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, shall the reft,
Millions that stand in arms, and, longing, wait
The fignal to ascend, fit ling'ring here
Heav'n's fugitives, and for their dwelling-place
Accept this dark opprobrious den of shame,
The prifon 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 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 horror fhot with equal rage
Among his Angels, and his throne itself
Mix'd with Tartarean fulphur, and ftrange fire,
His own invented torments. But perhaps

The
way feems difficult and steep, to scale
With upright wing against a higher foe.
Let fuch bethink them, if the fleepy drench
Of that forgetful lake benumb not still,
That in our proper motion we ascend
Up to our native feat: descent and fall
To us is adverfe. Who but felt of late,
When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear,
Infulting, and purfued us through the deep,
With what compulfion and laborious flight
We funk thus low? Th' afcent is easy then;

Th' event is fear'd; fhould we again provoke

Our stronger, fome worse way his wrath may find
To our deftruction, if there be in Hell

Fear to be worse destroy'd: what can be worse

Than to dwell here, driven 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 deftroy'd than thus,
We should be quite abolish'd, and expire.
What fear we then? what doubt we to incense
His utmoft 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 substance be indeed divine,
And cannot cease to be, we are at worst
On this fide nothing; and by proof we feel
Our pow'r fufficient to disturb his Heaven,
And with perpetual inroads to alarm,
Though inacceffible, his fatal throne;
Which, if not victory, is yet revenge."

He ended, frowning; and his look denounc'd
Defp'rate revenge, and battle dangerous
To lefs than Gods. On th' other fide up rofe
Belial, in act more graceful and humane;
A fairer perfon loft not Heav'n; he seem'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 reason, to perplex and dash
Matureft counfels; for his thoughts were low;
To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds
Timorous and flothful; yet he pleas'd the ear,
And with perfuafive 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 perfuade immediate war
Did not diffuade me most, and seem to caft
Ominous conjecture on the whole fuccefs;
When he, who moft excels in fact of arms,
In what he counsels and in what excels
Miftruftful, grounds his courage on despair
And utter diffolution, as the scope

Of all his aim, after fome 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 obfcure 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 infurrection, to confound
Heav'n's pureft light, yet our great enemy,
All incorruptible, would on his throne
Sit unpolluted, and th' ethereal mould,
Incapable of ftain, would foon expel
Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire,
Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope
Is flat despair: we muft exafperate

Th' almighty Victor to spend all his rage,

And that muft end us, that must be our cure,
To be no more: fad cure; for who would lofe,
Though full of pain, this intellectual being,
Thofe thoughts that wander through eternity,
To perish rather, fwallow'd up and loft
In the wide womb of uncreated night,
Devoid of fenfe 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 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 faves
To punish endless? Wherefore cease we then?
Say they who counsel war, we are decreed,
Referv'd, and destin'd, to eternal woe;
Whatever doing, what can we suffer more,
What can we fuffer worfe? Is this then worst,
Thus fitting, thus confulting, thus in arms?
What, when we fled amain, pursued and ftruck
With Heav'n's afflicting thunder, and befought
The deep to shelter us? this Hell then feem'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, fhould blow them into fev'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 ftores were open'd, and this firmament
Of Hell should spout her cataracts of fire,
Impendent horrors, threat'ning hideous fall
One day upon our heads; while we perhaps,
Defigning or exhorting glorious war,
Caught in a fiery tempeft, fhall be hurl'd,
Each on his rock transfix'd, the sport and prey
Of wracking whirlwinds, or for ever funk
Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains;
There to converse with everlasting groans,
Unrefpited, unpitied, unrepriev'd,
Ages of hopeless 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'n's height All these our motions vain fees and derides;

Not more almighty to refift our might

Than wife to frustrate all our plots and wiles.

Shall we then live thus vile, the race of Heaven

Thus trampled, 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 do,
Our strength is equal, nor the law unjust
That fo ordains: this was at first resolv'd,
If we were wife, against so great a foe
Contending, and fo doubtful what might fall.
I laugh when those, who at the spear are bold
And vent'rous, if that fail them, fhrink and fear