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Heaven, whose high walls fear no assault or siege, Or ambush from the deep. What if we find Some easier enterprise? There is a place— If ancient and prophetic fame in heaven Err not,—another world, the happy seat Of some new race, called Man, about this time To be created like to us, though less In power and excellence, but favoured more Of him who rules above. So was his will Pronounced among the gods, and by an oath, That shook Heaven's whole circumference, confirmed. Thither let us bend all our thoughts, to learn What creatures there inhabit, of what mould Or substance, how endued, and what their power, And where their weakness, how attempted best, By force or subtlety. Though heaven be shut, And heaven's high Arbitrator sit secure In his own strength, this place may lie exposed, The utmost border of his kingdom, left To their defence who hold it. Here perhaps Some advantageous act may be achieved By sudden onset, either with hell-fire To waste his whole creation, or possess All as our own, and drive, as we were driven, The puny habitants. Or, if not drive, Seduce them to our party, that their God May prove their foe, and with repenting hand Abolish his own works. This would surpass Common revenge, and interrupt his joy In our confusion, and our joy upraise In his disturbance; when his darling sons, Hurled headlong to partake with us, shall curse Their frail original, and faded bliss, Faded so soon. Advise, if this be worth Attempting, or to sit in darkness here Hatching vain empires.—Thus Beelzebub

Pleaded his devilish counsel, first devised

By Satan, and in part proposed. For whence,

But from the author of all ill, could spring

So deep a malice, to confound the race

Of mankind in one root, and earth with hell

To mingle and involve, done all to spite

The great Creator? But their spite still serves

His glory to augment. The bold design

Pleased highly those infernal states, and joy

Sparkled in all their eyes. With full assent

They vote. Whereat his speech he thus renews:

PARADISE LOST.

Well have ye judged, well ended long debate, Synod of gods! and, like to what ye are Great things resolved, which, from the lowest deep, Will once more lift us up, in spite of fate, Nearer our ancient seat. Perhaps in view Of those bright confines, whence, with neighbouring arms, And opportune excursion, we may chance Re-enter heaven; or else in some mild zone Dwell, not unvisited of heaven's fair light Secure, and at the brightening orient beam Purge off this gloom: the soft delicious air, To heal the scar of these corrosive fires, Shall breathe her balm. But first, whom shall we send In search of this new world? Whom shall we find Sufficient? Who shall tempt with wandering feet The dark, unbottomed, infinite abyss, And through the palpable obscure find out His uncouth way, or spread his aery flight, Upborne with indefatigable wings, Over the vast abrupt, ere he arrive The happy isle? What strength, what art, can then Suffice, or what evasion bear him safe Through the strict sentries and stations thick Of Angels watching round? Here he had need All circumspection; and we now no less