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
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
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
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
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