For that warning voice, which he who faw
Th' Apocalyps heard cry in heaven aloud,
Then when the Dragon, put to fecond rout,
Came furious down to be reveng❜d on men,
Wo to the inhabitants on earth! that now,
While time was, our firħ parents had been warn'd
The coming of their secret foe, and 'scap'd,
Haply fo 'fcap'd his mortal fare: for now
Satan, now firft inflam'd with rage, came down,
The tempter ere th' accufer of mankind,
To wreak on innocent frail man his lofs
Of that first battle, and his flight to hell:
Yet not rejoicing in his speed, though bold,
Far off, and fearless, nor with cause to boast,
Begins his dire attempt; which nigh the birth.
Now rolling boils in his tumultuous breast,
And like a devilish engine back recoils
Upon himself: horror and doubt distract
His troubled thoughts, and from the bottom fir
The hell within him; for within him hell
He brings, and round about him, nor from hell
One ftep, no more than from himself can fly
By change of place: now confcience wakes defpair
That flumber'd; wakes the bitter memory
Of what he was, what is, and what must be
Worfe; of worfe deeds worfe fufferings muft enfue.
Sometimes towards Eden, which now in his view
Lay pleasant, his griev'd look he fixes fad;
Sometimes tow'ards heav'n, and the full-blazing fun,
Which now fat high in his meridian tower:
Then much revolving, thus in fighs began:
O thou that, with furpaffing glory crown'd,
Look'ft from thy fole dominion like the god
Of this new world; at whose fight all the stars
Hide their diminish'd heads; to thee 1 call,
But with no friendly voice, and add thy name,
O Sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams,
That bring to my remembrance from what state
I fell, how glorious once above thy iphere;
Till pride, and worse ambition, threw me down,
Warring in heav'n against heav'n's matchlefs King.
Ah wherefore! he deserv'd no such return
From me, whom he created what I was,
In that bright eminence, and with his good
Upbraided none; nor was his fervice hard.
What could be lefs, than to afford him praise,
The eafieft recompenfe, and pay him thanks,
How due! yet all his good prov'd ill in me,
And wrought but malice: lifted up so high
I 'fdein'd fubjection, and thought one ftep higher
Would fet me high'eft, and in a moment quit
The debt immenfe of endless gratitude,
So burdenfome ftill paying, ftill to owe,
Forgetful what from him I still receiv'd;
L. 32. O thou, &c.] When Milton defigned to have made only a tragedy of the Paradife Loft, it was his intention to have begun it with the first ten lines of the following fpeech; which he fhowed to his nephew Edward Philips, and others, as Philips informs us in his account of the life of his uncle. And, what a noble opening of a play would this have been! The lines were certainly too good to be loft; and the author has done well to employ them here; they could not have been better employed any where. Sa tan is made to addrefs the fun, as it was the most confpicuous part of the creation; and the thought is very natural, of addreffing it like the god of this world, when fo many of the heathen nations have worthipped and adored it as fuch. Newton.
And understood not that a grateful mind
By owing owes not, but fill pays, at once
Indebted and discharg'd: what burden then?
O had his pow'rful destiny ordain'd
Me fome inferior angel! 1 had stood
Then happy; no unbounded hope had rais'd
Ambition. Yet why not? fome other power
As great might have afpir'd, and me though mean
Drawn to his part; but other pow'rs as great
Fell not, but ftand unfhaken, from within
Or from without, to all temptations arm'd.
Hadft thou the fame free will and pow'r to ftand?
Thou hadft. Whom haft thou then, or what, to' accufe,
But heav'n's free love, dealt equally to all?
Be then his love accurs'd, fince love or hate,
To me alike, it deals eternal wo.
Nay, curs'd be thou! fince againft his thy will
Chose freely what it now fo juftly rues.
Me miferable! which way fhall I fly
Infinite wrath, and infinite defpair?
Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell;
And in the lowest deep, a lower deep
Still threat'ning to devour me opens wide,
To which the hell I fuffer feems a heaven.
O then at last relent! is there no place
Left for repentance, none for pardon left?
None left but by submission; and that word
Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame
Among the fpi'rits beneath, whom I feduc'd
With other promises, and other vaunts
Than to fubmit, boafting I could fubdue
Th' Omnipotent. Ay me! they little know
How dearly 1 abide that boaft fo vain ;
Under what torments inwardly I groan,
While they adore me on the throne of hell,
VOL. II.
M
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