Williams, of whom more later, has me reading Milton again. I read Samson Agonistes, “Lycidas” and “Comus.” Should that be Lycidas and Comus?
Comus is a sort of fairy tale about chastity—a mask, actually. It has spirits, nymphs, a magician and a pure, chaste virgin.
No sex, in case you were wondering. She is tempted to drink from a cup, the contents of which will turn her into a pig, though all unawares to herself. It has a certain logic, doesn’t it? She doesn’t. It reminded me of Shakespeare, and if you’re curious, I wondered how on earth I would tell them apart—I don’t think I have the skill, of which I am ashamed.
Lycidas, of course, I know: Look homeward Angel now, and melt with ruth/ And, O ye Dolphins, waft the hapless youth. Some of my favorite lines in all poetry. One of these days I’m going to pay attention to that poem all the way through and know more than a few lines here or there.
But the best is Samson Agonistes, a play of sorts and glorious—one of my favorites. Some great lines, but best of all his interpretation of Samson: his resilience, his character. Milton has to put in some strange notions of God’s secret promptings of Samson about which, contemporary notions intruding, one is leery. Nevertheless, ignoring that the result is splendid and at least for me, a whole new Samson. Besides the rest of what Milton offers.
Milton’s verse, unfortunately, tends to be compared to his great work, Paradise Lost. I have the feeling that we would read more of the rest of Milton if he hadn’t ascended to impossible, lofty heights with Paradise Lost: we would have reveled in the rest of it for its lesser, but still unparalleled splendor.
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I might have to write a story called Paradise Lots: my nadir, in an effort to make all the rest of it look good.
Unknowing 