50 SATAN'S SOLILOQUY IN SIGHT OF PARADISE.

SATAN'S SOLILOQUY IN SIGHT OF PARADISE

O THOU, that with surpassing glory crown'd,
Look'st from thy sole dominion like the God
Of this new world; at whose sight all the stars
Hide their diminished heads; to thee I call,
But with no friendly voice, and add thy name,
O Sun! to tell thee how I hate thy beams,
That bring to my remembrance from what state
I fell-how glorious once above thy sphere-
Till pride and worse ambition threw me down,
Warring in Heaven against Heaven's matchless King.
Ah, wherefore? He deserved no such return
From me, whom he created what I was
In that bright eminence, and with his good
Upbraided none; nor was his service hard.
What could be less than to afford him praise,
The easiest recompense, and pay him thanks,
How due? Yet all his good proved ill to me,
And wrought but malice. Lifted up so high,
I 'sdained subjection, and thought one step higher
Would set me highest, and in a moment quit
The debt immense of endless gratitude,
So burthensome still paying, still to owe;
Forgetful what from him I still received,
And understood not that a grateful mind
By owing owes not, but still pays, at once
Indebted and discharged. What burden then?
O, had his powerful destiny ordain'd
Me some inferior angel, I had stood

Then happy; no unbounded hope had raised
Ambition! Yet why not? Some other power
As great might have aspired, and me, though mean,
Drawn to his part. But other powers as great
Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within
Or from without, to all temptations arm'd.
Hadst thou the same free will and power to stand?
Thou hadst. Whom hast thou then or what to accuse
But heaven's free love dealt equally to all?

Be then his love accursed, since love or hate,
To me alike, it deals eternal woe.

Nay, cursed be thou; since against his thy will

SATAN'S SOLILOQUY IN SIGHT OF PARADISE. 51

Chose freely what it now so justly rues.
Me miserable! which way shall I fly,
Infinite wrath and infinite despair?
Which way I fly is hell-myself am hell;
And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep,
Still threatening to devour me, opens wide,
To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.
O, then, at last relent. Is there no place
Left for repentance, none for pardon left?
None left but by submission; and that word
Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame
Among the spirits beneath, whom I seduced
With other promises and other vaunts
Than to submit, boasting I could subdue
The Omnipotent. Ah me! they little know
How dearly I abide that boast so vain,
Under what torments inwardly I groan,
While they adore me on the throne of hell.
With diadem and sceptre high advanced,
The lower still I fall, only supreme
In misery. Such joy ambition finds.
But say I could repent, and could obtain,

By act of grace, my former state, how soon

Would height recall high thoughts, how soon unsay

What feign'd submission swore? Ease would recant
Vows made in pain as violent and void.

For never can true reconcilement grow

Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep;
Which would but lead to a worse relapse
And heavier fall. So should I purchase dear
Short intermission bought with double smart.
This knows my Punisher; therefore, as far
From granting he as I from begging peace.
All hope excluded thus, behold, instead
Of us outcast, exiled, his new delight,
Mankind, created, and for him this world.
So farewell hope; and, with hope, farewell fear;
Farewell remorse! all good to me is lost.
Evil be thou my good. By thee at least
Divided empire with Heaven's King I hold :
By thee, and more than half, perhaps, will reign;
As man ere long, and this new world, shall know.

Milton.

52

MR. FERDINAND PIGSWIDDY.

MR. FERDINAND PIGSWIDDY.

In the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and-well
The date I've forgotten, but if you've at hand
A Post-office Directory, doubtless 'twill tell-
Mr. Ferdinand Pigswiddy lived in the Strand.
Mr. Ferdinand Pigswiddy traded in coals,
And also in charcoal, and likewise in coke;

He was fond of Don Juan, pork chops, and hot rolls,
And he thought he could sing, when he only could croak.

Mr. Ferdinand Pigswiddy went out one night
To a party-or, more strictly speaking, a ball;
And there he became rather more than polite

To a charming young lady, whose vestments were white,
And who seemed to his eyes the most lovely of all
The beautiful creatures who thronged on his sight.

A good deal of whispering, squeezing of fingers,
And such like, between this young couple took place;
And when Father Time, who 'tis known, never lingers,
Not even for lovers, declared, with grave face,

That the moment was come when they ought to be moving,
Poor Ferdinand felt,

As his eyes 'gan to melt

At the fast flitting form of enchantment and
grace,
That he'd taken a lesson in what is called loving.

When Ferdinand Pigswiddy got up next day,
He felt an unearthly strange pain at his chest:
His breakfast was banished untasted away,
Though his appetite mostly was one of the best.
Some low words he said

In dislike of his bread,

And he likewise did utter

Strange things 'bout the butter.

His singular pain caused him likewise to sigh;
And ere the sun said to the world it was noon,
He detected himself, with a tear in his eye,
Composing some very soft lines to the moon.
They were all about radiant glory" and that,
And how the bright stars should be wondered at ;
How the heavenly bodies were never at fault,

MR. FERDINAND PIGSWIDDY.

53

And how the blue sky was an azure vault.
And somehow or other the moon, and the skies,
And the stars, and all that, led to "zephyrs" and "sighs;'
And then followed "Cupid," and "heartstrings," and "ties,"
And "glances," and "blushes," and "very bright eyes."
Then came some remarks with regard to a walk
By the light of the fore-mentioned stars and the moon ;
And next an intention to fall down and talk
To the maid of his soul, on his knees, very soon,
And the moral and end of the story was this:
That if Fate interfered with his prospects of bliss,
He should lift up his voice in the midnight air,
And, addressing the moon, should most solemnly swear,
Or, at all events, promise, and vow, and declare,
By the light of its beams, so enchanting and fair,
That nothing should keep him from utter despair.

Mr. Ferdinand Pigswiddy ate not all day:
He tried some cold beef, but his stomach said-nay.
His tea-time rrived-not a crumb could he eat;
And all that he took was some tea-very sweet.
He really appeared the most wretched of men,
And he went up to bed at a quarter-past ten.

O! how Mr. Ferdinand Pigswiddy dreamed,
As he tossed on his restless lone bolster that night!
Round his couch eyes and faces in multitudes beamed,
And well-rounded figures in garments of light—
Especially one who was dressed all in white;
And then came a shape which he fancied he knew,
A foreign young man in moustachios and rings,
Who courted the lady in white in his view,
And said in her ear such unspeakable things;

When he waltzed with her, hang him! how nicely he did it;
Then he kiss'd her. Good gracious! she didn't forbid it!
He did it again; then more sweet things he spoke ;
Then he led her away; and Pigswiddy awoke.

For days, and for nights, and for weeks this went on,
And Ferdinand grew very pallid and wan;

In vain Mr. Bluepill, the doctor, attended him,
Nothing he gave or prescribed for him mended him;
Thinner and thinner poor Ferdinand grew,

Sunken his eyes became, pallid his hue.

54

MR. FERDINAND PIGSWIDDY.

Mr. Ferdinand Pigswiddy had a mamma;
A lady who knew the world's ways pretty well;
She was wise (as most ladies of middle-age are)
And just forty-nine-it's no libel to tell.

This lady was sent for (she lived down in Surrey)
And she came up to town in a very great hurry.

She was shocked-well she might be at sight of her son,
But she saw, with a glance, what was best to be done.
She started the doctor, and said to the youth,
"Now, Ferdinand Pigswiddy, tell me the truth:

You're in love, are you not? Well, that blush says you are. Now, who is the lady? Come, tell your mamma. "Well, really," she said, when the murder was out, "What a story to make all this rumpus about. I'll very soon cure you-be guided by me

And as right as a trivet ere long you shall be.

What's her name do you say?" "Jane Snigglethorpe, ma!'
"And where does she live?" "Why, I'm sure I don't know
But I don't think it's far
From Temple Bar,

For I recollect hearing her say to her Pa-
As the visitors all were beginning to go-
'It's very near five,

Pa, as I am alive,

And I'm sure my watch quite correct must be,
For 'twas set by St. Dunstan's at half-past three."

"But how long ago, dear," said Ferdinand's ma, "Was the party you speak of?" "Why, let me remember-To-day's March the thirdWell, upon my word,

"Twas the seventh-no eighth-no, the ninth of December."

"Good gracious!" said she, "why it's three months ago!
She's surely forgot you by this time." "Oh, no!"
Sigh'd the youth, "I will never believe

That so lovely a creature could feign or deceive;
And she told me most solemnly--yes, she told me,
That I never forgotten or slighted should be-
No, neither in time nor eternity!"

"Well, I don't wish to damp you," replied Mrs. P.,
"But such speeches as that are all fiddle-de-dee.
However, we now, if your strength will allow,