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 juft inheritance of old,
Surer to profper than profperity
Could have affur'dus; and by what beft way,
Whether of open War or covert Guile,
We now debate; who can advise may speak.
He ceas'd; and next him Molor, Sceptred King,
Stood up, the ftrongeft and the fierceft Spirit"
That fought in Heav'n, now fiercer by despair:
His truft was with th' Eternal to be deem'd
Equal in ftrength, and rather than be less,
Car'd not to be at all; with that care loft
Went all his fear: of God, or Hell, or worse,
He reck'd not; and thefe words thereafter spake.
My fentence is for open War: of Wiles,
More unexpert, I boaft not: them let those
Contrive who need; or when they need; not now:
For while they fit contriving, fhall the rest,
Millions that ftand in Arms, and longing wait
The Signal to ascend, fit ling’ring here
Heav'ns 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 chufe,
Arm'd with Hell flames and fury, all at once
O'er Heav'ns high Tow'rs to force refiftless 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 fee
Black fire and horrour fhot with equal rage
Among his Angels; and his Throne it self
Mixt with Tartarean Sulphur, and ftrange fire,
His own invented Torments. But perhaps
'The way seems difficult and fteep, to scale
With upright wing against a higher Foe.
Let fuch bethink them, if the fleepy drench
Of that forgetful Lake benumb not ftill,
That in our proper motion we afcend
Up to our native feat: descent and fall
To us is adverse. Who but felt of late,
When the fierce Foe hung on our broken Rerę
Insulting, and pursu'd us through the Deep,
With what compulfion and laborious flight
We funk thus low? Th' Afcent is eafie then.
Th' event is fear'd; fhould we again provoke
Our stronger, fome worfe way his wrath mayfind
To our deftruction: if there be in Hell
Fear to be worse destroy'd; what can be worfe
Than to dwell here, driv'n out from Bliss, condemn'd In this abhorred Deep to utter woe
Where pain of unextinguishable fire
Muft exercise us without hope of end
The Vaffals 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 incenfe
His utmost Ire? which to the height enrag'd,
Will either quite confume us, and reduce
To Nothing this effential, happier far
Than Miferable to have eternal being:
Or if our Subftance be indeed Divine,
And cannot cease to be, we are at worst
On this fide nothing; and by proof we feel
Our power fufficient to disturb his Heav'n,
And with perpetual inrodes to alarm,
Though inacceffible, his fatal Throne:
Which, if not Victory, is yet Revenge.
To less than Gods. On th' other fide up rose
Belial, in act more graceful and humane;
A fairer perfon, loft not Heav'n; he feem'd
For dignity compos'd and high exploit:
But all was falfe and hollow; though his Tongue
Dropt Manna, and could make the worse appear
The better reafon, to perplex and dash
Matureft Counfels: for his Thoughts were low;
To Vice induftrious, but to nobler deeds
Tim'rous and flothful: yet he pleas'd the Ear,
And with perfuafive accent thus began,
I fhould be much for open War, O Peers, As not behind in hate, if what was urg'd Main reafon to perfuade immediate War, Did not diffuade me moft, and feem to caft Ominous conjecture on the whole fuccefs: When he who moft excells in fact of Arms, In what he counfels and in what excells Mistrustful, grounds his courage on Despair And utter Diffolution, as the fcope
Of all his aim, after some dire Revenge,
Firft, what Revenge the Tow'rs of Heav'n are fill'd
With armed Watch, that render all access
Impregnables oft on the bordering Deep
Encamp their Legions, or with obfcure wing
Scout far and wide into the realm of Night,
Scorning furprize. Or could we break our way
By force, and at our heels all Hell should rife
With blackest Infurrection, to confound
Heav'ns pureft Light; yet our great Enemy
All incorruptible would on his Throne
Sit unpolluted, and th' Ethereal mould
Incapable of ftain would foon expell
Her mifchief, and purge off the bafer fire
Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope
Is flat Defpair: we must exasperate
Th' 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 lofe,
Though full of pain, this intelle&ual Being,
Those Thoughts that wander through Eternity;
To perifh rather, fwallow'd up and loft
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 fure.
Will he, fo wife, let loofe at once his ire,
Belike through impotence, or unaware,
To give his Enemies their wish, and end
Them in his anger, whom his anger faves
To punish endless? Wherefore cease we then,
Say they who counsel War, we are decreed,
Referv'd, and deftin'd to eternal woe;
Whatever doing, what can we fuffer More,
What can we fuffer Worfe? Is this then Worst,
Thus fitting, thus confulting, thus in Arms?
What! when we fled amain, purfu'd and strook
With Heav'ns afflicting Thunder, and befought
The Deep to shelter us; this Hell then feem'd
A Refuge from thofe wounds: or when we lay
Chain'd on the burning Lake; that fure was Worfe.
What if the Breath that kindl'd those grim fires
Awak'd should blow them into fevenfold 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 ftores were open'd, and this Firmament
Of Hell should spout her Cataracts of Fire,
Impendent horrours, threatning hideous fall
One day upon our heads; while we perhaps
Designing or exhorting glorious War,
Caught in a fiery Tempeft fhall be hurl'd
Each on his Rock transfixt, the sport and prey
Of racking Whirlwinds, or for ever funk
Under yon boyling Ocean, wrapt in Chains;
There to converse with everlafting groans,
Unrefpited, unpitied, unrepriev❜d,
Ages of hopelefs end? this would be worse.
War therefore, open or conceal'd, alike
My voice diffuades; for what can force or guile
With him, or who deceive his mind, whose eye
Views all things at one view! he from Heav'ns height
Than Wife to fruftrate all our plots and wiles.
Shall we then live thus vile, the race of Heav'n
Thus trampl'd, thus expell'd, to fuffer here
Chains and these Torments? better these than worse, By my advice; fince Fate inevitable
Subdues us, and omnipotent Decree,
The Victor's Will. To fuffer, as to doe,
Our ftrength is equal, nor the Law unjust
That fo ordains. This was at first resolv'd
If we were wife, against so great a Foc
Contending, and fo doubtful what might fall.
Ilaugh, when those who at the Spear are bold
And vent'rous, if that fail them, fhrink and fear, 205 What yet they know muft follow, to endure
Exile, or ignominy, or bonds, or pain,
The fentence of their Conqu'ror: This is now
Our doom; which if we can sustain and bear,
Our fupreme Foe in time may much remit
His anger, and perhaps thus far remov'd
Not mind us not offending, fatisfi'd
With what is punish'd; whence these raging fires
Will flacken, if his breath ftir not their Flames.
Our purer effence then will overcome
Their noxious vapour, or enur'd not feel,
Orchang'd at length, and to the place conform'd
In temper and in nature, will receive
Familiar the fierce heat, and void of Pain ;
This horfour will grow mild, this darkness light:
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