Dungeon, or beggery, or decrepit age!

Light the prime work of God, to me is extinct,
And all her various objects of delight

Annull'd, which might in part my grief have eas'd,
Inferiour to the vilest now become

Of man or worm; the vilest here excel me;
They creep, yet see; I, dark in light, expos'd
To daily fraud, contempt, abuse, and wrong,
Within doors, or without, still as a fool,
In power of others, never in my own;

Scarce half I seem to live, dead more than half.
O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon,
Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse

Without all hope of day!

O first created Beam, and thou great Word,
"Let there be light, and light was over all;"
Why am I thus bereav'd thy prime decree?
The sun to me is dark

And silent as the moon,

When she deserts the night,

Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.

Since light so necessary is to life,

And almost life itself, if it be true
That light is in the soul,

She all in every part; why was the sight
To such a tender ball as the eye confin'd,
So obvious and so easy to be quench'd?
And not, as feeling, through all parts diffus'd,

That she might look at will through every pore?
Then had I not been thus exíl'd from light,
To live a life half dead, a living death,
And buried; but, O yet more miserable!

Myself my sepulchre, a moving grave;
Buried, yet not exempt,

By privilege of death and burial,

From worst of other evils, pains and wrongs; But made hereby obnoxious more

To all the miseries of life.

Life in captivity

Among inhuman foes.

But who are these? for with joint pace I hear
The tread of many feet steering this way;
Perhaps my enemies, who come to stare
At my affliction! and perhaps to insult,
Their daily practice to afflict me more.

Enter CHORUS.

Chorus. This, this is he; softly a while, Let us not break in upon him:

O change beyond report, thought, or belief!
See how he lies at random, carelessly diffus'd,
With languish'd head unpropt,

As one past hope, abandon'd,
And by himself given over ;
In slavish habit, ill-fitted weeds
O'er worn and soil'd;

Or do my eyes misrepresent? Can this be he,
That heroick, that renown'd,

Irresistible Samson? whom unarm'd

No strength of man, or fiercest wild beast, could withstand;

Who tore the lion, as the lion tears the kid;
Ran on embattled armies clad in iron;

And, weaponless himself,

Made arms ridiculous, useless the forgery

Of brazen shield and spear, the hammer'd cuirass, Chalybean temper'd steel, and frock of mail

Adamantéan proof?

But safest he who stood aloof,

When insupportably his foot advanc'd,

In scorn of their proud arms and warlike tools, Spurn'd them to death by troops, The bold Asca

lonite

Fled from his lion ramp; old warriours turn'd
Their plated backs under his heel;

Or groveling, soil'd their crested helmets in the dust.

Then with what trivial weapon came to hand,

The jaw of a dead ass, his sword of bone,

A thousand fore-skins fell, the flower of Palestine, In Ramath-le chi, famous to this day.

Then by main force pull'd up, and on his shoulders

bore

The gates of Azza, post, and massy bar,

Up to the hill by Hebron, seat of giants old,
No journey of a sabbath-day, and loaded so,

Like whom the Gentiles feign to bear up Heaven.
Which shall I first bewail,

Thy bondage or lost sight,
Prison within prison

Inseparably dark ?

Thou art become (O worst imprisonment!)

The dungeon of thyself; thy soul,

(Which men enjoying sight oft without cause complain)

Imprison'd now indeed,

In real darkness of the body dwells,

Shut up from outward light

To incorporate with gloomy night;

For inward light alas!

Puts forth no visual beam.

O mirrour of our fickle state,
Since man on earth unparallell'd!

The rarer thy example stands,

By how much from the top of wonderous glory,
Strongest of mortal men,

To lowest pitch of abject fortune thou art fallen.

For him I reckon not in high estate

Whom long descent of birth,

Or the sphere of fortune, raises;

But thee whose strength, while virtue was her mate, Might have subdued the earth,

Universally crown'd with highest praises.

Samson. I hear the sound of words; their sense

the air

Dissolves unjointed ere it reach my ear.

Chorus. He speaks, let us draw nigh. Matchless in might,

The glory late of Israel, now the grief,

We come, thy friends and neighbours not unknown,
From Eshtaol and Zora's fruitful vale,

To visit or bewail thee; or if better,
Counsel or consolation we may bring,

Salve to thy sores; apt words have power to swage
The tumours of a troubled mind,

And are as balm to fester'd wounds.

Samson. Your coming, Friends, revives me;

learn

Now of my own experience, not by talk,
How counterfeit a coin they are who friends
Bear in their superscription, (of the most
I would be understood) in prosperous days

for I

They swarm, but in adverse withdraw their head, Not to be found, though sought. Ye see, O Friends,

How many evils have enclos'd me round;

Yet that which was the worst now least afflicts me, Blindness; for had I sight, confus'd with shame, How could I once look up, or heave the head, Who, like a foolish pilot, have shipwreck'd