The Complete Poetry of John Milton (64 page)

   20        
With what besides, in Counsel or in Fight,

               
Hath bin achiev’d of merit, yet this loss

               
Thus farr at least recover’d, hath much more

               
Establisht in a safe unenvied Throne

               
Yeilded with full consent. The happier state

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In Heav’n, which follows dignity, might draw

               
Envy from each inferior; but who here

               
Will envy whom the highest place exposes

               
Formost to stand against the Thunderers aim

               
Your bulwark, and condemns to greatest share

   30        
Of endless pain? where there is then no good

               
For which to strive, no strife can grow up there

               
From Faction; for none sure will claim in Hell

               
Precedence, none, whose portion is so small

               
Of present pain, that with ambitious mind

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Will covet more. With this advantage then

               
To union, and firm Faith, and firm accord,

               
More then can be in Heav’n, we now return

               
To claim our just inheritance of old,

               
Surer to prosper then prosperity

   40        
Could have assur’d us; and by what best way,

               
Whether of open Warr or covert guile,

               
We now debate; who can advise, may speak.

    
             
He ceas’d, and next him
Moloc
, Scepter’d King

               
Stood up, the strongest and the fiercest Spirit

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That fought in Heav’n; now fiercer by despair:

               
His trust was with th’ Eternal to be deem’d

               
Equal in strength, and rather then be less

               
Car’d not to be at all; with that care lost

               
Went all his fear: of God, or Hell, or worse

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He reck’d not, and these words thereafter spake.

    
             My sentence is for open Warr: Of Wiles,

               
More unexpert, I boast not: them let those

               
Contrive who need, or when they need, not now.

               
For while they sit contriving, shall the rest,

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Millions that stand in Arms, and longing wait

               
The Signal to ascend, sit lingring here

               
Heav’ns fugitives, and for thir dwelling place

               
Accept this dark opprobrious Den of shame,

               
The Prison of his Tyranny who Reigns

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By our delay? no, let us rather choose

               
Arm’d with Hell flames and fury all at once

               
O’re Heav’ns high Towrs to force resistless way,

               
Turning our Tortures into horrid Arms

               
Against the Torturer; when to meet the noise

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Of his Almighty Engin he shall hear

               
Infernal Thunder, and for Lightning see

               
Black fire and horror shot with equal rage

               
Among his Angels; and his Throne it self

               
Mixt with
Tartarean
Sulphur, and strange fire,

   70        
His own invented Torments. But perhaps

               
The way seems difficult and steep to scale

               
With upright wing against a higher foe.

               
Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench

               
Of that forgetful Lake benumm not still,

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That in our proper motion we ascend

               
Up to our native seat: descent and fall

               
To us is adverse.
³
Who but felt of late

               
When the fierce Foe hung on our brok’n Rear

               
Insulting, and pursu’d us through the Deep,

   80        
With what compulsion and laborious flight

               
We sunk thus low? Th’ ascent is easie then;

               
Th’ event is fear’d; should we again provoke

               
Our stronger, some worse way his wrath may find

               
To our destruction: if there be in Hell

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Fear to be worse destroy’d: what can be worse

               
Then to dwell here, driv’n out from bliss, condemn’d

               
In this abhorred deep to utter woe;

               
Where pain of unextinguishable fire

               
Must exercise us without hope of end

   90        
The Vassals of his anger, when the Scourge

               
Inexorably, and the torturing hour

               
Calls us to Penance? More destroy’d then thus

               
We should be quite abolisht and expire.

               
What fear we then? what doubt we to incense

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His utmost ire? which to the highth enrag’d,

               
Will either quite consume us, and reduce

               
To nothing this essential, happier farr

               
Then miserable to have eternal being:

               
Or if our substance be indeed Divine,

   100     
And cannot cease to be, we are at worst

               
On this side nothing; and by proof we feel

               
Our power sufficient to disturb his Heav’n,

               
And with perpetual inrodes to Allarm,

               
Though inaccessible, his fatal Throne:

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Which if not Victory is yet Revenge.

           
      
       He ended frowning, and his look denounc’d
⁴

               
Desperate revenge, and Battel dangerous

               
To less then Gods. On th’ other side up rose

               
Belial
, in act more graceful and humane;

   110     
A fairer person lost not Heav’n; he seemd

               
For dignity compos’d and high exploit:

               
But all was false and hollow; though his Tongue

               
Dropt Manna, and could make the worse appear

               
The better reason, to perplex and dash

   115     
Maturest Counsels: for his thoughts were low;

               
To vice industrious, but to Nobler deeds

               
Timorous and slothful: yet he pleas’d the ear,

               
And with perswasive accent thus began.

           
      
       I should be much for open Warr, O Peers,

   120     
As not behind in hate; if what was urg’d

               
Main reason to perswade immediate Warr,

               
Did not disswade me most, and seem to cast

               
Ominous conjecture on the whole success:

               
When he who most excels in fact of Arms,

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In what he counsels and in what excels

               
Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair

               
And utter dissolution, as the scope

               
Of all his aim, after some dire revenge.

               
First, what Revenge? the Towrs of Heav’n are fill’d

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With Armed watch, that render all access

               
Impregnable; oft on the bordering Deep

               
Encamp thir Legions, or with obscure wing

               
Scout farr and wide into the Realm of night,

               
Scorning surprize. Or could we break our way

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By force, and at our heels all Hell should rise

               
With blackest Insurrection, to confound

               
Heav’ns purest Light, yet our great Enemy

               
All incorruptible would on his Throne

               
Sit unpolluted, and th’ Ethereal mould

   140     
Incapable of stain would soon expel

               
Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire

               
Victorious. Thus repuls’d, our final hope

               
Is flat despair: we must exasperate

               
Th’ Almighty Victor to spend all his rage,

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And that must end us, that must be our cure,

               
To be no more; sad cure; for who would loose,

               
Though full of pain, this intellectual being,

               
Those thoughts that wander through Eternity,

               
To perish rather, swallowd up and lost

   150     
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.

   155     
Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire,

               
Belike through impotence, or unaware,

               
To give his Enemies thir wish, and end

               
Them in his anger, whom his anger saves

               
To punish endless? wherefore cease we then?

   160     
Say they who counsel Warr, we are decreed,

               
Reserv’d and destin’d 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?

   165     
What when we fled amain, pursu’d and strook

               
With Heav’ns 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.

   170     
What if the breath that kindl’d those grim fires

               
Awak’d 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?
⁵
what if all

   175     
Her stores were open’d, and this Firmament

               
Of Hell should spout her Cataracts of Fire,

               
Impendent horrors, threatning hideous fall

               
One day upon our heads; while we perhaps

               
Designing or exhorting glorious warr,

   180     
Caught in a fierie Tempest shall be hurl’d

               
Each on his rock transfixt,
⁶
the sport and prey

               
Of racking whirlwinds, or for ever sunk

               
Under yon boyling Ocean, wrapt in Chains;

               
There to converse with everlasting groans,