disburdening his memory, if his daughter could have performed the
office.

The story of reducing his exuberance has been told of other authors;
and, though doubtless true of every fertile and copious mind, seems
to have been gratuitously transferred to Milton.

What he has told us, and we cannot now know more, is, that he
composed much of this poem in the night and morning, I suppose
before his mind was disturbed with common business; and that he
poured out with great fluency his "unpremeditated verse."
Versification, free, like this, from the distresses of rhyme, must,
by a work so long, be made prompt and habitual; and, when his
thoughts were once adjusted, the words would come at his command.

At what particular times of his life the parts of his work were
written, cannot often be known. The beginning of the third book
shows that he had lost his sight, and the introduction to the
seventh, that the return of the king had clouded him with
discountenance; and that he was offended by the licentious festivity
of the Restoration. There are no other internal notes of time.
Milton, being now cleared from all effects of his disloyalty, had
nothing required from him but the common duty of living in quiet, to
be rewarded with the common right of protection; but this, which,
when he skulked from the approach of his king, was perhaps more than
he hoped, seems not to have satisfied him; for no sooner is he safe,
than he finds himself in danger, "fallen on evil days and evil
tongues, and with darkness and with danger compassed round." This
darkness, had his eyes been better employed, had undoubtedly
deserved compassion; but to add the mention of danger was ungrateful