Paradise Lost. John Milton

immortal hate,

      And courage never to submit or yield:

      And what is else not to be overcome?

      That Glory never shall his wrath or might

      Extort from me. To bow and sue for grace

      With suppliant knee, and deifie his power

      Who from the terrour of this Arm so late

      Doubted his Empire, that were low indeed,

      That were an ignominy and shame beneath

      This downfall; since by Fate the strength of Gods

      And this Empyreal substance cannot fail,

      Since through experience of this great event

      In Arms not worse, in foresight much advanc’t,

      We may with more successful hope resolve

      To wage by force or guile eternal Warr

      Irreconcileable, to our grand Foe,

      Who now triumphs, and in th’ excess of joy

      Sole reigning holds the Tyranny of Heav’n.

      So spake th’ Apostate Angel, though in pain,

      Vaunting aloud, but rackt with deep despare:

      And him thus answer’d soon his bold Compeer.

      O Prince, O Chief of many Throned Powers,

      That led th’ imbattelld Seraphim to Warr

      Under thy conduct, and in dreadful deeds

      Fearless, endanger’d Heav’ns perpetual King;

      And put to proof his high Supremacy,

      Whether upheld by strength, or Chance, or Fate,

      Too well I see and rue the dire event,

      That with sad overthrow and foul defeat

      Hath lost us Heav’n, and all this mighty Host

      In horrible destruction laid thus low,

      As far as Gods and Heav’nly Essences

      Can Perish: for the mind and spirit remains

      Invincible, and vigour soon returns,

      Though all our Glory extinct, and happy state

      Here swallow’d up in endless misery.

      But what if he our Conquerour, (whom I now

      Of force believe Almighty, since no less

      Then such could hav orepow’rd such force as ours)

      Have left us this our spirit and strength intire

      Strongly to suffer and support our pains,

      That we may so suffice his vengeful ire,

      Or do him mightier service as his thralls

      By right of Warr, what e’re his business be

      Here in the heart of Hell to work in Fire,

      Or do his Errands in the gloomy Deep;

      What can it then avail though yet we feel

      Strength undiminisht, or eternal being

      To undergo eternal punishment?

      Whereto with speedy words th’ Arch-fiend reply’d.

      Fall’n Cherube, to be weak is miserable

      Doing or Suffering: but of this be sure,

      To do ought good never will be our task,

      But ever to do ill our sole delight,

      As being the contrary to his high will

      Whom we resist. If then his Providence

      Out of our evil seek to bring forth good,

      Our labour must be to pervert that end,

      And out of good still to find means of evil;

      Which oft times may succeed, so as perhaps

      Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb

      His inmost counsels from their destind aim.

      But see the angry Victor hath recall’d

      His Ministers of vengeance and pursuit

      Back to the Gates of Heav’n: The Sulphurous Hail

      Shot after us in storm, oreblown hath laid

      The fiery Surge, that from the Precipice

      Of Heav’n receiv’d us falling, and the Thunder,

      Wing’d with red Lightning and impetuous rage,

      Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now

      To bellow through the vast and boundless Deep.

      Let us not slip th’ occasion, whether scorn,

      Or satiate fury yield it from our Foe.

      Seest thou yon dreary Plain, forlorn and wilde,

      The seat of desolation, voyd of light,

      Save what the glimmering of these livid flames

      Casts pale and dreadful? Thither let us tend

      From off the tossing of these fiery waves,

      There rest, if any rest can harbour there,

      And reassembling our afflicted Powers,

      Consult how we may henceforth most offend

      Our Enemy, our own loss how repair,

      How overcome this dire Calamity,

      What reinforcement we may gain from Hope,

      If not what resolution from despare.

      Thus Satan talking to his neerest Mate

      With Head up-lift above the wave, and Eyes

      That sparkling blaz’d, his other Parts besides

      Prone on the Flood, extended long and large

      Lay floating many a rood, in bulk as huge

      As whom the Fables name of monstrous size,

      TITANIAN, or EARTH-BORN, that warr’d on JOVE,

      BRIARIOS or TYPHON, whom the Den

      By ancient TARSUS held, or that Sea-beast

      LEVIATHAN, which God of all his works

      Created hugest that swim th’ Ocean stream:

      Him haply slumbring on the NORWAY foam

      The Pilot of some small night-founder’d Skiff,

      Deeming some Island, oft, as Sea-men tell,

      With fixed Anchor in his skaly rind

      Moors by his side under the Lee, while Night

      Invests the Sea, and wished Morn delayes:

      So stretcht out huge in length the Arch-fiend lay

      Chain’d on the burning Lake, nor ever thence

      Had ris’n or heav’d his head, but that the will

      And high permission of all-ruling Heaven

      Left him at large to his own dark designs,

      That with reiterated crimes he might

      Heap on himself damnation, while he sought

      Evil to others, and enrag’d might see

      How