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He ceas'd; and next him Moloch, scepter'd king, Stood up, the strongest and the fiercest Spirit That fought in Heav'n, now fiercer by despair: His trust was with th' Eternal to be deem'd Equal in strength, and rather than be less Car'd not to be at all; with that care lost Went all his fear of God, or Hell, or worse He reck'd not, and these words thereafter spake. 50 My sentence is for open war: of wiles, More unexpert, I boast not: them let those Contrive who need, or when they need, not now. For while they sit contriving, shall the rest, Millions that stand in arms, and longing wait The signal to ascend, sit ling'ring here Heav'n's fugitives, and for their dwelling place Accept this dark opprobious 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

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O'er Heav'n's high tow'rs to force resistless way,
Turning our tortures into horrid arms

Against the torturer; when to meet the noise
Of his almighty engine he shall hear
Infernal thunder, and for lightning see
Black fire and horror shot with equal rage
Among his Angels, and his throne itself
Mix'd with Tartarean sulphur, and strange fire,
His own invented torments. But perhaps
The way seems difficult and steep, to scale
With upright wing against a higher foe.

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Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench
Of that forgetful lake benumb not still,
That in our proper motion we ascend
Up to our native seat: descent and fall
To us is adverse. Who but felt of late,
When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear
Insulting, and pursued us through the deep,
With what compulsion and laborious flight
We sunk thus low? Th' ascent is easy then;
Th' event is fear'd; should we again provoke
Our stronger, some worse way his wrath may
To our destruction; if there be in Hell
Fear to be worse destroy'd: what can be worse
Than to dwell here, driv'n out from bliss, condemn'd
In this abhorr'd deep to utter woe;

Where pain of unextinguishable fire
Must exercise us without hope of end
The vassals of his anger, when the scourge
Inexorably, and the torturing hour

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find

Calls us to penance? More destroy'd than thus
We should be quite abolish'd and expire.
What fear we then? what doubt we to incense
His utmost ire? which to the height enrag'd,

Will either quite consume us, and reduce
To nothing this essential, happier far
Than miserable to have eternal being:
Or if our substance be indeed divine,
And cannot cease to be, we are at worst
On this side nothing; and by proof we feel
Our power sufficient to disturb his Heaven,

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And with perpetual inroads to alarm,
Though inaccessible, his fatal throne :
Which, if not victory, is yet revenge.

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He ended frowning, and his look denounc'd
Desp'rate revenge, and battle dangerous
To less than Gods. On th' other side up rose
Belial, in act more graceful and humane;
A fairer person lost not Heav'n; he seem'd
For dignity compos'd and high exploit:
But all was false and hollow; though his tongue
Dropt manna, and could make the worse appear
The better reason, to perplex and dash
Maturest counsels: for his thoughts were low;
To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds
Timorous and slothful: yet he pleas'd the ear,
And with persuasive accent thus began.

I should be much for open war, O Peers!
As not behind in hate, if what was urg'd
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.

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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
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
Heav'n's purest light, yet our great enemy
All incorruptible would on his throne
Sit unpolluted, and th' ethereal mould
Incapable of stain would soon expel
Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire
Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope
Is flat despair: we must exasperate

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Th' 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, swallow'd 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,
Reserv'd, and destin'd to eternal woe;
Whatever doing, what can we suffer more

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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 Heav'n's afflicting thunder, and besought The deep to shelter us? this Hell then seem'd A refuge from those wounds: or when we lay Chain'd on the burning lake? that sure was worse. What if the breath that kindled those grim fires, 179 Awak'd should blow them into sev'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 stores were open'd, and this firmament Of Hell should spout her cataracts of fire, Impendent horrors, threat'ning hideous fall One day upon our heads; while we perhaps Designing or exhorting glorious war, Caught in a fiery tempest shall be hurl'd Each on his rock transfix'd, the sport and Of wracking whirlwinds, and for ever sunk Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains; There to converse with everlasting groans, Unrespited, unpitied, unrepriev'd,. Ages of hopeless end! this would be worse, War therefore, open or conceal'd, 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 Heav'n's height All these our motions vain sees and derides; 194 Not more almighty to resist our might

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