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Book 3.
Paradiſe loſt.

Father of Mercie and Grace, thou didſt not doome
So ſtrictly, but much more to pitie encline:
No ſooner did thy dear and onely Son
Perceive thee purpos'd not to doom frail Man
So ſtrictly, but much more to pitie enclin'd,
He to appeaſe thy wrauth, and end the ſtrife
Of Mercy and Justice in thy face diſcern'd,
Regardleſs of the Bliſs wherein hee ſat
Second to thee, offerd himſelf to die
410For mans offence. O unexampl'd love,
Love no where to be found leſs then Divine!
Hail Son of God, Saviour of Men, thy Name
Shall be the copious matter of my Song
Henceforth, and never ſhall my Harp thy praiſe
Forget, nor from thy Fathers praiſe disjoine.
Thus they in Heav’n, above the ſtarry Sphear,
Thir happie hours in joy and hymning ſpent.
Mean while upon the firm opacous Globe
Of this round World, whoſe firſt convex divides
420The luminous inferior Orbs, enclos'd
From Chaos and th' inroad of Darkneſs old,
Satan alighted walks: a Globe farr off
It ſeem'd, now ſeems a boundleſs Continent
Dark, waſte, and wild, under the frown of Night
Starleſs expos'd, and ever-threatning ſtorms
Of Chaos bluſtring round, inclement skie;
Save on that ſide which from the wall of Heav’n
Though diſtant farr ſom ſmall reflection gaines
Of glimmering air leſs vext with tempeſt loud:
430Here walk'd the Fiend at large in ſpacious field.
As when a Vultur on Imaus bred,
Whoſe ſnowie ridge the roving Tartar bounds,