---

Скачать книгу

---

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 Halleluiahs; 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 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 ended, and his Sentence pleas’d,

      Advising peace: for such another Field

      They dreaded worse then Hell: 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 policy, 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 Noon-tide air, while thus he spake.

      Thrones and imperial Powers, off-spring 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,

      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?

---

Скачать книгу