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Belial, in act more graceful and humane.
A fairer person lost not Heaven; he seemed
For dignity composed and high exploit.
But all was false and

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his tongue
Dropt manna, and could make the worse appear
The better reason, to perplex and dash
Maturest counsels - for his thoughts were low;
To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds
Timorous and slothful. Yet he pleased the ear,
And with persuasive accent thus began:

I should be much for open war, O Peers,
As not behind in hate, if what was urged
Main reason to persuade immediate war
Did not dissuade me most, and seem to cast
Ominous conjecture on the whole success;
When he, who most excels in fact of arms,
In what he counsels and in what excels
Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair
And utter dissolution, as the scope

Of all his aim, after some dire revenge.

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First, what revenge? The towers of Heaven are filled
With armed watch, that render all access
Impregnable; oft on the bordering Deep
Encamp their legions, or, with obscure wing,
Scout far and wide into the realm of Night,
Scorning surprise. Or could we break our way
By force, and at our heels all Hell should rise,
With blackest insurrection to confound
Heaven's purest light, yet our great enemy
All incorruptible would on his throne
Sit unpolluted, and the ethereal mould,
Incapable of stain, would soon expel
Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire,
Victorious. Thus repulsed, our final hope

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Is flat despair; we must exasperate

The almighty victor to spend all his rage,

And who knows,

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And that must end us; that must be our cure,
To be no more. Sad cure! for who would lose,
Though full of pain, this intellectual being,
Those thoughts that wander through eternity?
To perish rather, swallowed up and lost
In the wide womb of uncreated night,
Devoid of sense and motion.
Let this be good, whether our angry foe
Can give it, or will ever? How he can
Is doubtful; that he never will, is sure.
Will he, so wise, 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 saves
To punish endless? 'Wherefore cease we then?'
Say they who counsel war; we are decreed,
Reserved, and destined to eternal woe.
Whatever doing, what can we suffer more?
What can we suffer worse?'. Is this then worst,
Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms?
What! when we fled amain, pursued, and struck
With Heaven's afflicting thunder, and besought
The Deep to shelter us . . . This Hell then seemed
A refuge from those wounds. Or when we lay
Chained on the burning lake?... that sure was worse.
What if the breath that kindled those grim fires, 170
Awaked, 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 stores were opened, and this firmament
Of Hell should spout her cataracts of fire,

Impendent horrors, threatening hideous fall
One day upon our heads! while we, perhaps
Designing or exhorting glorious war,
Caught in a fiery tempest shall be hurled,
Each on his rock transfixed, the sport and prey
Of racking whirlwinds, or forever sunk
Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains;
There to converse with everlasting groans,
Unrespited, unpitied, unreprieved,
Ages of hopeless end.

This would be worse.

War therefore, open or concealed alike,

My voice dissuades; for what can force or guile With him, or who deceive his mind, whose eye Views all things at one view?

highth

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He from Heaven's

All these our motions vain sees and derides;
Not more almighty to resist our might

Than wise to frustrate all our plots and wiles.
Shall we then live thus vile, the race of Heaven
Thus trampled, thus expelled to suffer here

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Chains and these torments? Better these than worse, By my advice; since fate inevitable

Subdues us, and omnipotent decree,

The victor's will. To suffer, as to do,
Our strength is equal, nor the law unjust
That so ordains. This was at first resolved
If we were wise, against so great a foe
Contending and so doubtful what might fall.
I laugh, when those who at the spear are bold
And venturous, if that fail them, shrink and fear
What yet they know must follow, to endure
Exile, or ignominy, or bonds, or pain,

The sentence of their conqueror. This is now
Our doom, which if we can sustain and bear,

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Our supreme foe in time may much remit
His anger, and perhaps, thus far removed,
Not mind us, not offending, satisfied

With what is punished; whence these raging fires Will slacken, if his breath stir not their flames. Our purer essence then will overcome

Their noxious vapour, or inured not feel,

Or, changed at length and to the place conformed In temper and in nature, will receive

Familiar the fierce heat, and void of pain;

This horror will grow mild, this darkness light : 220
Besides what hope the never ending flight

Of future days may bring, what chance, what change
Worth waiting, since our present lot appears
For happy though but ill, for ill not worst;
If we procure not to ourselves more woe.'

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Thus Belial, with words clothed in reason's garb, Counselled ignoble ease and peaceful sloth, Not peace; and after him thus Mammon spake : "Either to disenthrone the king of Heaven We war, if war be best, or to regain Our own right lost. 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 Heaven's bound, unless Heaven's Lord su

preme

We overpower? Suppose 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 imposed, to celebrate his throne
With warbled hymns, and to his Godhead sing

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Forced Halleluiahs; while he lordly sits
Our envied sovran, and his altar breathes
Ambrosial odours and ambrosial flowers,
Our servile offerings? This must be our task
In Heaven, this our delight. How wearisome
Eternity so spent, in worship paid
To whom we hate! Let us not then pursue
By force impossible, by leave obtained
Unacceptable, though in Heaven, our state
Of splendid vassalage; but rather seek

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Our own good from ourselves, and from our own
Live to ourselves, though in this vast recess,
Free and to none accountable, preferring
Hard liberty before the easy yoke

Of servile pomp. Our greatness will appear

Then most conspicuous, when great things of small,
Useful of hurtful, prosperous of adverse
We can create, and in what place soe'er
Thrive under evil, and work ease out of pain,
Through labour and endurance.

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This deep world

Of darkness do we dread? How oft amidst
Thick clouds and dark doth Heaven's all-ruling Sire
Choose to reside, his glory unobscured,

And with the majesty of darkness round

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Covers his throne; from whence deep thunders roar
Mustering their rage, and Heaven resembles Hell!
As he our darkness, cannot we his light
Imitate when we please? This desert so
Wants not her hidden lustre, gems and gold,
Nor want we skill or art, from whence to raise
Magnificence; and what can Heaven shew more
Our torments also may in length of time
Become our elements, these piercing fires
As soft as now severe, our temper changed