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��BOOK VIII.

In regal state of godlike seeming pow'r, Surrounded by his chiefs, the flow'r of hell, Though faded, Satan supremely sat, whilst Blank defeat, and frustrate hope, hung low'ring On his gashful brow; baleful, portentous, Shadowing dire revenge, which to concoct, He held high council with his dev'lish peers, Deep in the central orb's embowel'd fires, Where thus, malignant, their consult began :

" Comrades in weal, compeers in every woe, Untoward contests seem of late the brunt Of strife, on our part, felly to abash, And call for new device, with which to meet Th' unwonted Pow'r, adverse to us oppugn' d, And in us more excite hate and revenge. Ye see with what exult this second Man, O'er all our forces triumphs, and the world, Where e'er he turns, draws in his train; whilst we, Who erst stood sentinel o'er this opaque, Fix'd in irrevocable empire, firm, Now fly before fatiferous his word. 'Tis true, as yet but little space he holds,

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