John Milton - Paradise Lost and Its Sequel, Paradise Regained (Illustrated Edition)

With him, or who deceive his mind, whose eye

Views all things at one view, he from heav’ns highth

All these our motions vain, sees and derides;

Not more Almighty to resist our might

Then wise to frustrate all our plots and wiles.

Shall we then live thus vile, the race of Heav’n

Thus trampl’d, thus expell’d to suffer here

Chains and these Torments? better these then worse

By my advice; since fate inevitable

Subdues us, and Omnipotent Decree

The Victors will. To suffer, as to doe,

Our strength is equal, nor the Law unjust

That so ordains: this was at first resolv’d,

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 vent’rous, 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 thir Conquerour: This is now

Our doom; which if we can sustain and bear,

Our Supream Foe in time may much remit

His anger, and perhaps thus farr remov’d

Not mind us not offending, satisfi’d

With what is punish’t; whence these raging fires

Will slack’n, if his breath stir not thir flames.

Our purer essence then will overcome

Thir noxious vapour, or enur’d not feel,

Or chang’d at length, and to the place conformd

In temper and in nature, will receive

Familiar the fierce heat, and void of pain;

This horror will grow milde, 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 appeers

For happy though but ill, for ill not worst,

If we procure not to our selves more woe.

Thus Belial with words cloath’ d in reasons garb

Counsel’d ignoble ease, and peaceful sloath,

Not peace: and after him thus Mammon spake.

Either to disinthrone the King of Heav’n

We warr, if warr be best, or to regain

Our own right lost: him to unthrone we then

May hope, when everlasting Fate shall yeild

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 Heav’ns bound, unless Heav’ns Lord supream

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 impos’d, to celebrate his Throne

With warbl’d Hymns, and to his Godhead sing

Forc’t Halleluiahs; while he Lordly sits

Our envied Sovran, and his Altar breathes

Ambrosial Odours and Ambrosial Flowers,

Our servile offerings. This must be our task

In Heav’n, this our delight; how wearisom

Eternity so spent in worship paid

To whom we hate. Let us not then pursue

By force impossible, by leave obtain’d

Unacceptable, though in Heav’n, our state

Of splendid vassalage, but rather seek

Our own good from our selves, and from our own

Live to our selves, though in this vast recess,

Free, and to none accountable, preferring

Hard liberty before the easie yoke

Of servile Pomp. Our greatness will appear

Then most conspicuous, when great things of small,

Useful of hurtful, prosperous of adverse

We can create, and in what place so e’re

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 Heav’ns all-ruling Sire

Choose to reside, his Glory unobscur’d,

And with the Majesty of darkness round

Covers his Throne; from whence deep thunders roar

Must’ring thir rage, and Heav’n resembles Hell?

As he our Darkness, cannot we his Light

Imitate when we please? This Desart soile

Wants not her hidden lustre, Gemms and Gold;

Nor want we skill or art, from whence to raise

Magnificence; and what can Heav’n shew more?

Our torments also may in length of time

Become our Elements, these piercing Fires

As soft as now severe, our temper chang’d

Into their temper; which must needs remove

The sensible of pain. All things invite

To peaceful Counsels, and the settl’d 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 Warr; ye have what advise.

He scarce had finisht, when such murmur filld

Th’ Assembly, as when hollow Rocks retain

The sound of blustring winds, which all night long

Had rous’d the Sea, now with hoarse cadence lull

Sea-faring men orewatcht, whose Bark by chance

Or Pinnace anchors in a craggy Bay

After the Tempest: Such applause was heard

As Mammon ended, and his Sentence pleas’d,

Advising peace: for such another Field

They dreaded worse then Hell: so much the fear

Of Thunder and the Sword of Michael

Wrought still within them; and no less desire

To found this nether Empire, which might rise

By policy, and long process of time,

In emulation opposite to Heav’n.

Which when Beelzebub perceiv’d, then whom,

Satan except, none higher sat, with grave

Aspect he rose, and in his rising seem’d

A Pillar of State; deep on his Front engraven

Deliberation sat and publick care;

And Princely counsel in his face yet shon,

Majestick 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 Summers Noon-tide air, while thus he spake.