On my strong throne shall sit, enjoying Bliss
While we endure these pangs—hell torments dire,
Woe! woe is me! Could I but use my hands
And might I be from here a little time—
One winter’s space—then, with this host would I—
But these iron bands press hard—this coil of chains—
…
There is but one known MS. copy of this poem. It is probably of the tenth, certainly not later than the eleventh century, and is in the Bodleian Library at Oxford. It is illuminated, and some scenes represented seem to have been taken from the old miracle plays.[9] It was printed in 1655: in this form a copy is said to have reached the hands of Milton, through a friend of the printer: and it may well be that the stern old Puritan poet was moved by a hearing of it,—for he was blind at this date,—to the prosecution of that grand task which has made his name immortal.