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, 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.
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 Is flat despair: We must exasperate The almighty Victor to spend all his rage, 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? 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 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, 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 wracking whirlwinds; or for ever 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? He from heaven's height 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 expell'd to suffer here
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, 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; 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 woc."
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 supreme 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 Forced hallelujahs; while he lordly sits Our envied sovereign, 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
Our own good from ourselves, and from our own Life 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 advérse,
We can create; and in what place soe'er Thrive under evil, and work ease out of pain, Through labour and endurance. 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
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 soil Wants not her hidden lustre, gems and gold; Nor want we skill or art, from whence to raise Magnificence; and what can heaven show more? Our torments also may in length of time Become our elements; these piercing fires As soft as now severe, our temper changed Into their temper; which must needs remove The sensible of pain. All things invite To peaceful counsels, and the settled state Of order, how in safety best we may Compose our present evils, with regard Of what we are, and where; dismissing quite All thoughts of war. Ye have what I advise."
He scarce had finished, when such murmur filled The assembly, as when hollow rocks retain The sound of blustering winds, which all night long Had roused the sea, now with hoarse cadence lull Seafaring men o'er-watched, whose bark by chance Or pinnance anchors in a craggy bay
After the tempest: such applause was heard As Mammon ended, and his sentence pleased, Advising peace: for such another field
They dreaded worse than hell: so much the fear Of thunder and the sword of Michaël
Wrought still within them, and no less desire
To found this nether empire, which might rise By policy, and long procéss of time,
In emulation opposite to heaven.
Which when Beelzebub perceived, than whom Satan except, none higher sat, with grave Aspéct he rose, and in his rising seemed
A pillar of state; deep on his front engraven Deliberation sat, and public care;
And princely counsel in his face yet shone, Majestic, though in ruin: sage he stood With Atlantean shoulders fit to bear
The weight of mightiest monarchies; his look Drew audience and attention still as night
Or summer's noontide air, while thus he spake : "Thrones and imperial powers, offspring of heaven, Ethereal virtues; or these titles now
Must we renounce, and, changing style, be called Princes of hell? for so the popular vote
Inclines here to continue, and build up here
A growing empire; doubtless, while we dream, And know not that the King of heaven hath doomed This place our dungeon; not our safe retreat
Beyond his potent arm, to live exempt
From heaven's high jurisdiction, in new league Banded against his throne, but to remain
In strictest bondage, though thus far removed, Under the inevitable curb, reserved
His captive multitude: for he, be sure,
In height or depth, still first and last will reign Sole king, and of his kingdom lose no part By our revolt; but over hell extend
His empire, and with iron sceptre rule Us here, as with his golden those in heaven. What sit we then projecting peace and war? War hath determined us, and foiled with loss
Irreparable; terms of peace yet none
Vouchsafed or sought; for what peace will be given To us enslaved, but custody severe,
And stripes, and arbitrary punishment
Inflicted? and what peace can we return,
But to our power hostility and hate,
Untamed reluctance, and revenge, though slow, Yet ever plotting how the Conqueror least May reap his conquest, and may least rejoice In doing what we most in suffering feel?
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