John Milton



At a Vacation Exercise in the College



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John Milton (1608-1674)

At a Vacation Exercise in the College

Part Latin, Part English


The Latin speeches ended, the English thus began.

Hail native Language, that by sinews weak
Didst move my first endeavoring tongue to speak,
And mad’st imperfect words with childish trips,
Half unpronounced, slide through my infant lips,
Driving dumb silence from the portal door,
Where he had mutely sat 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 packed the worst:
And, if it happen as I did forecast,
The daintest dishes shall be served up last.
I pray thee then deny me not thy aid
For this same small neglect that I have made:
But haste thee straight to do me once a Pleasure,
And from thy wardrobe bring thy chiefest treasure;
Not those new-fangled toys, and trimming slight
Which takes our late fantastics 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, weary of their place, do only stay
Till thou hast decked them in thy best array;
That so they may without suspect or fears
Fly swiftly to this fair Assembly’s ears;
Yet I had rather, if I were to choose,
Thy service in some graver subject use,
Such as may make thee search thy coffers round
Before thou cloth my fancy in fit sound:
Such where the deep transported mind may scare
Above the wheeling poles, and at Heav’ns door
Look in, and see each blissful Deity
How he before the thunderous throne doth lie,
Listening to what unshorn Apollo sings
To the touch of golden wires, while Hebe brings
Immortal Nectar to her Kingly Sire:
Then passing through the Spheres of watchful fire,
And misty Regions of wide air next under,
And hills of Snow and lofts of piled Thunder,
May tell at length how green-eyed Neptune raves,
In Heav’n’s 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 Heroes old,
Such as the wise Demodocus once told
In solemn Songs at King Alcinous’ feast,
While sad Ulysses’ soul and all the rest
Are held with his melodious harmony
In willing chains and sweet captivity.
But fie, my wand’ring 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 purposed business come,
That to the next I may resign my Room.

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 Fairy Ladies danced upon the hearth;
Thy drowsy Nurse hath sworn she did them spy
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 Time’s long and dark Prospective Glass
Foresaw what future days should bring to pass!

“Your Son,” said she, “(nor can you it prevent)
Shall subject be to many an Accident.
O’er 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 outgo 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 Clothing.
To find a Foe it shall not be his hap,
And peace shall lull him in her flow’ry lap;
Yet shall he live in strife, and at his door
Devouring war shall never cease to roar;
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?

The next Quantity and Quality, spake in Prose, then Relation was called by his Name.

Rivers, arise; whether thou be the Son,
Of utmost Tweed, or Ouse, or gulfy Dun,
Or Trent, who like some earth-born Giant spreads
His thirty Arms along the indented Meads,
Or sullen Mole that runneth underneath,
Or Severn swift, guilty of Maiden’s death,
Or Rocky Avon, or of Sedgy Lee,
Or Coaly Tine, or ancient hallowed Dee,
Or Humber loud that keeps the Scythian’s Name,
Or Medway smooth, or Royal Tow’red Thame.

The rest was Prose.




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