And with perpetual inroads to alarm, Though inaccessible, his fatal throne : Which if not victory is yet revenge.
He ended frowning, and his look denounc'd Desperate revenge, and battle dangerous To less than Gods. On the other side uprose Belial, in act more graceful and humane;
A fairer person lost not Heaven ; For dignity compos'd and high exploit: But all was false and hollow; though his tongue Dropt manna, and could make the worse appear The better reason, to perplex and dash Maturest counsels: for his thoughts were low; To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds Timorous and slothful; yet he pleas'd the ear, And with persuasive accent thus began.
I should be much for open war, O peers, As not behind in hate; if what was urg'd Main reason to persuade immediate war, Did not dissuade me most, and seem to cast Ominous conjecture on the whole success : When he who most excels in fact of arms, In what he counsels and in what excels
Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair And utter dissolution, as the scope
Of all his aim, after some dire revenge.
First, what revenge? the towers of Heaven are fill'd With armed watch, that render all access. Impregnable; oft on the bordering deep
Encamp their legions, or with obscure wing Scout far and wide into the realm of night, Scorning surprise. Or could we break our way By force, and at our heels all Hell should rise With blackest insurrection, to confound Heaven's purest light, yet our great enemy, All incorruptible, would on his throne Sit unpolluted, and the ethereal mould, Incapable of stain, would soon expel Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope Is flat despair: we must exasperate
The almighty victor to spend all his rage, And that must end us, that must be our cure, To be no more; sad cure; for who would lose, Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through eternity,
To perish rather, swallow'd up and lost
In the wide womb of uncreated night, Devoid of sense and motion? and who knows, Let this be good, whether our angry foe Can give it, or will ever? how he can Is doubtful; that he never will is sure. Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire, Belike through impotence, or unaware, To give his enemies their wish, and end Them in his anger, whom his anger saves To punish endless? wherefore cease we then? Say they who counsel war, we are decreed, Reserv'd and destin'd to eternal woe; Whatever doing, what can we suffer more, What can we suffer worse? is this then worst, Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms? What when we fled amain, pursu'd and struck With Heaven's afflicting thunder, and besought The deep to shelter us? this Hell then seem'd A refuge from those wounds: or when we lay Chain'd on the burning lake? that sure was worse. What if the breath that kindled those grim fires Awak'd should blow them into sevenfold rage,
And plunge us in the flames? or from above Should intermitted vengeance arm again
His red right hand to plague us? what if all Her stores were open'd, and this firmament Of Hell should spout her cataracts of fire, Impendent horrors, threatening hideous fall One day upon our heads; while we perhaps Designing or exhorting glorious war, Caught in a fiery tempest shall be hurl'd Each on his rock transfix'd, the sport and prey Of racking whirlwinds, or for ever sunk Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains; There to converse with everlasting groans, Unrespited, unpitied, unrepriev'd,
Ages of hopeless end! this would be worse. War therefore, open or conceal'd, alike
My voice dissuades; for what can force or guile With him, or who deceive his mind, whose eye
Views all things at one view? he from Heaven's highth All these our motions vain, sees and derides;
Not more almighty to resist our might
Than wise to frustrate all our plots and wiles.
Shall we then live thus vile, the race of heaven
Thus trampled, thus expell'd, to suffer here
Chains and these torments ? better these than worse, By my advice ; since fate inevitable Subdues us, and omnipotent decree, The victor's will. To suffer, as to do, Our strength is equal, nor the law unjust That so ordains: this was at first resolv'd, If we were wise, against so great a foe
Contending, and so doubtful what might fall. I laugh, when those who at the spear are bold And ventrous, if that fail them, shrink and fear What yet they know must follow, to indure Exile, or ignominy,' or bonds, or pain, The sentence of their conqueror: this is now Our doom; which if we can sustain and bear, Our supreme foe in time may much remit His anger, and perhaps thus far remov'd, Not mind us not offending, satisfy'd
With what is punish'd; whence these raging fires Will slacken, if his breath stir not their flames. Our purer essence then will overcome
Their noxious vapour, or enur'd not feel,
Or chang'd at length, and to the place conform'd
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