There to converfe 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, whofe eye
Views all things at one view? he from heav'n's heighth
All these our motions vain fees, and derides;
Not more almighty to resist our might
Then wife to frustrate all our plots and wiles.
Shall we then live thus vile, the race of heav'n
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,
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 fupreme foe in time may much remit
His anger; and perhaps thus far remov'd,
Not mind us not offending, fatisfied
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 vapeur; 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 fierce heat, and void of pain;
This horror will grow mild, this darkness light,
Befides what hope the never-ending flight
Of future days may bring, what chance, what change,
Worth waiting, fince our prefent 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 reafon's garb
Counsel'd ignoble ease, and peaceful floth,
Not peace: And after him thus Mammon spake.
Either to disinthrone the King of heaven
We war, if war be beft, or to regain
Our own right loft: 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 fupreme
We overpow'r? Suppofe he should relent,
And publish grace to all, on promise made
Of new subjection; with what eyes could we
Stand in his prefence humble, and receive
Strict laws impos'd, to celebrate his throne
With warbled hymns, and to his godhead fing,
Forc'd haleluiah's; while he lordly fits
Our envied fov'reign, and his altar breathes
Ambrofial odors and ambrofial flowers,
Our fervile offerings? This must be our task
In heav'n, this our delight; how wearifome
Eternity fo spent in worship paid
To whom we hate! Let us not then pursue,
By force impoffible, by leave obtain❜d,
Unacceptable, though in heav'n, our state
Of fplendid vaffalage; but rather feek
Our own good from ourselves, and from our own
Live to ourselves, though in this vaft recefs,
Free, and to none accountable, preferring
Hard liberty before the easy yoke
Of fervile pomp. Our greatness will appear
Then most confpicuous, when great things of small,
Ufeful of hurtful, profp'rous of adverse,
We can create; and in what place foe'er
Thrive under ev'il, 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 heav'n's all-ruling Sire
Chufe to refide, his glory unobscur'd,
And with the majesty of darkness round
Covers his throne; from whence deep thunders roar
Muft'ring their rage, and heav'n resembles hell?
As he our darkness, cannot we his light
Imitate when we please? This defart foil
Wants not her hidden luftre, gems and gold;
Nor want we skill or art, from whence to raise
Magnificence; and what can heav'n show more?
Our torments also may in length of time
Become our elements; these piercing fires
As foft as now fevere, our temper chang'd
Into their temper; which must needs remove
The sensible of pain. All things invite
To peaceful counfels, and the fettled ftate
Of order, how in safety best we may
Compofe our prefent evils, with regard
Of what we are, and where; difmiffing quite
All thoughts of war.
Ye have what I advise.
He scarce had finifh'd, when fuch murmur fill'd
Th' affembly, as when hollow rocks retain
The found of bluft'ring winds, which all night long
Had rous'd the fea, now with hoarfe cadence lull
Seafaring men o'erwatch'd, whofe bark, by chance,
Or pinnace, anchors in a craggy bay
After the tempeft: Such applause was heard
As Mammon ended, and his fentence pleas'd,
Advifing peace: For fuch another field
They dreaded worse than hell: So much the fear
Of thunder and the fword of Michael
Wrought still within them; and no lefs defire
To found this nether empire, which might rife,
By policy, and long process of time,
In emulation opposite to heav'n.
Which when Beelzebub perceiv'd, than whom,
Satan except, none higher fat, with grave
Afpect he rofe, and in his rifing feem'd
A pillar of ftate; deep on his front engraven
Deliberation fat, and public care;
And princely counsel in his face yet fhone,
Majestic though in ruin: Sage he stood
With Atlantean fhoulders fit to bear
The weight of mightiest monarchies; his look
Drew audience and attention still as night,
Or fummer's noon-tide air, while thus he spake.
Thrones and imperial pow'rs, offspring of heaven, Ethereal virtues; or thefe titles now
Muft we renounce, and, changing style, be call'd
Princes of hell? for fo 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 jurifdiction, in new league
Banded against his throne; but to remain
In ftrictest bondage, though thus far remov'd,
Under th' inevitable curb, referv'd
His captive multitude: For he, be fure,
In heighth or depth, still first and last will reign
Sole king, and of his kingdom lofe no part
By our revolt; but over hell extend
His empire, and with iron fceptre rule
Us here, as with his golden those in heaven.
What fit we then projecting peace and war?
War hath determin'd us, and foil'd with lofs
Irreparable; terms of peace yet none
Vouchfaf'd or fought; for what peace will be given
'To us enflav'd, but cuftody fevere,
And stripes, and arbitrary punishment
Inflicted? and what peace can we return,
But, to our pow'r, hoftility and hate,
Untam'd reluctance, and revenge, though flow,
Yet ever plotting how the conqu'ror least
May reap his conqueft, and may least rejoice
In doing what we most in suffering feel?
Nor will occafion want, nor fhall we need
With dangerous expedition to invade
Heav'n, whofe high walls fear no affault or siege,
Or ambush from the deep. What if we find
|