By our delay? No! let us rather chufe,
Arm'd with hell flames and fury, all at once
O'er heav'n's high tow'rs to force refistless way, Turning our tortures into horrid arms
Against the torturer: when to meet the noife
Of His Almighty engin He fhall hear Infernal thunder; and for lightning, fee Black fire, and horror, fhot with equal rage Among His Angels: and His throne itself Mixt with Tartarean fulphur, and strange fire, His own invented torments.--- But perhaps The way feems 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 still) That in our proper motion we afcend
Up to our native feat: defcent and fall
To us is adverfe. Who but felt of late, When the fierce foe hung on our broken Rere Infulting, and purfu'd us through the Deep, With what compulsion, and laborious flight, We funk thus low? Th' afcent is eafie then; Th' event is fear'd; fhould we again provoke Our ftronger, fome worfe way His wrath may find To our deftruction: (if there be in hell
Fear to be worse destroy'd) What can be worse 85 Than to dwell here, driv'n out from blifs, condemn'd In this abhorred deep to utter woe!
Where pain of unextinguishable fire Muft exercife us, without hope of end,
The vaffals of His anger, when the fcourge Inexorably, and the torturing hour, Calls us to penance? more destroy'd than thus, We fhould be quite abolish'd, and expire. What fear we then? what doubt we to incenfe 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 ceafe 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.
He ended frowning, and his look denounc'd Desperate revenge, and battel dangercus To less than Gods. On th' other fide uprofe Belial, in act more graceful and humane: A fairer perfon lost not heav'n; he feem'd For dignity compos'd, and high exploit: But all was falfe and hollow: though his tongue Drop'd Manna, and could make the worse appear The better reason, to perplex and dash Matureft counfels; for his thoughts were low: 115 To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds Timorous, and slothful: 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 reason to perfuade immediate war, Did not diffuade me moft; and seem to caft Ominous conjecture on the whole fuccefs; When he who most excels in fact of arms, In what he counfels, and in what excels, Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair, And utter diffolution, as the fcope
Of all his aim, after fome dire revenge. First, what revenge? The towr's of heav'n are fill'd With armed watch, that render all accefs 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 ftain, would foon expel Her mischief, 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 145 To be no more.---Şad cure! for who would lofe, Though full of pain, this intellectual Being; Those thoughts, that wander through eternity; To perish rather, fwallow'd up and loft
In the wide womb of uncreated night,
Devoid of fense 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 deftin'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 fied amain, pursu'd, and strook 165 With heav'n's afflicting thunder, and besought The Deep to shelter us? This hell then seem'd A refuge from thofe wounds. Or, when we lay Chain'd on the burning lake? That fure was worse. What if the breath that kindled thofe grim fires, 170 Awak'd, should blow them into sevenfold 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! 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 sport and prey Of racking whirlwinds: or for ever funk Under yon boiling ocean, wrap'd 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, 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,
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 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 ftrength is equal, nor the law unjust That fo ordains: this was at firft 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, fhrink, and fear What yet they know must 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 fuftain and bear,
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