Paradise Lost + Paradise Regained (2 Unabridged Classics + Original Illustrations by Gustave Doré). Джон Мильтон

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СКАЧАТЬ exercise us without hope of end

      The Vassals of his anger, when the Scourge

      Inexorably, and the torturing houre

      Calls us to Penance? More destroy’d then thus

      We should be quite abolisht and expire.

      What fear we then? what doubt we to incense

      His utmost ire? which to the highth enrag’d,

      Will either quite consume us, and reduce

      To nothing this essential, happier farr

      Then miserable to have eternal being:

      Or if our substance be indeed Divine,

      And cannot cease to be, we are at worst

      On this side nothing; and by proof we feel

      Our power sufficient to disturb his Heav’n,

      And with perpetual inrodes to Allarme,

      Though inaccessible, his fatal Throne:

      Which if not Victory is yet Revenge.

      He ended frowning, and his look denounc’d

      Desperate revenge, and Battel dangerous

      To less then Gods. On th’ other side up rose

      Belial, in act more graceful and humane;

      A fairer person lost not Heav’n; he seemd

      For dignity compos’d and high exploit:

      But all was false and hollow; though his Tongue

      Dropt Manna, and could make the worse appear

      The better reason, to perplex and dash

      Maturest Counsels: for his thoughts were low;

      To vice industrious, but to Nobler deeds

      Timorous and slothful: yet he pleas’d the eare,

      And with perswasive accent thus began.

      I should be much for open Warr, O Peers,

      As not behind in hate; if what was urg’d

      Main reason to perswade immediate Warr,

      Did not disswade me most, and seem to cast

      Ominous conjecture on the whole success:

      When he who most excels in fact of Arms,

      In what he counsels and in what excels

      Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair

      And utter dissolution, as the scope

      Of all his aim, after some dire revenge.

      First, what Revenge? the Towrs of Heav’n are fill’d

      With Armed watch, that render all access

      Impregnable; oft on the bordering Deep

      Encamp thir Legions, or with obscure wing

      Scout farr and wide into the Realm of night,

      Scorning surprize. Or could we break our way

      By force, and at our heels all Hell should rise

      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

      Incapible of stain would soon expel

      Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire

      Victorious. Thus repurs’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 СКАЧАТЬ