To live with her, and live with thee.

Even the gay libertine who sang “How happy could I be with either!” did not go so far as this.  But we have already had occasion to remark on the laxity of Mr M.’s amatory notions.

The Poet, intoxicated with the charms of his Mistress, now rapidly runs over the pleasures which he proposes to himself in the enjoyment of her society.  But though he has the advantage of being his own caterer, either his palate is of a peculiar structure, or he has not made the most judicious selection.

To begin the day well, he will have the sky-lark
to come in spite of sorrow
And at his window bid “Good Morrow!”

The sky-lark, if we know anything of the nature of that bird, must come “in spite” of something else as well as “of sorrow,” to the performance of this office.

In the next image, the Natural History is better preserved; and, as the thoughts are appropriate to the time of day, we will venture to transcribe the passage, as a favourable specimen of the Author’s manner: 

While the Cock, with lively din,
Scatters the rear of darkness thin,
And to the stack, or the barn door,
Stoutly struts his dames before;
Oft listening how the hounds and horns
Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn,
From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing still.

Is it not lamentable that, after all, whether it is the Cock, or the Poet, that listens, should be left entirely to the Reader’s conjectures?  Perhaps also his embarrassment may be increased by a slight resemblance of character in these two illustrious Personages, at least as far as relates to the extent and numbers of their seraglio.

After a flaming description of sunrise, on which the clouds attend in their very best liveries; the Bill of Fare for the day proceeds in the usual manner.  Whistling Ploughmen, singing Milkmaids, and sentimental Shepherds are always to be had at a moment’s notice; and, if well grouped, serve to fill up the landscape agreeably enough.

On this part of the Poem we have only to remark, that if Mr JOHN MILTON proposeth to make himself merry with

    Russet lawns, and fallows grey
    Where the nibbling flocks do stray;
    Mountains on whose barren breast
    The labouring clouds do often rest,
    Meadows trim with daisies pied,
    Shallow brooks, and rivers wide,
    Towers and battlements, &c. &c. &c.

he will either find himself egregiously disappointed; or he must possess a disposition to merriment which even DEMOCRITUS himself might envy.  To such a pitch indeed does this solemn indication of joy sometimes rise, that we are inclined to give him credit for a literal adherence to the Apostolic precept, “Is any merry, let him sing Psalms!”

At length, however, he hies away at the sound of bell-ringing, and seems for some time to enjoy the tippling and fiddling and dancing of a village wake:  but his fancy is soon haunted again by spectres and goblins, a set of beings not, in general, esteemed the companions or inspirers of mirth.