December 19 The Harvard Classics, fifteen minutes a day
Samson Finds a Champion
The mighty Samson was blinded while a captive of the Philistines. He sought revenge—a revenge devastating and costly. Milton, himself a giant of intellect, blind and imprisoned, wrote of this sightless giant of other days.
- Milton released from prison, Dec. 19, 1660.
From the 1930 Reading Guide
Samson Agonistes
John Milton
Page 444 opens mid-sentence; the reading starts at its beginning on page 443.
Har. Presume not on thy God. Whate’er he be,Thee he regards not, owns not, hath cut offQuite from his people, and delivered upInto thy enemies’ hand; permitted themTo put out both thine eyes, and fettered send theeInto the common prison, there to grindAmong the slaves and asses, thy comrades,As good for nothing else, no better serviceWith those thy boisterous locks; no worthy matchFor valour to assail, nor by the swordOf noble warrior, so to stain his honour,But by the barber’s razor best subdued.Sams. All these indignities, for such they areFrom thine, these evils I deserve and more,Acknowledge them from God inflicted on meJustly, yet despair not of his final pardon,Whose ear is ever open, and his eyeGracious to re-admit the suppliant;In confidence whereof I once againDefy thee to the trial of mortal fight,By combat to decide whose god is God,Thine, or whom I with Israel’s sons adore.Har. Fair honour that thou dost thy God, in trustingHe will accept thee to defend his cause,A murtherer, a revolter, and a robber!Sams. Tongue-doughty giant, how dost thou prove me these?Har. Is not thy nation subject to our Lords?Their magistrates confessed it when they took theeAs a league-breaker, and delivered boundInto our hands; for hadst thou not committedNotorious murder on those thirty menAt Ascalon, who never did thee harm,Then, like a robber, stripp’dst them of their robes?The Philistines, when thou hadst broke the league,Went up with armèd powers thee only seeking,To others did no violence nor spoil.Sams. Among the daughters of the PhilistinesI chose a wife, which argued me no foe,And in your city held my nuptial feast;But your ill-meaning politician lords,Under pretence of bridal friends and guests,Appointed to await me thirty spies,Who, threatening cruel death, constrained the brideTo wring from me, and tell to them, my secret,That solved the riddle which I had proposed.When I perceived all set on enmity,As on my enemies, wherever chanced,I used hostility, and took their spoil,To pay my underminers in their coin.My nation was subjected to your lords!It was the force of conquest; force with forceIs well ejected when the conquered can.But I, a private person, whom my countryAs a league-breaker gave up bound, presumedSingle rebellion, and did hostile acts!I was no private, but a person raised,With strength sufficient, and command from Heaven,To free my country. If their servile mindsMe, their Deliverer sent, would not receive,But to their masters gave me up for nought,The unworthier they; whence to this day they serve.I was to do my part from Heaven assigned,And had performed it if my known offenceHad not disabled me, not all your force.These shifts refuted, answer thy appellant,Though by his blindness maimed for high attempts,Who now defies thee thrice to single fight,As a petty enterprise of small enforce.Har. With thee, a man condemned, a slave enrolled,Due by the law to capital punishment?To fight with thee no man of arms will deign.Sams. Cam’st thou for this, vain boaster, to survey me,To descant on my strength, and give thy verdict?Come nearer; part not hence so slight informed;But take good heed my hand survey not thee.Har. O Baal-zebub! can my ears unusedHear these dishonours, and not render death?Sams. No man withholds thee; nothing from thy handFear I incurable; bring up thy van;My heels are fettered, but my fist is free.Har. This insolence other kind of answer fits.Sams. Go, baffled coward, lest I run upon thee,Though in these chains, bulk without spirit vast,And with one buffet lay thy structure low,Or swing thee in the air, then dash thee down,To the hazard of thy brains and shattered sides.Har. By Astaroth, ere long thou shalt lamentThese braveries, in irons loaden on thee.Chor. His Giantship is gone somewhat crest-fallen,Stalking with less unconscionable strides,And lower looks, but in a sultry chafe.Sams. I dread him not, nor all his giant brood,Though fame divulge him father of five sons,All of gigantic size, Goliah chief.Chor. He will directly to the lords, I fear,And with malicious counsel stir them upSome way or other yet further to afflict thee.Sams. He must allege some cause, and offered fightWill not dare mention, lest a question riseWhether he durst accept the offer or not;And that he durst not plain enough appeared.Much more affliction than already feltThey cannot well impose, nor I sustain,If they intend advantage of my labours,The work of many hands, which earns my keeping,With no small profit daily to my owners.But come what will; my deadliest foe will proveMy speediest friend, by death to rid me hence;The worst that he can give to me the best.Yet so it may fall out, because their endIs hate, not help to me, it may with mineDraw their own ruin who attempt the deed.Chor. O, how comely it is, and how revivingTo the spirits of just men long oppressed,When God into the hands of their delivererPuts invincible might,To quell the mighty of the earth, the oppressor,The brute and boisterous force of violent men,Hardy and industrious to supportTyrannic power, but raging to pursueThe righteous, and all such as honour truth!He all their ammunitionAnd feats of war defeats,With plain heroic magnitude of mindAnd celestial vigour armed;Their armouries and magazins contemns,Renders them useless, whileWith wingèd expeditionSwift as the lightning glance he executesHis errand on the wicked, who, surprised,Lose their defence, distracted and amazed.But patience is more oft the exerciseOf saints, the trial of their fortitude,Making them each his own deliverer,And victor over allThat tyranny or fortune can inflict.Either of these is in thy lot,Samson, with might enduedAbove the sons of men; but sight bereavedMay chance to number thee with thoseWhom Patience finally must crown.This Idol’s day hath been to thee no day of rest,Labouring thy mindMore than the working day thy hands.And yet, perhaps, more trouble is behind;For I descry this waySome other tending; in his handA sceptre or quaint staff he bears,Comes on amain, speed in his look.By his habit I discern him nowA public officer, and now at hand.His message will be short and voluble.Off. Ebrews, the prisoner Samson here I seek.Chor. His manacles remark him; there he sits.Off. Samson, to thee our Lords thus bid me say:This day to Dagon is a solemn feast,With sacrifices, triumph, pomp, and games;Thy strength they know surpassing human rate,And now some public proof thereof requireTo honour this great feast, and great assembly.Rise, therefore, with all speed, and come along,Where I will see thee heartened and fresh clad,To appear as fits before the illustrious Lords.Sams. Thou know’st I am an Ebrew; therefore tell themOur law forbids at their religious ritesMy presence; for that cause I cannot come.Off. This answer, be assured, will not content them.Sams. Have they not sword-players, and every sortOf gymnic artists, wrestlers, riders, runners,Jugglers and dancers, antics, mummers, mimics,But they must pick me out, with shackles tired,And over-laboured at their public mill,To make them sport with blind activity?Do they not seek occasion of new quarrels,On my refusal, to distress me more,Or make a game of my calamities?Return the way thou cam’st; I will not come.Off. Regard thyself; this will offend them highly.Sams. Myself! my conscience, and internal peace.Can they think me so broken, so debasedWith corporal servitude, that my mind everWill condescend to such absurd commands?Although their drudge, to be their fool or jester,And, in my midst of sorrow and heart-grief,To shew them feats, and play before their god—The worst of all indignities, yet on meJoined with extreme contempt! I will not come.Off. My message was imposed on me with speed,Brooks no delay: is this thy resolution?Sams. So take it with what speed thy message needs.Off. I am sorry what this stoutness will produce.Sams. Perhaps thou shalt have cause to sorrow indeed.Chor. Consider, Samson; matters now are strainedUp to the highth, whether to hold or break.He’s gone and who knows how he may reportThy words by adding fuel to the flame?Expect another message, more imperious,More lordly thundering than thou well wilt bear.Sams. Shall I abuse this consecrated giftOf strength, again returning with my hairAfter my great transgression—so requiteFavour renewed, and add a greater sinBy prostituting holy things to idols,A Nazarite, in place abominable,Vaunting my strength in honour to their Dagon?Besides how vile, contemptible, ridiculous,What act more execrably unclean, profane?Chor. Yet with this strength thou serv’st the Philistines,Idolatrous, uncircumcised, unclean.Sams. Not in their idol-worship, but by labourHonest and lawful to deserve my foodOf those who have me in their civil power.Chor. Where the heart joins not, outward acts defile not.Sams. Where outward force constrains, the sentence holds:But who constrains me to the temple of Dagon,Not dragging? The Philistian Lords command:Commands are no constraints. If I obey them,I do it freely, venturing to displeaseGod for the fear of Man, and Man prefer,Set God behind; which, in his jealousy,Shall never, unrepented, find forgiveness.Yet that he may dispense with me, or thee,Present in temples at adolatrous ritesFor some important cause, thou need’st not doubt.Chor. How thou wilt here come off surmounts my reach.Sams. Be of good courage; I begin to feelSome rousing motions in me, which disposeTo something extraordinary in my thoughts.I with this messenger will go along—Nothing to do, be sure, that may dishonourOur Law, or stain my vow of Nazarite.If there be aught of presage in the mind,This day will be remarkable in my lifeBy some great act, or of my days the last.Chor. In time thou hast resolved: the man returns.Off. Samson, this second message from our LordsTo thee I am bid say: Art thou our slave,Our captive, at the public mill our drudge,And dar’st thou, at our sending and command,Dispute thy coming? Come without delay;Or we shall find such engines to assailAnd hamper thee, as thou shalt come of force,Though thou wert firmlier fastened than a rock.Sams. I could be well content to try their art,Which to no few of them would prove pernicious;Yet, knowing their advantages too many,Because they shall not trail me through their streetsLike a wild beast, I am content to go.Masters’ commands come with a power resistlessTo such as owe them absolute subjection;And for a life who will not change his purpose?(So mutable are all the ways of men!)Yet this be sure, in nothing to complyScandalous or forbidden in our Law.Off. I praise thy resolution. Doff these links:By this compliance thou wilt win the LordsTo favour, and perhaps to set thee free.Sams. Brethren, farewell. Your company alongI will not wish, lest it perhaps offend themTo see me girt with friends; and how the sightOf me, as of a common enemy,So dreaded once, may now exasperate themI know not. Lords are lordliest in their wine;And the well-feasted priest then soonest firedWith zeal, if aught religion seem concerned;No less the people, on their holy days,Impetuous, insolent, unquenchable.Happen what may, of me expect to hearNothing dishonourable, impure, unworthyOur God, our Law, my nation, or myself;The last of me or no I cannot warrant.Chor. Go, and the Holy OneOf Israel be thy guideTo what may serve his glory best, and spread his nameGreat among the Heathen round;Send thee the Angel of thy birth, to standFast by thy side, who from thy father’s fieldRode up in flames after his message toldOf thy conception, and be now a shieldOf fire; that Spirit that first rushed on theeIn the camp of Dan,Be efficacious in thee now at need!For never was from Heaven impartedMeasure of strength so great to mortal seed,As in thy wondrous actions hath been seen.But wherefore comes old Manoa in such hasteWith youthful steps? Much livelier than erewhileHe seems: supposing here to find his son,Or of him bringing to us some glad news?Man. Peace with you, brethren! My inducement hitherWas not at present here to find my son,By order of the Lords new parted henceTo come and play before them at their feast.I heard all as I came; the city rings,And numbers thither flock: I had no will,Lest I should see him forced to things unseemly.But that which moved my coming now was chieflyTo give ye part with me what hope I haveWith good success to work his liberty.Chor. That hope would much rejoice us to partakeWith thee. Say, reverend sire; we thirst to hear.Man. I have attempted, one by one, the Lords,Either at home, or through the high street passing,With supplication prone and father’s tears,To accept of ransom for my son, their prisoner.Some much averse I found, and wondrous harsh,Contemptuous, proud, set on revenge and spite;That part most reverenced Dagon and his priests:Others more moderate seeming, but their aimPrivate reward, for which both God and StateThey easily would set to sale: a thirdMore generous far and civil, who confessedThey had enough revenged, having reducedTheir foe to misery beneath their fears;The rest was magnanimity to remit,If some convenient ransom were proposed.What noise or shout was that? It tore the sky.Chor. Doubtless the people shouting to beholdTheir once great dread, captive and blind before them,Or at some proof of strength before them shown.Man. His ransom, if my whole inheritanceMay compass it, shall willingly be paidAnd numbered down. Much rather I shall chooseTo live the poorest in my tribe, than richestAnd he in that calamitous prison left.No, I am fixed not to part hence without him.For his redemption all my patrimony,If need be, I am ready to forgoAnd quit. Not wanting him, I shall want nothing.Chor. Fathers are wont to lay up for their sons;Thou for thy son art bent to lay out all:Sons wont to nurse their parents in old age;Thou in old age car’st how to nurse thy son,Made older than thy age through eye-sight lost.Man. It shall be my delight to tend his eyes,And view him sitting in his house, ennobledWith all those high exploits by him achieved,And on his shoulders waving down those locksThat of a nation armed the strength contained.And I persuade me God hath not permittedHis strength again to grow up with his hairGarrisoned round about him like a campOf faithful soldiery, were not his purposeTo use him further yet in some great service—Not to sit idle with so great a giftUseless, and thence ridiculous, about him.And, since his strength with eye-sight was not lost,God will restore him eye-sight to his strength.Chor. Thy hopes are not ill founded, nor seem vain,Of his delivery, and thy joy thereonConceived, agreeable to a father’s love;In both which we, as next, participate.Man. I know your friendly minds, and . . . O, what noise!Mercy of Heaven! what hideous noise was that?Horribly loud, unlike the former shout.Chor. Noise call you it, or universal groan,As if the whole inhabitation perished?Blood, death, and deathful deeds, are in that noise,Ruin, destruction at the utmost point.Man. Of ruin indeed methought I heard the noise.Oh! it continues; they have slain my son.Chor. Thy son is rather slaying them: that outcryFrom slaughter of one foe could not ascend.Man. Some dismal accident it needs must be.What shall we do—stay here, or run and see?Chor. Best keep together here, lest, running thither,We unawares, run into danger’s mouth.This evil on the Philistines is fallen:From whom could else a general cry be heard?The sufferers, then, will scarce molest us here;From other hands we need not much to fear.What if, his eye-sight (for to Israel’s GodNothing is hard) by miracle restored,He now be dealing dole among his foes,And over heaps of slaughtered walk his way?Man. That were a joy presumptuous to be thought.Chor. Yet God hath wrought things as incredibleFor his people of old; what hinders now?Man. He can, I know, but doubt to think he will;Yet hope would fain subscribe, and tempts belief.A little stay will bring some notice hither.Chor. Of good or bad so great, of bad the sooner;For evil news rides post, while good news baits.And to our wish I see one hither speeding—An Ebrew, as I guess, and of our tribe.Messenger. O, whither shall I run, or which way flyThe sight of this so horrid spectacle,Which erst my eyes beheld, and yet behold?For dire imagination still pursues me.But providence or instinct’ of nature seems,Or reason, though disturbed and scarce consulted,To have guided me aright, I know not how,To thee first, reverend Manoa, and to theseMy countrymen, whom here I knew remaining,As at some distance from the place of horror,So in the sad event too much concerned.Man. The accident was loud, and here before theeWith rueful cry; yet what it was we hear not.No preface needs; thou seest we long to know.Mess. It would burst forth; but I recover breath,And sense distract, to know well what I utter.Man. Tell us the sum; the circumstance defer.Mess. Gaza yet stands; but all her sons are fallen,All in a moment overwhelmed and fallen.Man. Sad! but thou know’st to Israelites not saddestThe desolation of a hostile city.Mess. Feed on that first; there may in grief be surfeit.Man. Relate by whom.Mess. By Samson.Man. That still lessensThe sorrow, and converts it nigh to joy.Mess. Ah! Manoa, I refrain too suddenlyTo utter what will come at last too soon,Lest evil tidings, with too rude irruptionHitting thy aged ear, should pierce too deep.Man. Suspense in news is torture; speak them out.Mess. Then take the worst in brief: Samson is dead.Man. The worst indeed! O, all my hope’s defeatedTo free him hence! but Death, who sets all free,Hath paid his ransom now and full discharge.What windy joy this day had I conceived,Hopeful of his delivery, which now provesAbortive as the first-born bloom of springNipt with the lagging rear of winter’s frost!Yet, ere I give the reins to grief, say firstHow died he; death to life is crown or shame.All by him fell, thou say’st; by whom fell he?What glorious hand gave Samson his death’s wound?Mess. Unwounded of his enemies he fell.Man. Wearied with slaughter, then, or how? explain.Mess. By his own hands.Man. Self-violence! What causeBrought him so soon at variance with himselfAmong his foes?Mess. Inevitable cause—At once both to destroy and be destroyed.The edifice, where all were met to see him,Upon their heads and on his own he pulled.Man. O lastly over-strong against thyself!A dreadful way thou took’st to thy revenge.More than enough we know; but, while things yetAre in confusion, give us, if thou canst,Eye-witness of what first or last was done,Relation more particular and distinct.Mess. Occasions drew me early to this city;And, as the gates I entered with sun-rise,The morning trumpets festival proclaimedThrough each high street. Little I had dispatched,When all abroad was rumoured that this daySamson should be brought forth, to shew the peopleProof of his mighty strength in feats and games.I sorrowed at his captive state, but mindedNot to be absent at that spectacle.The building was a spacious theatre,Half round on two main pillars vaulted high,With seats where all the Lords, and each degreeOf sort, might sit in order to behold;The other side was open, where the throngOn banks and scaffolds under sky might stand:I among these aloof obscurely stood.The feast and noon grew high, and sacrificeHad filled their hearts with mirth, high cheer, and wine,When to their sports they turned. ImmediatelyWas Samson as a public servant brought,In their state livery clad: before him pipesAnd timbrels; on each side went armèd guards;Both horse and foot before him and behind,Archers and slingers, cataphracts, and spears.At sight of him the people with a shoutRifted the air, clamouring their god with praise,Who had made their dreadful enemy, their thrall.He patient, but undaunted, where they led him,Came to the place; and what was set before him,Which without help of eye might be assayed,To heave, pull, draw, or break, he still performedAll with incredible, stupendious force,None daring to appear antagonist.At length, for intermission sake, they led himBetween the pillars; he his guide requested(For so from such as nearer stood we heard),As over-tired, to let him lean a whileWith both his arms on those two massy pillars,That to the archèd roof gave main support.He unsuspicious led him; which when SamsonFelt in his arms, with head a while enclined,And eyes fast fixed, he stood, as one who prayed,Or some great matter in his mind revolved:At last, with head erect, thus cried aloud:—“Hitherto, Lords, what your commands imposedI have performed, as reason was, obeying,Not without wonder or delight beheld;Now, of my own accord, such other trialI mean to shew you of my strength yet greaterAs with amaze shall strike all who behold.”This uttered, straining all his nerves, he bowed;As with the force of winds and waters pentWhen mountains tremble, those two massy pillarsWith horrible convulsion to and froHe tugged, he shook, till down they came, and drewThe whole roof after them with burst of thunderUpon the heads of all who sat beneath,Lords, ladies, captains, counsellors, or priests,Their choice nobility and flower, not onlyOf this, but each Philistian city round,Met from all parts to solemnize this feast.Samson, with these immixed, inevitablyPulled down the same destruction on himself;The vulgar only scaped, who stood without.Chor. O dearly bought revenge, yet glorious!Living or dying thou has fulfilledThe work for which thou wast foretoldTo Israel, and now liest victoriousAmong thy slain self-killed;Not willingly, but tangled in the foldOf dire Necessity, whose law in death conjoinedThee with thy slaughtered foes, in number moreThan all thy life had slain before.Semichor. While their hearts were jocund and sublime,Drunk with idolatry, drunk with wineAnd fat regorged of bulls and goats,Chaunting their idol, and preferringBefore our Living Dread, who dwellsIn Silo, his bright sanctuary,Among them he a spirit of phrenzy sent,Who hurt their minds,And urged them on with mad desireTo call in haste for their destroyer.They, only set on sport and play,Unweetingly importunedTheir own destruction to come speedy upon them.So fond are mortal men,Fallen into wrath divine,As their own ruin on themselves to invite,Insensate left, or to sense reprobate,And with blindness internal struck.Semichor. But he, though blind of sight,Despised, and thought extinguished quite,With inward eyes illuminated,His fiery virtue rousedFrom under ashes into sudden flame,And as an evening Dragon came,Assailant on the perchèd roostsAnd nests in order rangedOf tame villatic fowl, but as an EagleHis cloudless thunder bolted on their heads.So Virtue, given for lost,Depressed and overthrown, as seemed,Like that self-begotten birdIn the Arabian woods embost,That no second knows nor third,And lay erewhile a holocaust,From out her ashy womb now teemed,Revives, reflourishes, then vigorous mostWhen most unactive deemed;And, though her body die, her fame survives,A secular bird, ages of lives.Man. Come, come; no time for lamentation now,Nor much more cause. Samson hath quit himselfLike Samson, and heroicly hath finishedA life heroic, on his enemiesFully revenged—hath left them years of mourning,And lamentation to the sons of CaphtorThrough all Philistian bounds; to IsraelHonour hath left and freedom, let but themFind courage to lay hold on this occasion;To himself and father’s house eternal fame;And, which is best and happiest yet, all thisWith God not parted from him, as was feared,But favouring and assisting to the end.Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wailOr knock the breast; no weakness, no contempt,Dispraise, or blame; nothing but well and fair,And what may quiet us in a death so noble.Let us go find the body where it liesSoaked in his enemies’ blood, and from the streamWith lavers pure, and cleansing herbs, wash offThe clotted gore. I, with what speed the while(Gaza is not in plight to say us nay),Will send for all my kindred, all my friends,To fetch him hence, and solemnly attend,With silent obsequy and funeral train,Home to his father’s house. There will I build himA monument, and plant it round with shadeOf laurel ever green and branching palm,With all his trophies hung, and acts enrolledIn copious legend, or sweet lyric song.Thither shall all the valiant youth resort,And from his memory inflame their breastsTo matchless valour and adventures high;The virgins also shall, on feastful days,Visit his tomb with flowers, only bewailingHis lot unfortunate in nuptial choice,From whence captivity and loss of eyes.Chor. All is best, though we oft doubtWhat the unsearchable disposeOf Highest Wisdom brings about,And ever best found in the close.Oft He seems to hide his face,But unexpectedly returns,And to his faithful Champion hath in placeBore witness gloriously; whence Gaza mourns,And all that band them to resistHis uncontrollable intent.His servants He, with new acquistOf true experience from this great event,With peace and consolation hath dismissed,And calm of mind, all passion spent.
Volume 4, pages 444–459 · See the scanned page on archive.org
This is the reading for December 19 in Fifteen Minutes a Day: The Reading Guide (1930 edition), page 93. There the assignment reads “Vol. 4, pp. 444–459.” Read it in the guide.