Paradise Lost. John Milton

yon boyling Ocean, wrapt in Chains;

      There to converse with everlasting groans,

      Unrespited, unpitied, unrepreevd,

      Ages of hopeless end; this would be worse.

      Warr therefore, open or conceal’d, alike

      My voice disswades; for what can force or guile

      With him, or who deceive his mind, whose eye

      Views all things at one view? he from heav’ns highth

      All these our motions vain, sees and derides;

      Not more Almighty to resist our might

      Then wise to frustrate all our plots and wiles.

      Shall we then live thus vile, the race of Heav’n

      Thus trampl’d, thus expell’d to suffer here

      Chains & these Torments? better these then worse

      By my advice; since fate inevitable

      Subdues us, and Omnipotent Decree,

      The Victors will. To suffer, as to doe,

      Our strength is equal, nor the Law unjust

      That so ordains: this was at first resolv’d,

      If we were wise, against so great a foe

      Contending, and so doubtful what might fall.

      I laugh, when those who at the Spear are bold

      And vent’rous, if that fail them, shrink and fear

      What yet they know must follow, to endure

      Exile, or ignominy, or bonds, or pain,

      The sentence of thir Conquerour: This is now

      Our doom; which if we can sustain and bear,

      Our Supream Foe in time may much remit

      His anger, and perhaps thus farr remov’d

      Not mind us not offending, satisfi’d

      With what is punish’t; whence these raging fires

      Will slack’n, if his breath stir not thir flames.

      Our purer essence then will overcome

      Thir noxious vapour, or enur’d not feel,

      Or chang’d at length, and to the place conformd

      In temper and in nature, will receive

      Familiar the fierce heat, and void of pain;

      This horror will grow milde, this darkness light,

      Besides what hope the never-ending flight

      Of future days may bring, what chance, what change

      Worth waiting, since our present lot appeers

      For happy though but ill, for ill not worst,

      If we procure not to our selves more woe.

      Thus BELIAL with words cloath’d in reasons garb

      Counsel’d ignoble ease, and peaceful sloath,

      Not peace: and after him thus MAMMON spake.

      Either to disinthrone the King of Heav’n

      We warr, if warr be best, or to regain

      Our own right lost: him to unthrone we then

      May hope, when everlasting Fate shall yeild

      To fickle Chance, and CHAOS judge the strife:

      The former vain to hope argues as vain

      The latter: for what place can be for us

      Within Heav’ns bound, unless Heav’ns Lord supream

      We overpower? Suppose he should relent

      And publish Grace to all, on promise made

      Of new Subjection; with what eyes could we

      Stand in his presence humble, and receive

      Strict Laws impos’d, to celebrate his Throne

      With warbl’d Hymns, and to his Godhead sing

      Forc’t Halleluiah’s; while he Lordly sits

      Our envied Sovran, and his Altar breathes

      Ambrosial Odours and Ambrosial Flowers,

      Our servile offerings. This must be our task

      In Heav’n, this our delight; how wearisom

      Eternity so spent in worship paid

      To whom we hate. Let us not then pursue

      By force impossible, by leave obtain’d

      Unacceptable, though in Heav’n, our state

      Of splendid vassalage, but rather seek

      Our own good from our selves, and from our own

      Live to our selves, though in this vast recess,

      Free, and to none accountable, preferring

      Hard liberty before the easie yoke

      Of servile Pomp. Our greatness will appear

      Then most conspicuous, when great things of small,

      Useful of hurtful, prosperous of adverse

      We can create, and in what place so e’re

      Thrive under evil, and work ease out of pain

      Through labour and endurance. This deep world

      Of darkness do we dread? How oft amidst

      Thick clouds and dark doth Heav’ns all-ruling Sire

      Choose to reside, his Glory unobscur’d,

      And with the Majesty of darkness round

      Covers his Throne; from whence deep thunders roar

      Must’ring thir rage, and Heav’n resembles Hell?

      As he our Darkness, cannot we his Light

      Imitate when we please? This Desart soile

      Wants not her hidden lustre, Gemms and Gold;

      Nor want we skill or art, from whence to raise

      Magnificence; and what can Heav’n shew more?

      Our torments also may in length of time

      Become our Elements, these piercing Fires

      As soft as now severe, our temper chang’d

      Into their temper; which must needs remove

      The sensible of pain. All things invite

      To peaceful Counsels, and the settl’d State

      Of order, how in safety best we may

      Compose our present evils, with regard

      Of what we are and where, dismissing quite

      All thoughts of Warr: ye have what I advise.

      He scarce had finisht, when such murmur filld

      Th’ Assembly, as when hollow Rocks retain

      The sound of blustring winds, which all night long

      Had rous’d the Sea, now with hoarse cadence lull

      Sea-faring men orewatcht, whose Bark by chance

      Or Pinnace anchors in a craggy Bay

      After the Tempest: Such applause was heard

      As MAMMON