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PARADISE LOST.

воок II.

IGH on a throne of royal ftate, which far

Or where the gorgeous east with richest hand
Show'rs on her kings barbaric pearl and gold,
Satan exalted fat, by merit rais'd

To that bad eminence; and from defpair
Thus high uplifted beyond hope, afpires
Beyond thus high, infatiate to purfue

Vain war with Heav'n, and by fuccefs untaught
His proud imaginations thus difplay'd.

Pow'rs and Dominions, Deities of Heaven,
For fince no deep within her gulf can hold
Immortal vigor, though opprefs'd and fall'n,
I give not Heav'n for left. From this descent
Celestial virtues rifing, will appear

More glorious and more dread than from no fall,
And truft themfelves to fear no fecond fate.
Me though just right, and the fix'd laws of Heaven
Did firft create your leader, next free choice,
With what befides, in counsel or in fight,
Hath been achiev'd of merit, yet this lofs
Thus far at leaft recover'd, hath much more
Eftablish'd in a fafe unenvied throne,

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Yielded

Yielded with full confent. The happier ftate
In Heav'n, which follows dignity, might draw
Envy from each inferior; but who here
Will envy whom the highest place exposes
Foremost to stand against the Thund'rer's aim
Your bulwark, and condemns to greatest share
Of endless pain? where there is then no good
For which to ftrive, no ftrife can grow up there
From faction; for none fure will clame in Hell
Precedence, none, whofe 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 Heav'n, we now return
To clame our juft inheritance of old,
Surer to profper than prosperity

Could have affur'd us; and by what best way,
Whether of open war or covert guile,
We now debate; who can advise, may speak.

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He ceas'd, and next him Moloch, scepter'd king,
Stood up, the strongest and the fierceft Spirit
That fought in Heav'n, now fiercer by defpair: 45
His truft was with th' Eternal to be deem'd
Equal in ftrength, and rather than be less
Car'd not to be at all; with that care loft
Went all his fear: of God, or Hell, or worfe
He reck'd not, and these words thereafter spake. 50
My fentence is for open war: of wiles,

More unexpert, I boast not: them let those
Contrive who need, or when they need, not now.

For

For while they fit contriving, fhall the rest,
Millions that stand in arms, and longing wait
The fignal to ascend, fit lingʼring here
Heav'n'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 Heav'n's high tow'rs to force refistless way,
Turning our tortures into horrid arms

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Against the torturer; when to meet the noise

Of his almighty engin he shall hear

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Infernal thunder, and for lightning fee

Black fire and horror fhot with equal rage
Among his Angels, and his throne itself

Mix'd with Tartarean fulphur, and strange fire,
His own invented torments. But perhaps

way

The seems difficult and steep to scale
With upright wing against a higher foe,
Let fuch bethink them, if the sleepy drench
Of that forgetful lake benumm not still,
That in our proper motion we ascend
Up to our native feat: defcent and fall'
To us is adverfe. Who but felt of late,
When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear
Infulting, and pursued us through the deep,
With what compulfion and laborious flight
We funk thus low? Th' afcent is easy then;
Th' event is fear'd; fhould we again provoke
Our stronger, fome worfe way his wrath may find

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To our deftruction; if there be in Hell

Fear to be worse destroy'd: what can be worse

Than to dwell here, driv'n out from blifs, condemn'd

In this abhorred deep to atter woe;

Where pain of unextinguishable fire

Muft exercise us without hope of end

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What fear we then? what doubt we to incenfe

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His utmost ire? which to the highth enrag'd,
Will either quite confume us, and reduce
To nothing this effential, happier far
Than miferable to have eternal being:
Or if our fubftance be indeed divine,
And cannot ceafe to be, we are at worst
On this fide nothing; and by proof we feel

Our pow'r fufficient to disturb his Heaven,
And with perpetual inroads to alarm,
Though inacceffible, his fatal throne:
Which, if not victory, is yet revenge.

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He ended frowning, and his look denounc'd

Defp'rate revenge, and battel dangerous
To lefs than Gods. On th' other fide up rofe
Belial, in act more graceful and humane;
A fairer perfon loft not Heav'n; he seem'd
For dignity compos'd and high exploit:
But all was falfe and hollow; though his tongue
Dropt Manna, and could make the worse appear

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The better reason, to perplex and dafh
Matureft counfels: for his thoughts were low;
To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds
Timorous and flothful: yet he pleas'd the ear,
And with perfuafive accent thus began.

I should be much for open war, O Peers,
As not behind in hate; if what was urg'd
Main reafon to persuade immediate war,
Did not diffuade me most, and seem to cast
Ominous conjecture on the whole fuccess:
When he who most excels in fact of arms,
In what he counfels and in what excels
Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair
And utter dissolution, as the fcope

Of all his aim, after fome dire revenge.

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First, what revenge? the tow'rs of Heaven are fill'd
With armed watch, that render all accefs
Impregnable; oft on the bord'ring deep
Incamp their legions, or with óbfcure wing
Scout far and wide into the realm of night,
Scorning furprise. Or could we break our way
By force, and at our heels all Hell fhould rise
With blackest insurrection, to confound
Heav'n's pureft light, yet our great enemy
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 muft exafperate

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Th'

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