Milton - PR3550 .D77 1777 M1

'54 PARADISE LOST. BooKIL Devoid of fenfe 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 lure. Will he fo wife, let Toole at once his ire, 155 Belike through impotence, or unaware, To give his enemies their with, and end Them in his anger, whom his anger faves To punifh endlefs ? Wherefore ceafe we then, Say they who counfel war ? We are decreed, 16o Referv'd and deflin'd to eternal woe ; Whatever doing, what can we fuller more, What can we fuller worfe ?--Is this then worfl, Thus fitting, thus confulting, thus in arms ? What ! when we fled amain, purfu'd and Bruck 165 With heav'n's affliaing thunder, and befought The deep to filcher us ; this hell then feem'd A refuge from thofe wounds : or when we lay Chain'd on the burning lake ? that Pure was worfe. What if the breath that kindl'd thofe grim fires, 17o Awak'd fhould blow them into fevenfold rage, And plunge us in the flames ? or from above Should intermitted veng'ance arm again His red right hand to plague us ? what if all Her flores were open'd, and this firmament 175 Of hell fhould {pout her catara1s of fire, Impendent horrors, threatning hideous fall One day upon our heads ; while we, perhaps Defigning or exhorting glorious war, Caught in a fiery tempea (ball be hurl'd 18m Each on his rock transfixt, the (port and prey Of racking whirlwinds ; or for ever funk Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains ; There to converfe with everlafting groans, Unrefpited, unpitied, unrepriev'd, Ages