Front Page Titles (by Subject) The Passion. - The Poetical Works of John Milton
The Passion. - John Milton, The Poetical Works of John Milton 
The Poetical Works of John Milton, edited after the Original Texts by the Rev. H.C. Beeching M.A. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1900).
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- Miscellaneous Poems.
- On the Morning of Christs Nativity.
- The Hymn.
- A Paraphrase On Psalm 114.
- Psalm 136.
- The Passion.
- On Time.
- Upon the Circumcision.
- At a Solemn Musick.
- An Epitaph On the Marchioness of Winchester.
- Song On May Morning
- Another On the Same.
- Il Penseroso.
- A Maske Presented At Ludlow Castle, 1634: On Michaelmasse Night, Before the Right Honorable, Iohn Earle of Bridgewater, Vicount Brackly, Lord Præsident of Wales, and One of His Maiesties Most Honorable Privie Counsell.
- Poems Added In the 1673 Edition.
- Anno Aetatis 17. On the Death of a Fair Infant Dying of a Cough.
- Anno Aetatis 19. At a Vacation Exercise In the Colledge, Part Latin, Part English. the Latin Speeches Ended, the English Thus Began.
- The Fifth Ode of Horace. Lib. I.
- On the New Forcers of Conscience Under the Long Parliament.
- On the Lord Gen. Fairfax At the Seige of Colchester.
- To the Lord Generall Cromwell May 1652.
- To S R Henry Vane the Younger.
- To Mr. Cyriack Skinner Upon His Blindness.
- Psal. I. Done Into Verse, 1653.
- April, 1648. J. M. Nine of the Psalms Done Into Metre, Wherein All But What Is In a Different Character, Are the Very Words of the Text, Translated From the Original.
- Passages From Prose Writings.
- A Collection of Passages Translated In the Prose Writings.
- Joanni Miltoni
- Elegiarum Liber Primus.
- Sylvarum Liber.
- Paradise Lost.
- Book I.
- Book II.
- Book III.
- Book IV.
- Book V.
- Book VI.
- Book VII.
- Book VIII.
- Book IX.
- Book X.
- Book XI.
- Book XII.
- Paradise Regaind. a Poem.
- The First Book.
- The Second Book.
- The Third Book.
- The Fourth Book.
- Samson Agonistes, a Dramatic Poem.
- ( a ): Specimen of Milton’s Spelling, From the Cambridge Autograph Manuscript.
- ( B ): Note of a Few Readings In the Same Manuscript.
- ( C ) Erratum
- Ere-while of Musick, and Ethereal mirth,
- Wherwith the stage of Ayr and Earth did ring,
- And joyous news of heav’nly Infants birth,
- My muse with Angels did divide to sing;
- But headlong joy is ever on the wing,
- In Wintry solstice like the shortn’d light
- Soon swallow’d up in dark and long out-living night.
- For now to sorrow must I tune my song,
- And set my Harpe to notes of saddest wo,
- Which on our dearest Lord did sease er’e long,10
- Dangers, and snares, and wrongs, and worse then so,
- Which he for us did freely undergo.
- Most perfect Heroe, try’d in heaviest plight
- Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight.
- He sov’ran Priest stooping his regall head
- That dropt with odorous oil down his fair eyes,
- Poor fleshly Tabernacle entered,
- His starry front low-rooft beneath the skies;
- O what a Mask was there, what a disguise!
- Yet more; the stroke of death he must abide,20
- Then lies him meekly down fast by his Brethrens side.
- These scenes confine my roving vers,
- To this Horizon is my Phoebus bound,
- His Godlike acts, and his temptations fierce,
- And former sufferings other where are found;
- Loud o’re the rest Cremona’s Trump doth sound;
- Me softer airs befit, and softer strings
- Of Lute, or Viol still, more apt for mournful things.
- Befriend me night best Patroness of grief,
- Over the Pole thy thickest mantle throw,30
- And work my flatter’d fancy to belief,
- That Heav’n and Earth are colour’d with my wo;
- My sorrows are too dark for day to know:
- The leaves should all be black wheron I write,
- And letters where my tears have washt a wannish white.
- See see the Chariot, and those rushing wheels,
- That whirl’d the Prophet up at Chebar flood,
- My spirit som transporting Cherub feels,
- To bear me where the Towers of Salem stood,
- Once glorious Towers, now sunk in guiltles blood;40
- There doth my soul in holy vision sit
- In pensive trance, and anguish, and ecstatick fit.
- Mine eye hath found that sad Sepulchral rock
- That was the Casket of Heav’ns richest store,
- And here though grief my feeble hands up-lock,
- Yet on the softned Quarry would I score
- My plaining vers as lively as before;
- For sure so well instructed are my tears,
- That they would fitly fall in order’d Characters.
- Or should I thence hurried on viewles wing,50
- Take up a weeping on the Mountains wilde,
- The gentle neighbourhood of grove and spring
- Would soon unboosom all their Echoes milde,
- And I (for grief is easily beguild)
- Might think th’infection of my sorrows loud,
- Had got a race of mourners on som pregnant cloud.
This Subject the Author finding to be above the yeers he had, when he wrote it, and nothing satisfi’d with what was begun, left it unfinisht.