Caught in a fiery tempest, shall be hurlä Each on his rock, transfixd the sport and prey Of wracking whirlwinds, or forever sunk Under you boiling ocean.wrapt in chains; There to converse with everlasting groans,
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, Reserved, and destined, to eternal woe; Whatever doing, what can we suffer more, 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 Heaven'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, Awaked, should blow them into sevenfold 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, threatening 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 prey Of wracking whirlwinds, or forever sunk Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains; There to converse with everlasting groans, Unrespited, unpitied, unreprieved,
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 Heaven's height All these our motions vain sees and derides;
Not more almighty to resist our might
Than wise 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 these torments? better these than worse, By my advice; since fate inevitable Subdues us, and omnipotent decree, The Victor's will. To suffer, as to do, Our strength is equal, nor the law unjust That so ordains: this was at first resolved, 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 venturous, 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 their Conqueror: this is now Our doom; which, if we can sustain and bear, Our supreme foe in time may much remit His anger, and perhaps, thus far removed, Not mind us, not offending, satisfied
With what is punish'd; whence these raging fires Will slacken, if his breath stir not their flames. Our purer essence then will overcome Their noxious vapor; or, inured, not feel; Or, changed at length, and to the place conform'd In temper and in nature, will receive Familiar the fierce heat; and, void of pain, This horror will grow mild, 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 appears For happy, though but ill, for ill not worst, If we procure not to ourselves more woe." Thus Belial, with words clothed in reason's garb, Counsell'd ignoble ease, and peaceful sloth, Not peace and after him thus Mammon spake. "Either to disenthrone the King of Heaven We war, if war be best, or to regain Our own right, lost: him to unthrone we then May hope, when everlasting Fate shall yield To fickle Chance, and Chaos judge the strife: The former vain to hope, argues as vain
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