Than wise to frustrate all our plots and wiles. Shall we then live thus vile, the race of Heaven Thus trampled, thus expeil'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 vent'rous, if that fail them, shrink and fear What yet they know must follow, to endure Exile, or ignominy', or bonds, or pain, The sentence of their conqu'ror: this is now Our doom; which if we can sustain and bear, Our súpreme 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 inur'd not feel, Or chang'd at length, and to the place conform'd In temper and in nature, will receive Familiar the fi rce heat, and void of pain; This horror will grow mild, this darkness light, 220 Besides what hope the never-ending flight
Of future days may bring, what chance, what chang
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 cloth'd in reason's garb Counsel'd ignoble ease, and peaceful sloth, Not peace: and after him thus Mammon spake. Either to disinthrone 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 Heav'n's bound, unless Heav'n's Lord supreme
We overpow'r? 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 Strict laws impos'd, to celebrate his throne With warbled hymns, and to his Godhead sing Forc'd Hallelujahs; while he lordly sits Our envied sov'reign, and his altar breathes Ambrosial odours and ambrosial flowers, Our servile offerings? This must be our task In Heav'n, 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 Heav'n, 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, prosp'rous of adverse
We can create, and in what place so e'er Thrive under ev'il, and work ease out of pain Through labour and indurance. This deep world Of darkness do we dread? How oft amidst Thick cloud and dark doth Heav'n'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 Must'ring their rage, and Heav'n resembles Hell? As he our darkness, cannot we his light Imitate when we please? This desert soil Wants not her hidden lustre, gems and gold; Nor want we skill or art, from whence to raise Magnificence; and what can Heav'n 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 Th' assembly, as when hollow rocks retain
The sound of blust'ring 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 290 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 procéss of time, In emulation opposite to Heav'n.
Which when Beelzebub perceiv'd than whom, Satan except, none higher sat, with grave Aspéct he rose, and in his rising seem'd A pillar 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 Pow'rs, Offspring of Heav'n, 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 Heav'n hath doom'd This place our dungeon, not our safe retreat Beyond his potent arm, to live exempt From Heav'n's high jurisdiction, in new league Banded against his throne, but to remain In strictest bondage, though thus far remov'd Under th' inevitable curb, reserv'd His captive multitude: for he, be sure,
In height 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 330 Irreparable; terms of peace yet none Vouchsaf'd or sought; for what peace will be given To us inslav'd, but custody severe,
And stripes, and arbitrary punishment Inflicted? and what peace can we return, But to our pow'r hostility and hate,
Untam'd reluctance, and revenge though slow, Yet ever plotting how the conqueror least May reap his conquest, and may least rejoice In doing what we most in suffering feel Nor will occasion want, nor shall we need
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