Tim'rous and floth ful; yet he pleas'd the ear,
And with perfuafive accent thus began.
I fhould be much for open war, O Peers, As not behind in hate, if what was urg'd Main reason to perfuade immediate war, Did not diffuade me most, and seem to caft Ominous conjecture on the whole fuccefs; When he who moft excels in fact of arms, In what he counfels, and in what excels, Miftruftful, grounds his courage on defpair, And utter diffolution, as the scope Of all his aim, after fome dire revenge. First, what revenge? the tow'rs of Heav'n are fill'd With armed watch, that render all access Impregnable; oft on the bordering Deep Encamp their legions, or with obfcure wing Scout far and wide into the realm of night, Scorning furprize. Or could we break our way By force, and at our heels all hell fhould rife With blackeft infurrection, to confound Heav'n's pureft light; yet our great enemy All incorruptible would on his throne Sit unpolluted; and th' ethereal mold Incapable of ftain, would foon expel Her mifchief, and purge off the bafer fire Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope Is flat defpair: we muft exafperate Th' Almighty Victor to spend all his rage, And that muft end us, that must be our cure To be no more: fad cure! for who would lofe, Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Thofe thoughts that wander through eternity, To perish rather, fwallow'd up and loft In the wide womb of uncreated night,
Devoid of fense 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 fure.
Will he, fo wife, let loofe at once his ire,
Belike through impotence, or unaware,
To give his enemies their wish, and end
Them in his anger, whom his anger faves
To punish endless? Wherefore cease we then,
Say they who counsel war? We are decreed, 160
Referv'd, and deflin'd to eternal woe;
Whatever doing, what can we fuffer more,
What can we fuffer worfe?
Is this then worst, Thus fitting, thus confulting, thus in arms?
What! when we fled amain, perfu'd and ftrook 165
With Heav'n's afflicting thunder, and befought
The deep to shelter us; this Hell then feem'd
A refuge from thofe wounds: or when we lay
Chain'd on the burning lake; that fure was worfe.
What if the breath that kindl'd thofe grim fires, 170
Awak'd should blow them into fevenfold rage,
And plunge us in the flames? or from above
Should intermitted veng'ance arm again
His red right hand to plague us? what if all
Her ftores were open'd, and this firmament
Of Hell fhould fpout her cataracts of fire,
Impendent horrors, threatning hideous fall
One day upon our heads; while we, perhaps
Defigning or exhorting glorious war,
Caught in a fiery tempeft fhall be hurl'd
Each on his rock transfixt, the sport and prey
Of racking whirlwinds; or for ever funk
Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains;
There to converfe with everlafting groans,
Unrefpited, unpitied, unrepriev'd,
Ages of hopeless end? this would be worse.
War therefore, open or conceal'd, alike
My voice diffuades; for what can force or guile
With him, or who deceive his mind, whofe eye
Views all things at one view! He from heav'n's height
All thefe our motions vain fees and derides;
Not more almighty to. refift our might,
Than wife to fruftrate all our plots and wiles.
Shall we then live thus vile, the Race of Heav'n
Thus trampl'd, thus expell'd, to fuffer here
Chains and thefe torments? better thefe than worfe
By my advice; fince Fate inevitable
Subdues us, and omnipotent decree,
The victor's will. To fuffer as to do,
Our ftrength is equal, nor the law unjuft
That fo ordains: This was at first refolv'd
If we were wife, against fo great a foe
Contending, and fo doubtful what might fall.
I laugh, when thofe who at the fpear are bold
And vent'rous, if that fail them, fhrink and fear 205
What yet they know muft follow, to endure
Exile, or ignominy, or bonds, or pain,
The fentence of their conqu'ror: this is now
Our doom; which if we can fuftain and bear,
Our fupreme foe, in time may much remit
His anger, and perhaps thus far remov'd
Not mind us not offending, fatisfy'd
With what is punifh'd: whence thefe raging fires
Will flacken, if his breath ftir not their flames,
Our purer effence then will overcome
Their noxious vapor; or enur'd, not feel;
Or chang'd 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: 220
Befides what hope the never-ending flight
Of future days may bring, what chance, what change
Worth waiting, fince our prefent lot appears
For happy though but ill, for ill not worft,
If we procure not to our felves more woe.
Thus BELIAL with words cloath'd in reafon's garb Counsel'd ignoble eafe, and peaceful floth, Not peace: and after him thus MAMMON fpake.
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