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Book 1.
Paradise lost.
But what if he our Conqueror, (whom I nowOf source believe Almighty, since no lessThe such could hav orepow'rd such force as ours)Have left us this our spirit and strength intireStrongly to suffer and support our pains,That we may so suffice his vengeful ire,Or do him mightier sevice as his thrallsBy right of Warr, what e're his business be150Her in the heart of Hell to work in Fire,Or do his Errands in the gloomy Deep;What can it then avail though yet we feelStrength undiminisht, or eternal beingTo undergo eternal punishment?Whereto with speedy words th' Arch-fiend reply'd. Fall'n Cherube, to be weak is miserableDoing or Suffering: but of this be sure,To do ought good never will be our task,But ever to do ill our sole delight,160As being the contrary to his high willWhom we resist. If then his ProvidenceOut of our evil seek to bring forth good,Our labour must be to pervert that end,And out of good still to find means of evil;Which oft times may succeed, so as perhapsShall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturbHis inmost counsels from their destind aim.But see the angry Victor hath recall'dHis Ministers of vengeance and pursuit170Back to the Gates of Heav'n: The Sulphurous HailShot after us in storm, oreblown hath laidThe fiery Surge, that from the PrecipiceOf Heav'n reciev'd us falling, and the Thunder,

Wing'd

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