Page:The Complete Poetical Works of John Milton.djvu/157

 BOOK SECOND

��Of all his aim, after some dire revenge. First, what revenge ? The towers of Hea- j ven are filled 129 I

With armed watch, that render all access Impregnable: oft on the bordering Deep Encamp their legions, or with obscure

wing Scout far and wide into the realm of

Night, Scorning surprise. Or, could we break our

way By force, and at our heels all Hell should

rise

With blackest insurrection to confound Heaven's purest light, yet our great En- emy,

All incorruptible, would on his throne Sit unpolluted, and the ethereal mould, Incapable of stain, would soon expel 140 Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, Victorious. Thus repulsed, our final hope Is flat despair: we must exasperate The Almighty Victor to spend all his rage; And that must end us; that must be our

cure To be no more. Sad cure ! for who would

lose,

Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through eter- nity,

To perish rather, swallowed up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated Night, 150 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 de- creed, 1 60 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

strook

With Heaven's afflicting thunder, and be- sought

��The Deep to shelter us ? This Hell then

seemed A refuge from those wounds. Or when we

lay Chained on the burning lake ? That sure

was worse. What if the breath that kindled those grim

fires, 170

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 opened, and this firma- ment

Of Hell should spout her cataracts of fire, Impendent horrors, threatening hideous

fall

One day upon our heads; while we per- haps,

Designing or exhorting glorious war, Caught in a fiery tempest, shall be hurled, Each 011 his rock transfixed, the sport and

prey 181

Of racking whirlwinds, or for ever sunk Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains, There to converse with everlasting groans, Unrespited, unpitied, uureprieved, Ages of hopeless end ? This would be

worse.

War, therefore, open or concealed, 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 highth 190

All these our motions vain sees and de- rides,

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 expelled, 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

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