My part of evil only, each day's lot Enough to bear: those now, that were difpens'd The burden of many ages, on me light At once by my foreknowledge; gaining birth Abortive, to torment me e're their being, With thought that they must be. Let no man feek Henceforth to be foretold, what shall befal Him or his children: evil he may be fure: Which neither his foreknowing can prevent; And he the future evil shall no less
In apprehenfion, than in substance, feel; Grievous to bear! But that care now is paft, Man is not whom to warn: those few escap'd, Famin, and anguish, will at last confume, Wandring that wat'ry defert. I had hope Wandr When violence was ceas'd, and war on earth, All would have then gone well; peace would have With length of happy days the race of man. [crown'd But I was far deceiv'd! For now I fee
Peace to corrupt no less, than war to waste. How comes it thus? Unfold, cœleftial guide!
And whether here the race of man will end.
To whom thus MICHAEL, Those whom last thou In triumph, and luxurious wealth, are they [saw'ft First seen in acts of prowess eminent, And great exploits; but of true virtue void: Who having spil'd much blood, & done much waste, Subduing nations; and atchieved thereby Fame in the world, high titles, and rich prey; Shall change their course to pleasure, ease and floth, Surfeit, and luft; till wantonness, and pride, 795
Raise out of friendship hoftile deeds in peace. The conquer'd also, and enflav'd by war, Shall, with their freedom loft, all virtue lofe, And fear of GOD; from whom their piety feign'd, In sharp contest of battel found no aid,
Againft invaders: therefore cool'd in zeal,
Thenceforth shall practise how to live secure, Worldly, or dissolute; on what their Lords Shal leave them to injoy: (for th' earth shall bear More than enough, that temperance may be try'd:) So all shall turn degenerate, all deprav'd; Justice and temperance, truth and faith forgot! One man except, the only fon of light In a dark age, against example good, Against allurement, custom, and a world Offended, fearless of reproach and scorn, Or violence; he of their wicked ways Shall them admonish; and before them fet The paths of righteousness, how much more safe, And full of peace; denouncing wrath to come 815 On their impenitence; and shall return Of them derided. But, of God observ'd, The one just man alive, by his command Shali build a wondrous Ark (as thou beheldst) To fave himself and household, from amidit A world devote to universal wreck. No sooner he, with them of man and beast Select for life, shall in the Ark be lodg'd, And shelter'd round, but all the cataracts Of heav'n fet open, on the earth shall pour Rain, day and night: all fountains of the deep Broke up, shall heave the ocean to ufurp Beyond all bounds, till inundation rife Above the highest hills. Then, shall this mount Of Paradise, by might of waves, be mov'd Out of his place, push'd by the horned flood, With all his verdure spoil'd and trees adrift Down the great river to the opening gulf, And there take root, an ifland falt and bare, The haunt of Seals, & Orcs, & Sea-mews' clang; 835
To teach thee that God attributes to place
No fanctity, if none be thither brought
By men who there frequent, or therein dwell.
And now what further shall ensue, behold.
He look'd, & faw the Ark hull on the flood, 840
Which now abated: for the clouds were fled, Driv'n by a keen north wind, that, blowing dry, Wrinkled the face of deluge, as decay'd; And the clear Sun on his wide watry glass Gaz'd hot, and of the fresh wave largely drew, 845 As after thirft; which made their flowing thrink From standing lake, to tripping ebb, that stole With foft foot tow'rds the deep, who now had stop'd His fluices, as the heav'n his windows shut. The Ark no more now floats, but seems on ground, Fast on the top of fome high mountain fix'd. And now the tops of hills, as rocks, appear: With clamor thence the rapid currents drive, Tow'rds the retreating fea, their furious tide. Forthwith from out the Ark a raven flies, And after him (the furer messenger) A dove, fent forth once and again, to spy Green tree, or ground, whereon his The second time returning, in his bill An olive-leaf be brings, pacific fign! Anon dry ground appears, and from his Ak The antient fire descends, with all his train : Then with uplifted hands, and eyes devout, Grateful to Heav'n, over his head beholds A dewy cloud, and in the cloud a bow Confpicuous, with three lifted colors gay; Betok'ning peace from God, and cov'nant new: Whereat the heart of ADAM, erst so sad, Greatly rejoyc'd, and thus his joy broke forth.
O thou who future things canft reprefent As present, heav'nly instructor! I revive At this last fight, aflur'd that man shall live With all the creatures, and their feed preserve. Far less I now lament for one whole world Of wicked fons destroy'd, than I rejoyce For one man found so perfect, and so just,
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