HIGH on a throne of royal state, which far Outshone the wealth of Ormus and of Ind, Or where the gorgeous east with richest hand Show'rs on her kings barbaric pearl and gold, Satan exalted sat, by merit rais'd
To that bad eminence, and, from despair Thus high uplifted beyond hope, aspires Beyond thus high, insatiate to pursue Vain war with Heav'n, and by success untaught, His proud imaginations thus display'd.
"Pow'rs and Dominions. Deities of Heav'n! For since no deep within her gulf can hold Immortal vigour, though oppress'd and fall'n, I give not Heav'n for lost. From this descent Celestial virtues rising, will appear
More glorious and more dread than from no fall,. And trust themselves to fear no second fate. Me, though just right, and the fix'd laws of Heaven Did first create your leader, next free choice, With what besides, in council or in fight, Hath been atchiev'd of merit, yet this loss, Thus far at least recover'd, hath much more Establish'd in a safe unenvied throne,
Yielded with full consent. The happier state In Heav'n, which follows dignity, might draw Envy from each inferior; but who here Will envy whom the highest place exposes
Foremost to stand against the Thund'rer's aim Your bulwark, and condemns to greatest share Of endless pain? Where there is then no good For which to strive, no strife can grow up there From faction; for none sure will claim in Hell Precedence; none, whose portion is so small Of present pain, that with ambitious mind Will covet more. With this advantage then To union, and firm faith and firm accord, More than can be in Heav'n, we now return To claim our just inheritance of old, than prosperity
Surer to prosper Could have assur'd us; and by what best way, Whether of open war or covert guile,
We now debate; who can advise may speak.”
He ceas'd; and next him Moloch, scepter'd king, Stood up; the strongest and the fiercest Spirit That fought in Heav'n, now fiercer by despair, His trust was with th' Eternal to be deem'd Equal in strength, and rather than be less
Car'd not to be at all: with that care lost
Went all his fear; of God, or Hell, or worse, He reck'd not, and these words thereafter spake.
My sentence is for open war of wiles, nudes
More unexpert, I boast not; them let those Contrive who need, or when they need, not now. For while they sit contriving, shall the rest, Millions that stand in arms, and longing wait The signal to ascend, sit ling'ring here Heav'n's fugitives, and for their dwelling-place Accept this dark opprobrious den of shame, The prison of his tyranny who reigns
By our delay? No, let us rather choose,
Arm'd with Hell-flames and fury, all at once
O'er Heav'n's high tow'rs to force resistless way, Turning our tortures into horrid arms Against the Torturer; when to meet the noise
Of his almighty engine he shall hear Infernal thunder, and for lightning see Black fire and horror shot with equal rage Among his Angels, and his throne itself
Mix'd with Tartarean sulphur, and strange fire, His own invented torments. But perhaps The way seems difficult and steep, to scale With upright wing against a higher foe. Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench Of that forgetful lake benumb not still, That in our proper motion we ascend Up to our native seat: descent and fall To us is adverse. Who but felt of late,
When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear, Insulting, and pursued us through the deep, With what compulsion and laborious flight We sunk thus low? Th' ascent is easy then;
Th' event is fear'd; should we again provoke
Our stronger, some worse way his wrath may find
To our destruction, if there be in Hell
Fear to be worse destroy'd: what can be worse
Than to dwell here, driv'n out from bliss, condemn'd
In this abhorred deep to utter woe;
Where pain of unextinguishable fire
Must exercise us without hope of end The vassals of his anger, when the scourge Inexorably, and the torturing hour,
Calls us to penance? More destroy'd than thus, We should be quite abolish'd, and expire. What fear we then? what doubt we to incense His utmost ire? which, to the height enrag'd, Will either quite consume us, and reduce To nothing this essential, happier far Than miserable, to have eternal being: Or, if our substance be indeed divine, And cannot cease to be, we are at worst On this side nothing; and by proof we feel
Our pow'r sufficient to disturb his Heaven, 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 Desp'rate revenge, and battle dangerous To less than Gods. On th' other side uprose Belial, in act more graceful and humane; A fairer person lost not Heav'n; he seem'd 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 tow'rs of Heav'n are fill'd With armed watch, that render all access
Impregnable; oft on the bord'ring 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 Heav'n's purest light, yet our great enemy All incorruptible, would on his throne
Sit unpolluted, and th' etherial 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
Th' almighty Victor to spend all his rage,
And that must end us, that must be our cure, i nien45 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, pursued and struck With Heav'n'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 sev'nfold 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
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