Moloch. My thoughts it seems are known before I speak;

War, open war is all my note. I rise

To thank the prophet, who thus reads my heart,
Where honesty should wear it, in my face;
That face from danger I did never hide;
How then from him? Nor am I by his praise
More honor'd than by his dissenting voice:
For whilst he counsels circumvention, fraud,
Seduction, (if my memory wrong his words
I yield it to correction) we stand off,

Wide as the poles apart. Much I had hop'd,
When the great tempter fail'd, and in your ears
Sung his own honor's dirge, we had heard the last
Of plots and mean tempta⚫ons; mean I call them,
For great names cannot sanctify mean deeds.
Satan himself knows I oppos'd th' attempt,
Appeal'd, protested; my thrice honor'd chief
Knows it full well, and blushes for th' event.
And are we now caballing how t' outwit
A few poor harmless fishermen; för such
Are Christ's disciples; how to gull and cheat
Their simple hearts of honesty? Oh peers,
For shame, if not for pity, leave them that,
That beggars virtue. And is this the theme,
The mighty theme, which now employs the thoughts
Of your immortal synod? Shame, Oh shame!-
Princes, dominions, arch-angelic thrones,

Imperial lords! These were your

titles once;
By these names ye were known above the stars:
Shame not your ancient dignities, nor sink
Beneath the vilest of the sons of men,
Whisperers, informers, spies. If Christ be God;
Fight, as becometh you to fight, with God:
If man, and sure his birth bespeaks no more,
Why all this preparation, this consult,
These mighty machinations and cabals?
Off with your foe at once; dismiss him hence
Where all his brother prophets have been sent;

Where his precursor John is gone before;
Whose voice still echoes through this wilderness,
Repent ye, for God's kingdom is at hand!
Prepare ye the Lord's way!" It is prepar'd;
It leads to death; it marshals him the road
To that oblivious bourne, whence none return.
Herod yet lives; another royal feast,

Another wanton dance, and he, for whom
So many innocents were slain, shall fall.
. Once vanquish'd, are we therefore to despair?
In heav'n, unequal battle we provok'd;

Though vast our host, the million was with God.
On earth, inquire of all the nations round

Whom they will serve; with one voice they reply,
We are their gods; they feed us with their blood,
Their sons and daughters they make pass through fire
To do us grace; if their own flesh they give,
Shall they withhold to sacrifice a foe?

Twelve tribes were all Jehovah had on earth,
And ten are lost; of this small remnant, few

And wretched are the friends that league with heav'n.
And where is now Christ's promis'd reign on earth?
When God's own servants rise against his Son,
And those, to whom the promises were giv'n,
Revolt from their Messias, can we wish
Greater revenge? What need have we to tempt
Those who have hearts rebellious as our own,
As prompt to malice, no less prone to vex
God's righteous Spirit? And let come what may,
It comes not to our loss, rather our gain.
Let God arise to vengeance; let him pour
Destruction on his temple, whose proud height
Our chief can witness, measur'd by his fall:
Let him not leave one stone upon another,
As his rash Son hath menac'd; let his wrath
Through all the inhospitable earth disperse
His scatter'd tribes; such ever be the fate
Of all his worshippers! May scorn, contempt,
Derision be their lot, and may their God,

Never recal his curse! Are we, O peers,
To mourn for his Jerusalem? Our joy
Springs from confusion: enmity 'twixt God
And man is our best triumph. For myself,
War is my harvest; then my altars blaze
Brightest, when human victims feed the flame.
Belial. After so many peaceful ages past
Since first emerging from hell's dark abyss,
Rous'd by our arch-angelic chief, we sprung
Up to this middle region, and here seiz'd
On this terrestrial globe, created first
For man, our vassal now, where, at full ease,
Lords of the elements and gods ador'd,
We reign and revel undisturb'd of Heav'n.
If God, whose jealousy be sure ill brooks
That this fair world should be so long possess'd
By us his exil'd angels, and his name,
Pent up in Palestine, should now arouse
His slumbering wrath, and his best strength put
To wrestle for lost empire, and our earth,
As we in evil hour his heaven, assail;
Who of this mighty synod but must own
The provocation warrants the retort?
If then the Maker of mankind hath cause
To meditate their rescue, we no less

forth

Have cause t' oppose th' attempt, and hold them fast
To their allegiance in despite of Heav'n.
Much then we owe to our great leader's care,
Who, ever watchful o'er the public weal,
Calls us to this full council, here to meet
In grave consult how best we may repair
Past disappointments, and repel the spite
Of this new Champion, levell'd at our shrines.
Great is the trouble of my thoughts, O peers,

And much perplex'd am I with doubts, what name,
Nature, and office to ascribe to Christ;

In form the lowliest of the sons of men,

In miracles omnipotent as God;

Whose voice controls the stoutest of our host.

Bids the graves open and their dead come forth;
Whose very touch is health; who with a glance
Pervades each heart, absolves it or condemns;
Whose virgin birth credulity scarce owns,
And nature disavows. Prais'd to all time,
Immortal as himself be the renown

Of that wise spirit, who shall devise the means
By force or fraud to overthrow the

power
Of this mysterious foe: what shall I say?
Priest, Prophet, King, Messias, Son of God?
Yet how God's unity, which well we know
Endures no second, should adopt a Son,
And essence indivisible divide,

Baffles my weak conjecture. Let that pass.
To such hard doctrines I subscribe no faith:
I'll call him man inspir'd, and wait till death
Gives sentence of mortality upon him.
Meanwhile let circumspection on our part
Fill all the anxious interim; alarm

Rome's jealousy: stir up the captious spleen
Of the proud Pharisee; beset him round

With snares to catch him; urge the envious priests,
For envy still beneath the altar lurks;

And note the man he trusts. Mammon could tell,
Though Mammon boasts not of his own success,
How few of human mould have yet withstood
His glittering, golden lures. The sword can kill
Man's body; gold destroys his very soul.
Yet mark me well, I counsel not to tempt
The Master; poverty can do no more
Than his own mortifying penance does,
Hunger and thirst and obstinately starve,

When his mere wish could make the rock a spring,
And its hard fragments, bread. Yet sure I am
All are not Christ's in heart, who with their lips
Confess him; these are men, and therefore frail,
Frail and corruptible. And let none say,
Fear prompts this counsel; I disclaim all fear
But for the general cause. In every heart

Nature had built my altar; every sect,
Nation and language with one voice confess
Pleasure the sovereign good. The Stoic churl,
The dogged cynic snarling in his tub,
And all the ragged moralizing crew,
Are hypocrites; philosophy itself
Is but my votary beneath a cloak.
It harms not me, though every idol god
Were tumbled from his base; alike I scorn
Sampson's strong nerve and Daniel's flaming zeal:
And let Christ preach his mortifying rules;
Let him go forth through all the Gentile world,
And on the ruin of our fanes erect

His church triumphant o'er the gates of hell,
Still, still man's heart will draw the secret sigh
For pleasures unenjoyed; the gloomy cell
And melancholy fast, the midnight prayer,
And pale contrition weeping o'er her lamp,
Are penances from which the sense revolts,
Fines, that compounding superstition pays
For pleasures past, or bribes, for more to come.
Satan. Enough of this vain boast,

More than enough of these voluptuous strains,
Which, though they lull the ear, disarm the soul
Of its best attribute. Not gaudy flowers

Are cull'd for med'cine, but the humble weed.
True wisdom, ever frugal of her speech,
Gives sage advice in plain and homely words.
The sum of all our reasoning ends in this,
That nothing but the death of Christ can solve
The myst'ry of his nature: till he falls,
Scarce can I say we stand. All voices then,
Though varying in the means, conspire his death;
Some cautiously as Baal; some with zeal
Precipitate as Moloch, whose swift thought
Vaults over all impediments to seize
The goal of his ambition. But, O peers,
Ours is no trivial care; direct your sight
Along the ranks of that redeemed host,