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Reserved him to more wrath; for now the thought
Both of lost happiness and lasting pain

Torments him. Round he throws his baleful eyes,
That witnessed huge affliction and dismay,

Mixed with obdurate pride and steadfast hate.
At once, as far as angels' ken, he views
The dismal situation waste and wild.

A dungeon horrible, on all sides round,

As one great furnace, flamed. Yet from those flames

No light, but rather darkness visible

Served only to discover sights of woe,

Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes
That comes to all; but torture without end
Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed
With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed.
Such place eternal justice had prepared

For those rebellious; here their prison ordained
In utter darkness, and their portion set
As far removed from God and light of heaven,
As from the center thrice to the utmost pole.
Oh, how unlike the place from whence they fell!
There the companions of his fall, o'erwhelmed
With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire,
He soon discerns; and weltering by his side
One next himself in power, and next in crime,
Long after known in Palestine, and named
Beelzebub: to whom the arch-enemy,

And thence in Heaven called Satan, with bold words
Breaking the horrid silence, thus began:

If thou beest he; but oh, how fallen! how changed From him, who, in the happy realms of light, Clothed with transcendent brightness, didst outshine Myriads, though bright! If he, whom mutual league, United thoughts and counsels, equal hope

And hazard in the glorious enterprise,

Joined with me once, now misery hath joined

In equal ruin; into what pit thou seest

From what height fallen, so much the stronger proved

He with his thunder. And till then who knew

The force of those dire arms? Yet not for those,
Nor what the potent Victor in his rage

Can else inflict, do I repent or change,

Though changed in outward luster, that fixed mind,
And high disdain from sense of injured merit,
That with the Mightiest raised me to contend,
And to the fierce contention brought along
Innumerable force of Spirits armed,

That durst dislike his reign, and, me preferring,
His utmost power with adverse power opposed

In dubious battle on the plains of Heaven,

And shook his throne. What though the field be lost?
All is not lost; the unconquerable will,
And study of revenge, immortal hate,
And courage never to submit or yield,
And what is else not to be overcome;
That glory never shall his wrath or might
Extort from me. To bow and sue for grace
With suppliant knee, defy His power
Who from the terror of this arm so late
Doubted his empire-that were low indeed,

That were an ignominy, and shame beneath
This downfall. Since, by fate, the strength of gods,
And this empyreal substance, cannot fail;

Since, through experience of this great event,

In arms not worse, in foresight much advanced,
We may with more successful hope resolve
To wage, by force or guile, eternal war,
Irreconcilable to our grand Foe,

Who now triumphs, and, in the excess of joy
Sole reigning, holds the tyranny of Heaven.

So spake the apostate angel, though in pain,

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Vaunting aloud, but racked with deep despair;
And him thus answered soon his bold compeer:
O prince, O chief of many-throned powers,
That led the embattled seraphim to war
Under thy conduct, and, in dreadful deeds
Fearless, endanger'd heaven's perpetual King,
And put to proof His high supremacy,
Whether upheld by strength, or chance, or fate;
Too well I see and rue the dire event,

That with sad overthrow and foul defeat,
Hath lost us Heaven, and all this mighty host

In horrible destruction laid thus low,

As far as gods and heavenly essences

Can perish for the mind and spirit remain
Invincible, and vigor soon returns,

Though all our glory extinct, and happy state
Here swallowed up in endless misery.

But what if He our Conqueror-whom I now

Of force believe Almighty-since no less

Than such could have o'erpowered such force as ours

Have left us this our spirit and strength entire,

Strongly to suffer and support our pains,
That we may so suffice His vengeful ire,
Or do Him mightier service as His thralls
By right of war, whate'er His business be,
Here in the heart of hell to work in fire,
Or to His errands in the gloomy Deep?
What can it then avail, though yet we feel
Strength undiminished, or eternal being,
To undergo eternal punishment?

Whereto with speedy words the arch-fiend replied:
Fallen cherub! to be weak is miserable,

Doing or suffering: but of this be sure,
To do aught good never will be our task,

But ever to do ill our sole delight,

As being the contrary to His high will

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