Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained: By John Milton – Illustrated

For him who sits above, and laughs the while

At thee, ordained his drudge to execute

Whate’er his wrath, which he calls justice, bids—

His wrath, which one day will destroy ye both!”

How he can

Is doubtful; that he never will is sure.

and by proof we feel

Our power sufficient to disturb his Heaven,

And with perpetual inroads to alarm,

Though inaccessible, his fatal throne:

Which, if not victory, is yet revenge.”

Where there is, then, no good

For which to strive, no strife can grow up there

From faction: for none sure will claim in Hell

Precedence; none whose portion is so small

Of present pain that with ambitious mind

Will covet more!

But what owe I to his commands above,

Who hates me, and hath hither thrust me down

Into this gloom of Tartarus profound,

To sit in hateful office here confined,

Inhabitant of Heaven and heavenly born—

Here in perpetual agony and pain,

With terrors and with clamours compassed round

Of mine own brood, that on my bowels feed

As if (which might induce us to accord)

Man had not hellish foes enow besides,

That day and night for his destruction wait!

Long is the way

And hard, that out of Hell leads up to light.

But their spite still serves

His glory to augment.

or, if not drive,

Seduce them to our party, that their God

May prove their foe, and with repenting hand

Abolish his own works.

preferring

Hard liberty before the easy yoke

Of servile pomp.