So fpake the Son of God, and Satan flood
A while as mute confounded what to say, What to reply, confuted and convinc'd Of his weak arguing, and fallacious drift; At length collecting all his ferpent wiles, With foothing words renew'd, him thus accofts. I fee thou know'ft what is of ufe to know, What best to say canft say, to do canft do ; Thy actions to thy words accord, thy words To thy large heart give utterance due, thy heart 10 Contains of good, wife, juft, the perfect fhape. Should kings and nations from thy mouth confult, Thy counsel would be as the oracle
Urim and Thummim, thofe oraculous gems On Aaron's breaft; or tongue of feers old Infallible or wert thou fought to deeds That might require th' array of war, thy skill Of conduct would be fuch, that all the world
Could not fuftain thy prowess, or fubfift
In battel, though against thy few in arms. These God-like virtues wherefore dost thou hide, Affecting private life, or more obfcure
In favage wilderness? wherefore deprive All earth her wonder at thy acts, thyself The fame and glory, glory the reward That fole excites to high attempts, the flame Of moft erected fpi'rits, most temper'd pure Ethereal, who all pleasures else despise, All treasures and all gain esteem as drofs, And dignities and pow'rs all but the highest? 30 Thy years are ripe, and over-ripe; the fon Of Macedonian Philip had ere these Won Afia, and the throne of Cyrus held
At his dispose; young Scipio had brought down The Carthaginian pride; young Pompey quell'd 35 The Pontic king, and in triumph had rode. Yet years, and to ripe years judgment mature, Quench not the thirft of glory, but augment. Great Julius, whom now all the world admires, The more he grew in years, the more inflam'd With glory, wept that he had liv'd fo long Inglorious but thou yet art not too late.
To whom our Saviour calmly thus reply'd. Thou neither doft perfuade me to feek wealth For empire's fake, nor empire to affect For glory's fake by all thy argument.
For what is glory but the blaze of fame, The peoples praife, if always praise unmix'd? And what the people but a herd confus'd, A miscellaneous rabble, who extol Things vulgar, and well weigh'd, scarce worth the They praife, and they admire they know not what, And know not whom, but as one leads the other; And what delight to be by fuch extoll'd, To live upon their tongues and be their talk, 55 Of whom to be difprais'd were no small praise? His lot who dares be fingularly good.
Th' intelligent among them and the wife Are few, and glory fcarce of few is rais'd. This is true glory and renown, when God Looking on th' earth, with approbation marks The just man, and divulges him through Heaven To all his Angels, who with true applause Recount his praises: thus he did to Job, When to extend his fame through Heav'n and Earth, As thou to thy reproach may'st well remember, 66 He afk'd thee, Haft thou feen my fervant Job? Famous he was in Heav'n, on Earth less known; Where glory is false glory, attributed
To things not glorious, men not worthy' of fame. jo They err who count it glorious to fubdue By conqueft far and wide, to over-run Large countries, and in field great battels win, Great cities by affault: what do these worthies,
But rob and spoil, burn, slaughter, and inflave 75 Peaceable nations, neighb'ring, or remote, Made captive, yet deserving freedom more Than those their conquerors, who leave behind Nothing but ruin wherefoe'er they rove, And all the flourishing works of peace deftroy, 80 Then fwell with pride, and muft be titled Gods, Great Benefactors of mankind, Deliverers, Worshipt with temple, priest and sacrifice; One is the son of Jove, of Mars the other; Till conqu'ror Death discover them fcarce men, 85 Rolling in brutish vices, and deform'd,
Violent or fhameful death their due reward. But if there be in glory ought of good,
It may by means far different be attain'd Without ambition, war, or violence; By deeds of peace, by wisdom eminent, By patience, temperance: I mention ftill Him whom thy wrongs with faintly patience borne Made famous in a land and times obfcure; Who names not now with honor patient Job? 95 Poor Socrates (who next more memorable?)
By what he taught and suffer'd for fo doing, For truth's fake fuffering death unjust, lives now Equal in fame to proudeft conquerors. Yet if for fame and glory ought be done, Ought fuffer'd; if young African for fame His wafted country freed from Punic rage,
The deed becomes unprais'd, the man at least, And loses, though but verbal, his reward. Shall I feek glory then, as vain men seek, Oft not deferv'd? I feek not mine, but his Who fent me, and thereby witness whence I am. To whom the Tempter murm'ring thus reply'd. Think not so flight of glory; therein least Refembling thy great Father: he feeks glory, 110 And for his glory all things made, all things Orders and governs; nor content in Heaven By all his Angels glorify'd, requires
Glory from men, from all men good or bad, Wife or unwife, no difference, no exemption; 115 Above all facrifice, or hallow'd gift
Glory' he requires, and glory he receives Promifcuous from all nations, Jew, or Greek, Or barbarous, nor exception hath declared; From us his foes pronounc'd glory' he exacts. 120 To whom our Saviour fervently reply'd. And reason; fince his word all things produc'd Though chiefly not for glory as prime end, But to show forth his goodness, and impart His good communicable to every foul Freely; of whom what could he less expect Than glory' and benediction, that is thanks, The flightest, easiest, readieft recompense From them who could return him nothing else, And not returning that would likelieft render 130
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