Hopeless are all my evils, all remediless;

This one prayer yet remains, might I be heard,
No long petition, speedy death,

The close of all my miseries, and the balm.

CHORUS.

Many are the sayings of the wise
In ancient and in modern books enrolled,
Extolling patience as the truest fortitude;
And to the bearing well of all calamities,
All chances incident to man's frail life,
Consolatories writ1

With studied argument, and much persuasion sought Lenient of grief3 and anxious thought:

But with the afflicted in his pangs their sound

Little prevails, or rather seems a tune

Harsh, and of dissonant mood from his complaint;

Unless he feel within

Some source of consolation from above,

Secret refreshings, that repair his strength,

And fainting spirits uphold.

God of our fathers! what is man,

That thou towards him with hand so various,

Or might I say contrarious,

Temperest thy providence through his short course,
Not evenly, as thou rul'st

The angelic orders and inferior creatures mute,

Irrational and brute.

Nor do I name of men the common rout,

That wandering loose about

Grow up and perish, as the summer fly,

Heads without name no more remembered,
But such as thou hast solemnly elected,
With gifts and graces eminently adorned,

To some great work, thy glory,

And people's safety, which in part they effect:
Yet toward these thus dignified, thou oft,

Amidst their height of noon,

Changest thy countenance, and thy hand with no regard

Of highest favours past

From thee on them, or them to thee of service.

Nor only dost degrade them, or remit

1 Are written.

2 Is soft. 3 Capable of assuaging grief. + People.

To life obscured, which were a fair dismission,

But throw'st them lower than thou didst exalt them high, Unseemly falls in human eye,

Too grievous for the trespass or omission;

Oft leav'st them to the hostile sword

Of heathen and profane, their carcases

To dogs and fowls a prey, or else captived;

Or to the unjust tribunals, under change of times,1
And condemnation of the ungrateful multitude.
If these they 'scape, perhaps in poverty2

With sickness and disease thou bow'st them down,
Painful diseases and deformed,

In crude3 old age;

Though not disordinate, yet causeless suffering
The punishment of dissolute days: in fine,
Just or unjust alike seem miserable,

For oft alike both come to evil end.

So deal not with this once thy glorious champion,
The image of thy strength, and mighty minister
What do I beg? How hast thou dealt already?
Behold him in this state calamitous, and turn
His labours, for thou canst, to peaceful end.

But who is this? what thing of sea or land?
Female of sex it seems,

That so bedecked, ornate, and gay,

Comes this way sailing

Like a stately ship

Of Tarsus, bound for the isles

Of Javan or Gadire,4

With all her bravery on, and tackle trim,

Sails filled, and streamers waving,

Courted by all the winds that hold them play,
An amber scent of odorous perfume

Her harbinger, a damsel train behind;
Some rich Philistian matron she may seem,

1 Here no doubt Milton reflected upon the trials and sufferings of his party after the Restoration; and probably he might have in mind particularly the case of Sir Harry Vane, whom he has so highly celebrated in one of his sonnets.-Newton.

2 This was Milton's own case.

3 Premature.

4 Cadiz. On this comparison, see Warburton's note on Shakspeare, Merry Wives, iii. 8.

And now, at nearer view, no other certain
Than Dalila thy wife.

SAMSON.

My wife, my traitress! let her not come near me.

CHORUS.

Yet on she moves, now stands and eyes thee fixed, About to have spoke, but now, with head declined Like a fair flower surcharged with dew, she weeps, And words addressed seem into tears dissolved, Wetting the borders of her silken veil : But now again she makes address to speak.

DALILA.

With doubtful feet and wavering resolution
I came, still dreading thy displeasure, Samson,
Which to have merited, without excuse,
I cannot but acknowledge; yet if tears
May expiate (though the fact more evil drew
In the perverse event than I foresaw),

My penance hath not slackened, though my pardon
No way assured. But conjugal affection,
Prevailing over fear and timorous doubt,
Hath led me on, desirous to behold
Once more thy face, and know of thy estate,
If aught in my ability may serve

To lighten what thou sufferest, and appease
Thy mind with what amends is in my power,
Though late, yet in some part to recompense
My rash but more unfortunate misdeed.

SAMSON.

Out, out, hyena! these are thy wonted arts,
And arts of every woman false like thee,
To break all faith, all vows, deceive, betray,
Then as repentant to submit, beseech,
And reconcilement move with feigned remorse;
Confess, and promise wonders in her change,
Not truly penitent, but chief to try

Her husband, how far urged his patience bears,
His virtue or weakness which way to assail:
Then with more cautious and instructed skill
Again transgresses, and again submits;
That wisest and best men full oft beguiled,
With goodness principled not to reject
The penitent, but ever to forgive,
Are drawn to wear out miserable days,

1