Paradise Lost. John Laws MiltonЧитать онлайн книгу.

       With blackest Insurrection, to confound

       Heav’ns purest Light, yet our great Enemie

       All incorruptible would on his Throne

       Sit unpolluted, and th’ Ethereal mould

       Incapable of stain would soon expel

       Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire

       Victorious. Thus repuls’d, our final hope

       Is flat despair: we must exasperate

       Th’ Almighty Victor to spend all his rage,

       And that must end us, that must be our cure,

       To be no more; sad cure; for who would loose,

       Though full of pain, this intellectual being,

       Those thoughts that wander through Eternity,

       To perish rather, swallowd up and lost

       In the wide womb of uncreated night,

       Devoid of sense and motion? and who knows,

       Let this be good, whether our angry Foe

       Can give it, or will ever? how he can

       Is doubtful; that he never will is sure.

       Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire,

       Belike through impotence, or unaware,

       To give his Enemies thir wish, and end

       Them in his anger, whom his anger saves

       To punish endless? wherefore cease we then?

       Say they who counsel Warr, we are decreed,

       Reserv’d and destin’d to Eternal woe;

       Whatever doing, what can we suffer more,

       What can we suffer worse? is this then worst,

       Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in Arms?

       What when we fled amain, pursu’d and strook

       With Heav’ns afflicting Thunder, and besought

       The Deep to shelter us? this Hell then seem’d

       A refuge from those wounds: or when we lay

       Chain’d on the burning Lake? that sure was worse.

       What if the breath that kindl’d those grim fires

       Awak’d should blow them into sevenfold rage

       And plunge us in the Flames? or from above

       Should intermitted vengeance Arme again

       His red right hand to plague us? what if all

       Her stores were op’n’d, and this Firmament

       Of Hell should spout her Cataracts of Fire,

       Impendent horrors, threatning hideous fall

       One day upon our heads; while we perhaps

       Designing or exhorting glorious Warr,

       Caught in a fierie Tempest shall be hurl’d

       Each on his rock transfixt, the sport and prey

       Of racking whirlwinds, or for ever sunk

       Under 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