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And I—yes! I, your humble servant, wrote?I trow he could not: wherefore I contend'Tis most unjust my corn to measure byJohn Milton's bushel. Do you think that he,Were he to come to life again, would chooseTo write another "Paradise"? Not he!He was a man (considering the timesHe lived in) of advanced opinions; notBy any means a man to take unquestionedHis principles from masters and from pastors.His Epic owes far more to his inventionThan to the Book which he professed to follow:His Jesus and Jehovah were but Miltons"Writ large," through whom the bard ventriloquised.Did he live now and know the proved resultsOf Biblical research in modern times,He would be counted in the foremost ranksOf those who have cast off the chains of dogma:But that is scarcely what I meant to urge:I dare say folks have no design to hurtMy feelings when they ask if I'm descendedFrom the great Milton. It's a natural question—That is it's natural inconsiderate folk(Most folk are inconsiderate) should ask it;But don't you see (and here's the sting of it,)Most people ask as though within their mindsThere lurked the thought "A long descent indeed."Now this is aggravating you must own:I don't by choice bear so renowned a name;Could I have chosen my own patronymicI'd have preferred Smith, Brown, Jones, Robinson,Or any other undistinguished surname,Which I perchance by merits of my own,O'ershadowed by no famous ancestor,
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