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Our stronger, fome worfe way his wrath may find
To our deftruction: if there be in hell

Fear to be worse destroy'd. What can be worfe

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Than to dwell here, driv'n out from blifs, condemn'd In this abhorred deep to utter woe!

Where pain of inextinguishable fire

Muft exercife us, without hope of end,
The vaffals of his anger, when the scourge
Inexorable, 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 substance be indeed divine,
And cannot ceafe to be, we are at worst
On this fide nothing: and by proof we feel
Our pow'r fufficient to disturb his heav'n,
And with perpetual inrodes: to alarm,
Though inacceffible, his fatal throne:
Which, if not victory, is yet revenge.

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He ended frowning, and his look denounc'd Defperate revenge, and battle dangerous To less than Gods. On th' other fide uprofe BELIAL, in act more graceful and humane : A fairer perfon loft not heaven; he feem'd For dignity compos'd, and high exploit: But all was falfe and hollow; though his tongue Drop'd Manna, and cou'd make the worfe appear The better reason, to perplex and dash Matureft counfels: for his thoughts were low: To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds

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Tim'rous,

Tim'rous, and othful: 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 reafon to perfuade immediate war,
Did not diffuade me most, and seem to cast
Ominous conjecture on the whole fuccefs;
When he who most excels in fact of arms,
In what he counfels, and in what excels,
Miftruftful, grounds his courage on despair,
And utter diffolution, as the fcope
Of all his aim, after fome dire revenge.

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First, what revenge? The tow'rs of heav'n are fill'd
With armed watch, that render all access
Impregnable: 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 fhould rife
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 mold
Incapable of stain, would foon expel
Her mifchief, and purge off the bafer fire,
Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope
Is flat defpair; we must exafperate

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Th' Almighty Victor to spend all his rage,
And that mult end us; that must be our cure,
To be no more. Sad 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,

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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 loofe at once his ire,
Belike thro' impotence, or unaware,
To give his enemies their wifh, and end
Them in his anger, whom his anger faves
To punish endless?

Wherefore cease we then,

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Say they, who counsel war? We are decreed, 160
Referv'd, and deftin'd to eternal woe:

Whatever doing, what can we suffer more;
What can we fuffer worfe?

Is this then worst

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Thus fitting, thus confulting, thus in arms?
What! when we fled amain, purfu'd and ftrook 165
With heav'n's afflicting thunder, and befought
The Deep to fhelter 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 kindled thofe grim fires,
Awak'd, fhould blow them into fevenfold rage, 174
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 fhould fpout her cataracts of fire?
Impendent horrors! threatning 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 fport and prey
Of racking whirlwinds or for ever funk
Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains;
There to converfe with everlasting groans,
Unrefpited, unpitied, unrepriev'd,

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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 height
All these our motions vain fees, and derides:
Not more almighty to refift our might,

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Than wife to fruftrate all our plots and wiles.

Shall we then live thus vile, the race of heav'n

Thus trampled, thus expell'd, to suffer here

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Chains and these torments? Better thefe than worse,
By my advice; fince fate inevitable
Subdues us, and omnipotent decree ;
The victor's will. To fuffer, as to do,
Our ftrength is equal, nor the law unjust
That fo ordains this was at first refolv'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, thrink and fear 205.
What yet they know muft follow, 'to indure
Exile, or ignominy, or bonds, or pain,

The fentence of their conqu'ror: This is now
Our doom! which if we can fustain and bear,
Our fupreme foe, in time, may much remit
His anger and perhaps thus far remov'd,
Not mind us not offending, fatisfy'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 vapor; or enur'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:

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Befides

Befides what hope the never-ending flight

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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 our felves more woe.

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THUS BELIAL With words cloath'd in reafon's garb Counsel'd ignoble eafe, and peaceful floth, Not peace and after him thus MAMMON spake.

EITHER to difinthrone the King of heav'n
We war, if war be beft, or to regain
Our own right loft: Him to unthrone we then
May hope, when everlasting Fate fhall 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

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Within heav'n's bound, unless heav'n's Lord fupreme
We over-power? Suppofe he should relent
And publish grace to all, on promise made
Of new fubjection: 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 Hallelujahs? while he lordly fits
Our envy'd Sov'reign, and his altar breathes
Ambrofial odors, and Ambrofial flow'rs,
Our fervile offerings! This must be our task
In heav'n, this our delight; how wearifome
Eternity fo fpent, 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

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