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Confus'dly, and which thus muſt ever fight,
Unleſs th’ Almighty Maker them ordain
His dark materials to create more Worlds,
Into this wilde Abyſs the warie fiend
Stood on the brink of Hell and look'd a while,
Pondering his Voyage; for no narrow frith
920He had to croſs. Nor was his eare leſs peal'd
With noiſes loud and ruinous (to compare
Great things with ſmall) then when Bellona ſtorms,
With all her battering Engines bent to raſe
Some Capital City, or less then if this frame
Of Heav’n were falling, and theſe Elements
In mutinie had from her Axle torn
The ſteadfaſt Earth. At laſt his Sail-broad Vannes
He ſpreads for flight, and in the ſurging ſmoak
Uplifted ſpurns the ground, thence many a League
930As in a cloudy Chair aſcending rides
Audacious, but that ſeat ſoon failing, meets
A vaſt vacuitie: all unawares
Fluttring his pennons vain plumb down he drops
Ten thouſand fadom deep, and to this hour
Down had been falling, had not by ill chance
The ſtrong rebuff of ſom tumultuous cloud
Inſtinct with Fire and Nitre hurried him
As many miles aloft: that furie ſtay'd,
Quencht in a Boggie Syrtis, neither Sea,
940Nor good dry Land: nigh founderd on he fares,
Treading the crude conſiſtence, half on foot,
Half flying; behoves him now both Oare and Saile.
As when a Gryfon through the Wilderneſs
With winged courſe ore Hill or moarie Dale,
Purſues the Arimaspian, who by ſtelth