first thoughts and subsequent corrections of so great a poet as Milton; but it is remarkable that, in these manuscript poems, he doth not often make his stops, or begin his lines with great letters. There are likewise in his own hand-writing, different plans of Paradise Lost, in the form of a tragedy; and it is an agreeable amusement to trace the gradual progress and improvement of such a work from its first dawnings in the plan of a tragedy to its full lustre in an epic poem. Together with the plans of Paradise Lost, there are the plans or subjects of several other intended tragedies, some taken from the Scripture, others from the British or Scottish histories; and of the latter, the last mentioned is Macbeth, as if he had an inclination to try his strength with Shakespear; and to reduce the play more to the unities, he proposes beginning at the arrival of Malcolm at Macduff; the matter of Duncan may be expressed by the appearing of his ghost." These manuscripts of Milton were found by the learned Mr. Professor Mason, among some other old papers, which, he says, belonged to Sir Henry Newton Puckering, who was a considerable benefactor to the library; and for the better preservation of such truly valuable reliques, they were collected together, and handsomely bound in a thin folio, by the care, and at the charge, of a person who is now very eminent in his profession, and was always a lover of the Muses, and at that time a Fellow of Trinity College, Mr. Clarke, one of his Majesty's counsel. IN PARADISUM AMISSAM SUMMI POETE JOHANNIS MILTONI. QUI legis, Amissam Paradisum, grandia magni Carmina Miltoni, quid nisi cuncta legis ? Terræque, tractusque maris, cœlumque profundum, Et quodcunque ullis conclusum est finibus usquam, Et sine fine magis, si quid magis est sine fine, Coelestes acies; atque in certamine coelum ! Et flammæ vibrant, & vera tonitrua rauco Excidit attonitis mens omnis, & impetus omnis, Ad pcenas fugiunt, & ceu foret Orcus asylum, SAMUEL BARROW, M. D. ON PARADISE LOST. WHEN I beheld the Poet blind, yet bold, Heaven, Hell, Earth, Chaos, all; the argument And by ill imitating would excel) Might hence presume the whole creation's day Thou hast not miss'd one thought that could be fit, So that no room is here for writers left, That majesty which through thy work doth reign, Draws the devout, deterring the profane. And things divine thou treat'st of in such state At once delight and horror on us seise, Where couldst thou words of such a compass find? Well might'st thou scorn thy readers to allure With tinkling rhyme, of thy own sense secure ; While the Town-Bays writes all the while and |