The suburb of their straw-built citadel,
New rubb'd with balm, expatiate and confer
Their state affairs. So thick the aery croud
Swarm'd and were straiten'd; till, the fignal given,
Behold a wonder! they but now who seem'd
In bigness to furpass earth's giant fons,
Now lefs than smallest dwarfs, in narrow room
Throng numberless, like that pygmean race
Beyond the Indian mount, or faery elves,
Whose midnight revels by a forest fide
Or fountain fome belated peasant fees,
Or dreams he fees, while over-head the moon
Sits arbitrefs, and nearer to the earth
Wheels her pale course, they on their mirth and dance
Intent, with jocund music charm his ear;
At once with joy and fear his heart rebounds.
Thus incorporeal Spi'rits to smallest forms
Reduc'd their shapes immenfe, and were at large,
Though without number still amidst the hall
Of that infernal court. But far within,
And in their own dimensions like themselves,
The great Seraphic Lords and Cherubim
In close recefs and fecret conclave fat
A thousand Demi-gods on golden feats,
Frequent and full. After short filence then
And fummons read, the great confult began.
THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK.
To our destruction; if there be in Hell
Fear to be worfe destroy'd: what can be worse
Than to dwell here, driv'n out from blifs, condemn'd
In this abhorred deep to utter woe;
Where pain of unextinguishable fire
Muft exercise us without hope of end
The vaffals of his anger, when the fcourge
Inexorably, and the torturing hour,
Calls us to penance? More deftroy'd than thus
We should be quite abolish'd and expire.
What fear we then? what doubt we to incenfe
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 substance 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.
He ended frowning, and his look denounc'd
Defp'rate revenge, and battel dangerous
To lefs than Gods. On th' other fide up
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
The better reason, to perplex and dash
Matureft.counfels: for his thoughts were low;
To vice induftrious, 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 perfuade immediate war,
Did not diffuade me moft, and feem to caft
Ominous conjecture on the whole fuccefs:
When he who most excels in fact of arms,
In what he counfels and in what excels
Miftruftful, grounds his courage on despair
And utter diffolution, as the scope
Of all his aim, after fome dire revenge.
First, what revenge? the tow'rs of Heav'n are fill'd
With armed watch, that render all access
Impregnable; oft on the bord'ring deep
Incamp their legions, or with óbfcure wing
Scout far and wide into the realm of night,
Scorning furprife. Or could we break our way
By force, and at our heels all Hell should rise
With blackest infurrection, 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 defpair: we muft cxafperate
Th' almighty victor to spend all his rage,
And that must end us, that must be our cure,
To be no more; fad cure; for who would lofe,
Though full of pain, this intellectual being,
Those thoughts that wander through eternity,
To perish rather, swallow'd up and loft
In the wide womb of uncreated night,
Devoid of fenfe 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 fure.
Will he, fo wife, let loofe at once his ire,
Belike through impotence, or unaware,
To give his enemies their wish, and end
Them in his anger, whom his anger faves
To punish endless? Wherefore cease we then?
Say they who counsel war, we are decreed,
Referv'd, and deftin'd to eternal woe;
Whatever doing, what can we suffer more,
What can we fuffer worfe? Is this then worst,
Thus fitting, thus confulting, thus in arms?
What when we fled amain, pursued and struck
With Heav'n's afflicting thunder, and befought
The deep to shelter us? this Hell then feem'd
A refuge from those wounds: or when we lay
Chain'd on the burning lake? that fure was worse.
What if the breath that kindled those grim fires, 170
Awak'd fhould blow them into fev'nfold 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 ftores were open'd, and this firmament
Of Hell should spout her cataracts of fire,
Impendent horrors, threatning hideous fall
One day upon our heads; while we perhaps
Designing or exhorting glorious war,
Caught in a fiery tempeft fhall be hurl'd
Each on his rock transfix'd, the sport and prey
Of wracking whirlwinds, or for ever sunk
Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains;
There to converfe with everlasting groans,
Unrefpited, unpitied, unrepriev'd,
Ages of hopeless end? this would be worse.
War therefore, open or conceal'd, alike
My voice diffuades; for what can force or guile
With him, or who deceive his mind, whofe eye
Views all things at one view? he from Heav'n's highth
All these our motions vain fees and derides;
Not more almighty to refift our might
Than wife 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 thefe torments? better thefe than worfe
By my advice; fince fate inevitable
Subdues us, and omnipotent decree,
The victor's will. To fuffer, as to do,
Our strength is equal, nor the law unjust
That fo ordains: this was at first resolv'd,
If we were wife, against so great a foe
Contending, and fo doubtful what might fall.
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