18

类别:文学名著 作者:约翰·弥尔顿 本章:18

    God made thee of choice his own, and of his own

    to serve hy reward was of his grace,

    t tly is at his ill.

    Be it so, for I submit, his doom is fair,

    t dust I am, and so dust returne: [ 770 ]

    O welcom hour whenever! why delayes

    o execute w his Decree

    Fixd on this day? why do I overlive,

    to deat [ 775 ]

    Mortalitie my sentence, and be Earth

    Insensible, how glad would lay me down

    As in my Mot

    And sleep secure; his dreadful voice no more

    ould thunder in my ears, no fear of worse [ 780 ]

    to mee and to my ofspring orment me

    itation. Yet one doubt

    Pursues me still, least all I cannot die,

    Least t pure breat of Man

    together perish [ 785 ]

    ithe Grave,

    Or in some other dismal place who knows

    But I s

    rue! yet  breath

    Of Life t sinnd;  w had life [ 790 ]

    And sin? ther.

    All of me t this appease

    t, since her knows.

    For te,

    Is , man is not so, [ 795 ]

    But mortal doomd. how can he exercise

    rat end on Man w end?

    Can  o make

    Strange contradiction, wo God himself

    Impossible is  [ 800 ]

    Of  of Power. ill ,

    For angers sake, finite to infinite

    In puniso satisfie his rigour

    Satisfid never; t o extend

    ence beyond dust and Natures Law, [ 805 ]

    By will

    to tion of tter act,

    Not to tent of t say

    t Deat one stroak, as I supposd,

    Bereaving sense, but endless miserie [ 810 ]

    From this day onward, which I feel begun

    Bot me, and so last

    to perpetuitie; Ay me, t fear

    Comes tion

    On my defensless h and I [ 815 ]

    Am found Eternal, and incorporate both,

    Nor I on my part single, in mee all

    Posteritie stands curst: Fair Patrimonie

    t I must leave ye, Sons; O were I able

    to e it all my self, and leave ye none! [ 820 ]


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