HERE lieth one, who did most truly prove
That he could never die while he could move;
So hung his destiny, never to rot,
While he might still jog on and keep his trot;
Made of sphere-metal, never to decay,
Until his revolution was at stay.
Time numbers motion, yet without a crime
'Gainst old truth motion number'd out his time;
And like an engine moved with wheel and weight,
His principles being ceased, he ended straight.
Rest, that gives all men life, gave him his death,
And too much breathing put him out of breath;
Nor were it contradiction to affirm,
Too long vacation hasten'd on his term.
Merely to drive the time away he sicken'd,
Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be quicken'd;
"Nay," quoth he, on his swooning bed outstretch'd,
"If I mayn't carry, sure I'll ne'er be fetch'd;
But vow, though the cross doctors all stood hearers,
For one carrier put down to make six bearers."
Ease was his chief disease, and to judge right,
He died for heaviness, that his cart went light;
His leisure told him, that his time was come,
And lack of load made his life burdensome,
That e'n to his last breath, there be that say it,
As he were press'd to death, he cried, "More weight;"
But had his doings lasted as they were,
He had been an immortal carrier.
Obedient to the moon, he spent his date
In course reciprocal, and had his fate
Link'd to the mutual flowing of the seas,
Yet, strange to think, his wain was his increase:
His letters are deliver'd all, and gone,
Only remains this superscription.
| |
5
10
15
20
25
30
|
John Milton
