o'er land and ocean without reit ; They alto ferve who only (land and wait. VII. To CYRIAC SKINNER. Cyriac, this three years day thefe eyes, though clear, To outward view, of blemifh or of fpot, Bereft of light their feeing have forgot, Nor to their idle orbs doth fight appear Of fun, or moon, or liar throughout the year, Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not Againft Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate a jot Ofheart or hope; but Rill bear up and ffeer Right onward. What fupports me, doff thou afk ? The confcience, Friend, to' have loft them overply'd In liberty's defenfe, my noble talk, IZ Of which all Europe talks from fide to fide. This thought might lead me through the world's vain ma& Content though blind, had I no better guide,