On Mr. John Milton’s Comus

For Lord’s exultant installation thou
Singest for the performance at Ludlow,
Of greatest Virtue that high Heav’n bestows
On mansions virgin demoiselles doth house,
That no temptation could utterly soil,
No evil spirit ever durst to foil,
Nor Circe’s son despite his crooked trials
Succeeded her to taint by amorous vials;
Fixt her to the enchanted clammy seat
Who but ne’er yielded and rake’s words did meet;
For she that saves her from the jinx’s hands
Her aught enticer cannot touch with wands
Or sceptre vile like that possess’t by him
Who reigns like a King in midnight bowers dim,
O’erwhelm’d with his pert father’s wildest ways,
And mother’s guiles expos’d in ancient days.
He many a quean might rob of innocence,
Yet see how victories this maid’s Abstinence!
For Heaven sends a Spirit or a Sabrina,
No matter how gruesome be the sinner
That strives to violate the ladies chaste
For thwarted purpose, Heaven’s wrath fac’d
instead; on such an elevated theme
Young Bard, composest it that all esteem,
Renderest libertines’ sick heart to shrink
The thought of finding them by Misery’s brink.

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Sarban Bhattacharya

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The spurt of corporeal pleasure is like a restive brooklet that falls into the serene but colossal ocean of peaceful rapture of mind.
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