HIGH on a throne of royal state, which far Outshone the wealth of Ormus and of Ind, Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand Showers on her kings barbarick pearl and gold, Satan exalted sat, by merits rais'd
To that bad eminence: and, from despair Thus high uplifted beyond hope, aspires Beyond thus high; insatiate to pursue
Vain war with Heaven; and, by success untaught, His proud imaginations thus display'd.
Powers and Dominions, Deities of Heaven! For since no deep within her gulph can hold Immortal vigour, though oppress'd and fallen, I give not Heaven for lost. From this descent Celestial virtues rising, will appear
More glorious and more dread than from no fall, And trust themselves to fear no second fate.
Me though just right, and the fix'd laws of Heaven, Did first create your Leader; next, free choice, With what besides, in council or in fight,
Hath been achiev'd of merit; yet this loss, Thus far at least recover'd, hath much more Establish'd in a safe unenvied throne,
Yielded with full consent. The happier state In Heaven, which follows dignity, might draw Envy from each inferiour; but who here Will envy whom the highest place exposes Foremost to stand against the Thunderer's aim, Your bulwark, and condemns to greatest share Of endless pain? Where there is then no good For which to strive, no strife can grow up there From faction; for none sure will claim in Hell Precedence; none, whose portion is so small Of present pain, that with ambitious mind Will covet more. With this advantage then To union, and firm faith, and firm accord, More than can be in Heaven, we now return To claim our just inheritance of old, Surer to prosper than prosperity
Could have assur'd us; and by what best way, Whether of open war, or covert guile, We now debate: Who can advise, may speak.
He ceas'd; and next him Moloch, scepter'd king, Stood up, the strongest and the fiercest Spirit That fought in Heaven, now fiercer by dispair: His trust was with the Eternal to be deem'd Equal in strength; and rather than be less Car'd not to be at all; with that care lost Went all his fear of God, or Hell, or worse,
He reck'd not, and these words thereafter spake. My sentence is for open war: Of wiles, More unexpert, I boast not: them let those Contrive who need, or when they need; not now. For, while they sit contriving, shall the rest, Millions that stand in arms, and longing wait The signal to ascend, sit lingering here Heaven's fugitives, and for their dwelling place Accept this dark opprobrious den of shame, The prison of his tyranny who reigns By our delay? No! let us rather choose, Arm'd with Hell flames and fury, all at once, O'er Heaven's high towers to force resistless way. Turning our tortures into horrid arms
Against the Torturer; when to meet the noise Of his almighty engine he shall hear Infernal thunder; and for lightning, see Black fire and horrour shot with equal rage Among his Angels; and his throne itself Mix'd with Tartarean sulphur, and strange fire, His own invented torments. But perhaps The way seems difficult and steep to scale With upright wing against a higher foe. Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench Of that forgetful lake benum not still, That in our proper motion we ascend Up to our native seat: Descent and fall To us is adverse. Who but felt of late. When the fierce Foe hung on our broken rear
Insulting, and pursued us through the deep, With what compulsion and laborious flight We sunk thus low? The ascent is easy then; The event is fear'd; should we again provoke Our stronger, some worse way his wrath may find To our destruction; if there be in Hell
Fear to be worse destroy'd: What can be worse Than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, condemn'd In this abhorred deep to utter woe; Where pain of unextinguishable fire Must exercise us without hope of end The vassals of his anger, when the scourge Inexorably, and the torturing hour,
Call us to penance? More destroy'd than thus, We should be quite abolish'd, and expire. What fear we then? what doubt we to incense His utmost ire? which, to the highth enrag'd
Will either quite consume us, and reduce To nothing this essential; happier far Than miserable to have eternal being: Or if our substance be indeed divine, And cannot cease to be, we are at worst On this side nothing; and by proof we feel Our power sufficient to disturb his Heaven And with perpetual inroads to alarm, Though inaccessible, his fatal throne : Which, if not victory, is yet revenge.
He ended frowning, and his look denounc'a Desperate revenge, and battle dangerous
To less than gods. On the other side up-rose Belial, in act more graceful and humane:
A fairer person lost not Heaven; he seem'd For dignity compos'd, and high exploit: But all was false and hollow; though 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 pleas'd 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 urg'd 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.
First, what revenge? The towers of Heaven are fill'd With armed watch, that render all access
Impregnable: oft on the bordering deep Encamp their legions; or, with óbscure 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
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