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But what if he our conqu'ror (whom I now

Of force believe almighty, fince no lefs

Than such could have o'er-pow'r'd fuch force as ours)
Have left us this our spirit and strength entire
Strongly to fuffer and support our pains,
That we may fo fuffice his vengeful ire,
Or do him mightier fervice as his thralls
By right of war, whate'er his bufinefs be,
Here in the heart of Hell to work in fire,
Or do his errands in the gloomy deep;
What can it then avail, though yet we feel
Strength undiminish'd, or eternal being
To undergo eternal punishment?

Whereto with speedy words th' Arch-Fiend reply'd

Fall'n Cherub, to be weak is miferable

Doing or fuffering: but of this be sure,
To do ought good never will be our task,
But ever to do ill our fole delight,
As be'ing the contrary to his high will
Whom we refift. If then his providence
Out of our evil feek to bring forth good,,
Our labor must be to pervert that end,
And out of good still to find means of evil;
Which oft-times may fucceed, fo as perhaps
Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb
His inmoft counfels from their deftin'd aim..
But fee the angry victor hath recall'd
His minifters of vengeance and pursuit

Back to the gates of Heav'n: the fulphurous hail
Shot after us in ftorm, o'erblown hath laid

The

The fiery furge, that from the precipice
Of Heav'n receiv'd us falling; and the thunder,
Wing'd with red lightning and impetuous rage,
Perhaps hath spent his fhafts, and ceases now
To bellow through the vast and boundless deep.
Let us not flip th' occafion, whether scorn,
Or fatiate fury yield it from our foe.

Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild,
The feat of defolation, void of light,

Save what the glimmering of these livid flames
Cafts pale and dreadful? Thither let us tend
From off the toffing of these fiery waves,
There reft, if any reft can harbour there,
And re-affembling our afflicted Powers,
Confult how we may henceforth most offend
Our enemy, our own lofs how repair,
How overcome this dire calamity,
What reinforcement we may gain from hope,
If not what refolution from despair.

Thus Satan talking to his nearest mate
With head up-lift above the wave, and eyes
That sparkling blaz'd, his other parts befides
Prone on the flood, extended long and large
Lay floting many a rood, in bulk as huge
As whom the fables name of monftrous fize,
Titanian, or Earth-born, that warr'd on Jove,
Briareos or Typhon, whom the den

By ancient Tarfus held, or that fea-beaft
Leviathan, which God of all his works
Created hugest that swim th' ocean stream:

Him haply flumb'ring on the Norway foam
The pilot of fome small night-founder'd skiff
Deeming fome iland, oft, as fea-men tell,
With fixed anchor in his skaly rind

Moors by his fide under the lee, while night
Invests the fea, and wifhed morn delays:

So stretch'd out huge in length the Arch-Fiend lay
Chain'd on the burning lake, nor ever thence
Had ris'n or heav'd his head, but that the will
And high permiffion of all-ruling Heaven
Left him at large to his own dark designs,
That with reiterated crimes he might
Heap on himself damnation, while he fought
Evil to others, and enrag'd might fee
How all his malice ferv'd but to bring forth
Infinite goodnefs, grace and mercy shown
On Man by him feduc'd, but on himself
Treble confufion, wrath and vengeance pour'd.
Forthwith upright he rears from off the pool
His mighty ftature; on each hand the flames
Driv'n backward flope their pointing fpires, and roll'd
In billows, leave i'th' midst a horrid vale.
Then with expanded wings he steers his flight
Aloft, incumbent on the dusky air

That felt unusual weight, till on dry land
He lights, if it were land that ever burn'd
With folid, as the lake with liquid fire;
And fuch appear'd in hue, as when the force
Of fubterranean wind transports a hill
Torn from Pelorus, or the shatter'd fide

Of

Of thund'ring Etna, whofe combustible

And fuel'd entrails thence conceiving fire,
Sublim'd with mineral fury, aid the winds,
And leave a finged bottom all involv'd

With stench and fmoke: Such refting found the fole
Of unbleft feet. Him follow'd his next mate,
Both glorying to have 'fcap'd the Stygian flood
As Gods, and by their own recover'd strength,
Not by the fufferance of fupernal Power.

Is this the region, this the foil, the clime,
Said then the loft Arch-Angel, this the feat
That we must change for Heav'n, this mournful gloom
For that celeftial light? Be' it fo, fince he
Who now is Sovran can difpofe and bid

What fhall be right: fartheft from him is beft,
Whom reas'on hath equal'd, force hath made fupreme

Above his equals. Farewell happy fields,

Where joy for ever dwells: Hail horrors, hail
Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell
Receive thy new poffeffor; one who brings
A mind not to be chang'd by place or time.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.
What matter where, if I be ftill the fame,
And what I should be, all but lefs than he
Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least
We shall be free; th' Almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:
Here we may reign fecure, and in my choice
To reign is worth ambition though in Hell:

Better

| Better to reign in Hell, than ferve in Heaven.
But wherefore let we then our faithful friends,
Th' affociates and copartners of our lofs,
Lie thus aftonish'd on th' oblivious pool,
And call them not to fhare with us their part
In this unhappy manfion, or once more
With rallied arms to try what may be yet
Regain'd in Heav'n, or what more loft in Hell?
So Satan fpake, and him Beëlzebub

Thus anfwer'd. Leader of those armies bright,
Which but th' Omnipotent none could have foil'd,
If once they hear that voice, their liveliest pledge
Of hope in fears and dangers, heard fo oft
In worst extremes, and on the perilous edge
Of battel when it rag'd, in all assaults
Their fureft fignal, they will foon resume
New courage and revive, though now they lie
Groveling and proftrate on yon lake of fire,
As we ere while, astounded and amaz'd,
No wonder, fall'n fuch a pernicious highth.
He scarce had ceas'd when the fuperior Fiend
Was moving toward the fhore; his pond'rous fhield,
Ethereal temper, maffy, large and round,

Behind him caft; the broad circumference
Hung on his fhoulders like the moon, whose orb
Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views
At evening from the top of Fefolé,
Or in Valdarno, to defcry new lands,
Rivers or mountains in her spotty globe.
His fpear, to equal which the tallest pine

Hewn

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