Then to dwell here, driv'n out from blifs, 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 houre
Calls us to Penance? More destroy'd then thus
We should be quite abolisht and expire.
What fear we then? what doubt we to incenfe
His utmost ire? which to the highth enrag'd,
Will either quite confume us, and reduce
To nothing this effential, happier farr
Then 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 power fufficient to disturb his Heav'n,
And with perpetual inrodes to Allarme,
Though inacceffible, his fatal Throne:
Which if not Victory is yet Revenge.
He ended frowning, and his look denounc'd
Desperate revenge, and Battel dangerous
To less then Gods. On th' other fide up
Belial, in act more graceful and humane;
A fairer perfon loft not Heav'n; he seemd
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 induftrious, but to Nobler deeds
Timorous and flothful: yet he pleas'd the eare,
And with perfwafive accent thus began.
I should be much for open Warr, O Peers,
As not behind in hate; if what was urg'd
Main reason to perfwade immediate Warr,
Did not diffwade me most, and seem to caft
Ominous conjecture on the whole fuccess;
When he who moft excels in fact of Arms,
In what he counsels and in what excels
Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair
And utter diffolution, as the scope
Of all his aim, after fome dire revenge.
First, what Revenge? the Towrs of Heav'n are fill'd
With Armed watch, that render all access
Impregnable; oft on the bordering Deep
Encamp thir Legions, or with obfcure wing
Scout farr 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'ns pureft Light, yet our great Enemie
All incorruptible would on his Throne
Sit unpolluted, and th' Ethereal mould
Incapable of stain would foon expel
Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire
Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope
Is flat despair; we must exasperate
Th' Almighty Victor to spend all his rage,
And that must end us, that must be our cure,
To be no more; fad cure; for who would loose,
Though full of pain, this intellectual being,
Those thoughts that wander through Eternity,
To perish rather, swallowd up and lost
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 thir wish, and end
Them in his anger, whom his anger faves
To punish endless? wherefore cease we then?
Say they who counsel Warr, we are decreed,
Referv'd and deftin'd to Eternal woe;
Whatever doing, what can we suffer more,
What can we fuffer worse? is this then worst,
Thus fitting, thus confulting, thus in Arms?
What when we fled amain, purfu'd and strook
With Heav'ns afflicting Thunder, and befought
The Deep to shelter us? this Hell then seem'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 kindl'd those grim fires
Awak'd fhould blow them into fevenfold rage 171
And plunge us in the Flames? or from above
Should intermitted vengeance Arme again
His red right hand to plague us? what if all
Her ftores were op'n'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
Designing or exhorting glorious Warr,
Caught in a fierie Tempest shall be hurl'd
Each on his rock transfixt, the sport and prey
Of racking whirlwinds, or for ever funk
Under yon boyling Ocean, wrapt in Chains;
There to converse with everlasting groans,
Unrefpited, unpitied, unrepreevd,
Ages of hopeless end; this would be worse.
Warr therefore, open or conceal'd, alike
My voice diffwades; for what can force or guile
With him, or who deceive his mind, whofe eye
Views all things at one view? he from heav'ns highth
All these our motions vain, fees and derides;
Not more Almighty to refift our might
Then wife to fruftrate all our plots and wiles.
Shall we then live thus vile, the race of Heav'n
Thus trampl'd, thus expell'd to suffer here
Chains & these Torments? better these then worfe
By my advice; fince fate inevitable
Subdues us, and Omnipotent Decree
The Victors will. To fuffer, as to doe,
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 muft follow, to endure
Exile, or ignominy, or bonds, or pain,
The sentence of thir Conquerour: This is now
Our doom; which if we can sustain and bear,
Our Supream Foe in time may much remit
His anger, and perhaps thus farr remov'd
Not mind us not offending, fatisfi'd
With what is punish't; whence these raging fires
Will flack'n, if his breath ftir not thir flames.
Our purer effence then will overcome
Thir noxious vapour, or enur'd not feel,
Or chang'd at length, and to the place conformd
In temper and in nature, will receive
Familiar the fierce heat, and void of pain;
This horror will grow milde, this darkness light,
Besides what hope the never-ending flight
Of future days may bring, what chance, what change
Worth waiting, fince our present lot appeers
For happy though but ill, for ill not worst,
If we procure not to our felves more woe.
Thus Belial with words cloath'd in reasons garb
Counsel'd ignoble ease, and peaceful floath,
Not peace and after him thus Mammon spake.
Either to difinthrone the King of Heav'n
We warr, if warr be beft, or to regain
Our own right loft: him to unthrone we then
May hope, when everlasting Fate shall yeild
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'ns bound, unless Heav'ns Lord fupream
We overpower? Suppofe he should relent
And publish Grace to all, on promise made
Of new Subjection; with what eyes could we
Stand in his presence humble, and receive
Strict Laws impos'd, to celebrate his Throne
With warbl'd Hymns, and to his Godhead fing
Forc't Halleluiahs; while he Lordly fits
Our envied Sovran, and his Altar breathes
Ambrofial Odours and Ambrofial Flowers,
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