Employed by the hellish hound in his despair.
But if the ancient Enemy of Man,
Whom poets in after ages styled Old Nick,
Mephisto, Lucifer, and Mister Scratch,
This battered hulk of proud, angelic bark,
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Can feel the chafe of choking marriage yoke,
Shall Man himself endure the parlous fate
Of prisoned bed connubial? Not so,
And let no carping or defaming tongue
Say Milton, English Bard, the Scourge of Kings,
And Liberty's Defender, speaks to free
A roving eye and heart licentiate.
My heart is pure, and never strays from home,
Fair domicile, though married to puling wench,
To puling wench though married, and in-laws vile.
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Where Did the Plot Go?
