Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained

by John Milton

Lives ther who loves his pain? Who would not, finding way, break loose from Hell, Though thither doomd? Thou wouldst thy self, no doubt, And boldly venture to whatever place Farthest from pain, where thou mightst hope to change Torment with ease, & soonest recompence Dole with delight, which in this place I sought;

scourge that wisdom back to Hell, Which taught thee yet no better, that no pain Can equal anger infinite provok’t.

wherefore with thee Came not all Hell broke loose? is pain to them Less pain, less to be fled, or thou then they Less hardie to endure?

I stood Thy fiercest, when in Battel to thy aide The blasting volied Thunder made all speed And seconded thy else not dreaded Spear.

I alone first undertook To wing the desolate Abyss, and spie This new created World, whereof in Hell Fame is not silent, here in hope to find Better abode, and my afflicted Powers To settle here on Earth, or in mid Aire; Though for possession put to try once more What thou and thy gay Legions dare against; Whose easier business were to serve thir Lord High up in Heav’n, with songs to hymne his Throne, And practis’d distances to cringe, not fight.

th’ Angelic Squadron bright Turnd fierie red, sharpning in mooned hornes Thir Phalanx, and began to hemm him round With ported Spears, as thick as when a field Of CERES ripe for harvest waving bends Her bearded Grove of ears, which way the wind Swayes them; the careful Plowman doubting stands Least on the threshing floore his hopeful sheaves Prove chaff.

SATAN, I know thy strength, and thou knowst mine, Neither our own but giv’n; what follie then To boast what Arms can doe, since thine no more Then Heav’n permits, nor mine, though doubld now To trample thee as mire:

Awake, the morning shines, and the fresh field Calls us, we lose the prime, to mark how spring Our tended Plants, how blows the Citron Grove, What drops the Myrrhe, & what the balmie Reed, How Nature paints her colours, how the Bee Sits on the Bloom extracting liquid sweet.

methought Close at mine ear one call’d me forth to walk With gentle voice, I thought it thine; it said, Why sleepst thou EVE? now is the pleasant time, The cool, the silent, save where silence yields To the night-warbling Bird, that now awake Tunes sweetest his love-labor’d song; now reignes Full Orb’d the Moon, and with more pleasing light Shadowie sets off the face of things; in vain, If none regard;

O fair Plant, said he, with fruit surcharg’d, Deigns none to ease thy load and taste thy sweet, Nor God, nor Man; is Knowledge so despis’d? Or envie, or what reserve forbids to taste? Forbid who will, none shall from me withhold Longer thy offerd good, why else set here?

Here, happie Creature, fair Angelic EVE, Partake thou also; happie though thou art, Happier thou mayst be, worthier canst not be:

he drew nigh, and to me held, Even to my mouth of that same fruit held part Which he had pluckt; the pleasant savourie smell So quick’nd appetite, that I, methought, Could not but taste. Forthwith up to the Clouds With him I flew, and underneath beheld The Earth outstretcht immense, a prospect wide And various: wondring at my flight and change To this high exaltation;

Best Image of my self and dearer half, The trouble of thy thoughts this night in sleep Affects me equally; nor can I like This uncouth dream, of evil sprung I fear;

Evil into the mind of God or Man May come and go, so unapprov’d, and leave No spot or blame behind: Which gives me hope That what in sleep thou didst abhorr to dream, Waking thou never wilt consent to do.

Two other precious drops that ready stood, Each in thir chrystal sluce, hee ere they fell Kiss’d as the gracious signs of sweet remorse And pious awe, that feard to have offended.

neither various style Nor holy rapture wanted they to praise Thir Maker, in fit strains pronounc’t or sung Unmeditated, such prompt eloquence Flowd from thir lips, in Prose or numerous Verse, More tuneable then needed Lute or Harp To add more sweetness, and they thus began.

Till the Sun paint your fleecie skirts with Gold, In honour to the Worlds great Author rise, Whether to deck with Clouds the uncolourd skie, Or wet the thirstie Earth with falling showers, Rising or falling still advance his praise. His praise ye Winds, that from four Quarters blow, Breath soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye Pines, With every Plant, in sign of Worship wave.

be bounteous still To give us onely good; and if the night Have gathered aught of evil or conceald, Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.

or they led the Vine To wed her Elm; she spous’d about him twines Her mariageable arms, and with her brings Her dowr th’ adopted Clusters, to adorn His barren leaves.

SATAN from Hell scap’t through the darksom Gulf Hath raisd in Paradise, and how disturbd This night the human pair, how he designes In them at once to ruin all mankind.

what enemie Late falln himself from Heav’n, is plotting now The fall of others from like state of bliss; By violence, no, for that shall be withstood, But by deceit and lies; this let him know, Least wilfully transgressing he pretend Surprisal, unadmonisht, unforewarnd.

Strait knew him all the bands Of Angels under watch; and to his state, And to his message high in honour rise; For on som message high they guessd him bound.

EVE within, due at her hour prepar’d For dinner savourie fruits, of taste to please True appetite, and not disrelish thirst Of nectarous draughts between, from milkie stream, Berrie or Grape: to whom thus ADAM call’d.

Eastward among those Trees, what glorious shape Comes this way moving; seems another Morn Ris’n on mid-noon; som great behest from Heav’n To us perhaps he brings, and will voutsafe This day to be our Guest.

fruit of all kindes, in coate, Rough, or smooth rin’d, or bearded husk, or shell She gathers, Tribute large, and on the board Heaps with unsparing hand; for drink the Grape She crushes, inoffensive moust, and meathes From many a berrie, and from sweet kernels prest She tempers dulcet creams, nor these to hold Wants her fit vessels pure, then strews the ground With Rose and Odours from the shrub unfum’d.

no vaile Shee needed, Vertue-proof, no thought infirme Alterd her cheek. On whom the Angel HAILE Bestowd, the holy salutation us’d Long after to blest MARIE, second EVE.

yet God hath here Varied his bounty so with new delights, As may compare with Heaven; and to taste Think not I shall be nice.

Mean while enjoy Your fill what happiness this happie state Can comprehend, incapable of more.

What meant that caution joind, IF YE BE FOUND OBEDIENT? can wee want obedience then To him, or possibly his love desert Who formd us from the dust, and plac’d us here Full to the utmost measure of what bliss Human desires can seek or apprehend?

Our voluntarie service he requires, Not our necessitated, such with him Findes no acceptance, nor can find, for how Can hearts, not free, be tri’d whether they serve Willing or no, who will but what they must By Destinie, and can no other choose?

the face of brightest Heav’n had changd To grateful Twilight (for Night comes not there In darker veile)

SATAN, so call him now, his former name Is heard no more Heav’n; he of the first, If not the first Arch-Angel, great in Power, In favour and praeeminence, yet fraught With envie against the Son of God, that day Honourd by his great Father, and proclaimd MESSIAH King anointed, could not beare Through pride that sight, and thought himself impaird. Deep malice thence conceiving & disdain,

SATAN with his Powers Farr was advanc’t on winged speed, an Host Innumerable as the Starrs of Night, Or Starrs of Morning, Dew-drops, which the Sun Impearls on every leaf and every flouer.

But more illustrious made, since he the Head One of our number thus reduc’t becomes, His Laws our Laws, all honour to him done Returns our own. Cease then this impious rage, And tempt not these; but hast’n to appease Th’ incensed Father, and th’ incensed Son, While Pardon may be found in time besought.

O alienate from God, O spirit accurst, Forsak’n of all good; I see thy fall Determind, and thy hapless crew involv’d In this perfidious fraud, contagion spred Both of thy crime and punishment:

That Golden Scepter which thou didst reject Is now an Iron Rod to bruise and breake Thy disobedience.

Servant of God, well done, well hast thou fought The better fight, who single hast maintaind Against revolted multitudes the Cause Of Truth, in word mightier then they in Armes;

When Reason hath to deal with force, yet so Most reason is that Reason overcome.

Proud, art thou met? thy hope was to have reacht The highth of thy aspiring unoppos’d,

fool, not to think how vain Against th’ Omnipotent to rise in Arms; Who out of smallest things could without end Have rais’d incessant Armies to defeat Thy folly; or with solitarie hand Reaching beyond all limit, at one blow Unaided could have finisht thee,

now learn too late How few somtimes may know, when thousands err.

Unjustly thou deprav’st it with the name Of SERVITUDE to serve whom God ordains, Or Nature; God and Nature bid the same, When he who rules is worthiest,

This is servitude, To serve th’ unwise, or him who hath rebelld Against his worthier, as thine now serve thee, Thy self not free, but to thy self enthrall’d;

but so swift with tempest fell On the proud Crest of SATAN, that no sight, Nor motion of swift thought, less could his Shield Such ruin intercept: ten paces huge He back recoild; the tenth on bended knee His massie Spear upstaid; as if on Earth Winds under ground or waters forcing way Sidelong, had push’t a Mountain from his seat Half sunk with all his Pines.

The adverse Legions, nor less hideous joyn’d The horrid shock: now storming furie rose, And clamour such as heard in Heav’n till now Was never,

Squadrons at once, with huge two-handed sway Brandisht aloft the horrid edge came down Wide wasting; such destruction to withstand He hasted, and oppos’d the rockie Orb Of tenfold Adamant, his ample Shield A vast circumference: At his approach The great Arch-Angel from his warlike toile Surceas’d, and glad as hoping here to end Intestine War in Heav’n, the arch foe subdu’d Or Captive drag’d in Chains, with hostile frown And visage all enflam’d first thus began.

Heav’n the seat of bliss Brooks not the works of violence and Warr. Hence then, and evil go with thee along Thy ofspring, to the place of evil, Hell, Thou and thy wicked crew; there mingle broiles, Ere this avenging Sword begin thy doome, Or som more sudden vengeance wing’d from God Precipitate thee with augmented paine.

both addrest for fight Unspeakable;

But with swift wheele reverse, deep entring shar’d All his right side; then SATAN first knew pain, And writh’d him to and fro convolv’d; so sore The griding sword with discontinuous wound Pass’d through him, but th’ Ethereal substance clos’d Not long divisible, and from the gash A stream of Nectarous humor issuing flow’d Sanguin, such as Celestial Spirits may bleed,

naught merits but dispraise And ignominie, yet to glorie aspires Vain glorious, and through infamie seeks fame: Therfore Eternal silence be thir doome.