In temper and in nature, will receive

Familiar the fierce heat, and void of pain;

This horror will grow mild, this darkness light,

Besides what hope the never-ending flight

Of future days may bring, what chance, what change Worth waiting, since our present lot appears

For happy though but ill, for ill not worst,

If we procure not to ourselves more woe.

Thus Belial, with words cloath'd in reason's garb,
Counsel'd ignoble ease, and peaceful sloth,
Not peace: and after him thus Mammon spake.
Either to disenthrone the King of Heaven

We war, if war be best, or to regain
Our own right lost him to unthrone we then
May hope, when everlasting Fate shall yield
To fickle Chance, and Chaos judge the strife:
The former vain to hope argues as vain

The latter: for what place can be for us

Within Heaven's bound, unless Heaven's lord supreme
We overpower? suppose he should relent,
And publish grace to all, on promise made

Of new subjection; with what eyes could we
Stand in his presence humble, and receive

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Strict laws impos'd, to celebrate his throne
With warbled hymns, and to his Godhead sing
Forc'd Halleluiahs; while he lordly sits

Our envied sovran, and his altar breathes
Ambrosial odours and ambrosial flowers,

Our servile offerings. This must be our task
In Heaven, this our delight; how wearisome
Eternity so spent in worship paid

To whom we hate! Let us not then pursue
By force impossible, by leave obtain'd
Unacceptable, though in Heaven, our state
Of splendid vassalage, but rather seek

Our own good from ourselves, and from our own
Live to ourselves, though in this vast recess,
Free, and to none accountable, preferring
Hard liberty before the easy yoke

Of servile pomp. Our greatness will appear
Then most conspicuous, when great things of small,
Useful of hurtful, prosperous of adverse,

We can create, and in what place so e'er
Thrive under evil, and work ease out of pain
Through labour and endurance. This deep world
Of darkness do we dread? how oft amidst

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Thick clouds and dark doth Heaven's all-ruling Sire Choose to reside, his glory unobscur'd,

And with the majesty of darkness round

Covers his throne; from whence deep thunders roar,
Mustering their rage, and Heaven resembles Hell?
As he our darkness, cannot we his light
Imitate when we please? this desart soil
Wants not her hidden lustre, gems and gold;
Nor want we skill or art, from whence to raise
Magnificence; and what can Heaven shew more?
Our torments also may in length of time
Become our elements, these piercing fires
As soft as now severe, our temper chang'd
Into their temper; which must needs remove
The sensible of pain. All things invite
To peaceful counsels, and the settled state
Of order, how in safety best we may
Compose our present evils, with regard
Of what we are and where, dismissing quite
All thoughts of war: ye have what I advise.

He scarce had finish'd, when such murmur fill'd

The assembly, as when hollow rocks retain

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The sound of blustering winds, which all night long

Had rous'd the sea, now with hoarse cadence lull
Sea-faring men o'er-watch'd, whose bark by chance
Or pinnace anchors in a craggy bay

After the tempest: such applause was heard
As Mammon ended, and his sentence pleas'd,
Advising peace for such another field

They dreaded worse than Hell: so much the fear
Of thunder and the sword of Michaël

Wrought still within them; and no less desire
To found this nether empire, which might rise
By policy, and long process of time,
In emulation opposite to heaven.

Which when Beelzebub perceiv'd, than whom,
Satan except, none higher sat, with grave
Aspéct he rose, and in his rising seem'd

A pillár of state; deep on his front engraven
Deliberation sat and public care;

And princely counsel in his face yet shone,
Majestic though in ruin: sage he stood
With Atlantean shoulders fit to bear

The weight of mightiest monarchies; his look
Drew audience and attention still as night

Or summer's noon-tide air, while thus he spake.

Thrones and imperial powers, offspring of Heaven, Ethereal virtues; or these titles now

Must we renounce, and changing stile be call'd
Princes of Hell? for so the popular vote
Inclines, here to continue,' and build up here
A growing empire; doubtless; while we dream,
And know not that the king of Heaven hath doom'd
This place our dungeon, not our safe retreat
Beyond his potent arm, to live exempt

From Heaven's high jurisdiction, in new league
Banded against his throne, but to remain

In strictest bondage, though thus far remov'd,
Under the inevitable curb, reserv'd

His captive multitude: for he, be sure,

In highth or depth, still first and last will reign
Sole king, and of his kingdom lose no part
By our revolt, but over hell extend

His empire, and with iron sceptre rule

Us here, as with his golden those in Heaven.
What sit we then projecting peace and war?
War hath determin'd us, and foil'd with loss
Irreparable; terms of peace yet none

Vouchsaf'd or sought; for what peace will be given