Paradise Lost - The Original Classic Edition. Milton Niles John. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Milton Niles John
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so much the fear Of Thunder and the Sword of MICHAEL Wrought still within them; and no less desire

       To found this nether Empire, which might rise

       By pollicy, and long process of time, In emulation opposite to Heav'n.

       Which when BEELZEBUB perceiv'd, then whom, SATAN except, none higher sat, with grave

       Aspect he rose, and in his rising seem'd

       A Pillar of State; deep on his Front engraven

       Deliberation sat and publick care;

       And Princely counsel in his face yet shon, Majestick though in ruin: sage he stood With ATLANTEAN shoulders fit to bear

       The weight of mightiest Monarchies; his look

       Drew audience and attention still as Night

       Or Summers Noontide air, while thus he spake. Thrones and imperial Powers, offspring of heav'n, Ethereal Vertues; or these Titles now

       Must we renounce, and changing stile be call'd Princes of Hell? for so the popular vote Inclines, here to continue, and build up here

       A growing Empire; doubtless; while we dream,

       And know not that the King of Heav'n hath doom'd

       This place our dungeon, not our safe retreat

       Beyond his Potent arm, to live exempt

       From Heav'ns high jurisdiction, in new League

       Banded against his Throne, but to remaine

       In strictest bondage, though thus far remov'd, Under th' inevitable curb, reserv'd

       His captive multitude: For he, be sure,

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       In highth or depth, still first and last will Reign Sole King, and of his Kingdom loose no part By our revolt, but over Hell extend

       His Empire, and with Iron Scepter rule

       Us here, as with his Golden those in Heav'n. What sit we then projecting Peace and Warr? Warr hath determin'd us, and foild with loss Irreparable; tearms of peace yet none

       Voutsaf 't or sought; for what peace will be giv'n

       To us enslav'd, but custody severe, And stripes, and arbitrary punishment Inflicted? and what peace can we return, But to our power hostility and hate,

       Untam'd reluctance, and revenge though slow, Yet ever plotting how the Conquerour least May reap his conquest, and may least rejoyce In doing what we most in suffering feel?

       Nor will occasion want, nor shall we need

       With dangerous expedition to invade

       Heav'n, whose high walls fear no assault or Siege,

       Or ambush from the Deep. What if we find

       Some easier enterprize? There is a place (If ancient and prophetic fame in Heav'n Err not) another World, the happy seat

       Of som new Race call'd MAN, about this time

       To be created like to us, though less

       In power and excellence, but favour'd more Of him who rules above; so was his will Pronounc'd among the Gods, and by an Oath,

       That shook Heav'ns whol circumference, confirm'd.

       Thither let us bend all our thoughts, to learn

       What creatures there inhabit, of what mould,

       Or substance, how endu'd, and what thir Power, And where thir weakness, how attempted best, By force or suttlety: Though Heav'n be shut, And Heav'ns high Arbitrator sit secure

       In his own strength, this place may lye expos'd

       The utmost border of his Kingdom, left To their defence who hold it: here perhaps Som advantagious act may be achiev'd

       By sudden onset, either with Hell fire

       To waste his whole Creation, or possess

       All as our own, and drive as we were driven, The punie habitants, or if not drive,

       Seduce them to our Party, that thir God

       May prove thir foe, and with repenting hand Abolish his own works. This would surpass Common revenge, and interrupt his joy

       In our Confusion, and our Joy upraise

       In his disturbance; when his darling Sons Hurl'd headlong to partake with us, shall curse Thir frail Originals, and faded bliss,

       Faded so soon. Advise if this be worth Attempting, or to sit in darkness here Hatching vain Empires. Thus BEELZEBUB Pleaded his devilish Counsel, first devis'd

       By SATAN, and in part propos'd: for whence, But from the Author of all ill could Spring

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       So deep a malice, to confound the race

       Of mankind in one root, and Earth with Hell

       To mingle and involve, done all to spite

       The great Creatour? But thir spite still serves His glory to augment. The bold design Pleas'd highly those infernal States, and joy Sparkl'd in all thir eyes; with full assent

       They vote: whereat his speech he thus renews. Well have ye judg'd, well ended long debate, Synod of Gods, and like to what ye are,

       Great things resolv'd; which from the lowest deep

       Will once more lift us up, in spight of Fate, Neerer our ancient Seat; perhaps in view

       Of those bright confines, whence with neighbouring Arms

       And opportune excursion we may chance

       Re-enter Heav'n; or else in some milde Zone Dwell not unvisited of Heav'ns fair Light Secure, and at the brightning Orient beam Purge off this gloom; the soft delicious Air, To heal the scarr of these corrosive Fires

       Shall breath her balme. But first whom shall we send In search of this new world, whom shall we find Sufficient? who shall tempt with wandring feet

       The dark unbottom'd infinite Abyss

       And through the palpable obscure find out His uncouth way, or spread his aerie flight Upborn with indefatigable wings

       Over the vast abrupt, ere he arrive

       The happy Ile; what strength, what art can then

       Suffice, or what evasion bear him safe

       Through the strict Senteries and Stations thick Of Angels watching round? Here he had need All circumspection, and we now no less

       Choice in our suffrage; for on whom we send, The weight of all and our last hope relies.

       This said, he sat; and expectation held His look suspence, awaiting who appeer'd To second, or oppose, or undertake

       The perilous attempt: but all sat mute,

       Pondering the danger with deep thoughts; & each In others count'nance red his own dismay Astonisht: none among the choice and prime

       Of those Heav'n-warring Champions could be found

       So hardie as to proffer or accept

       Alone the dreadful voyage; till at last

       SATAN, whom now transcendent glory rais'd Above his fellows, with Monarchal pride Conscious of highest worth, unmov'd thus spake. O Progeny of Heav'n, Empyreal Thrones,

       With reason hath deep silence and demurr Seis'd us, though undismaid: long is the way And hard, that out of Hell leads up to Light; Our prison strong, this huge convex of Fire, Outrageous to devour, immures us round Ninefold, and gates of burning Adamant Barr'd over us prohibit all egress.

       These past, if any pass, the void profound

       Of unessential Night receives him next

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       Wide gaping, and with utter loss of being Threatens him, plung'd in that abortive gulf. If thence he scape into what ever world,

       Or unknown Region, what remains him less Then unknown dangers and as hard escape. But I should ill become this Throne, O Peers, And this Imperial Sov'ranty, adorn'd