Book i. Paradiſe loſt.
So Satan ſpake, and him Beelzebub
Thus anſwer’d. Wader of thoſe Armies bright,
Which but th’ Omnipotent none could have foyld.
If once they hear that voyce, their livelieſt pledge
Of hope in fears and dangers, heard ſo oft
In worſt extreams, and on the perilous edge
Of battel when it rag'd, in all aſſaults
Their ſureft ſignal, they will ſoon reſume
New courage and revive, though now they lye
280Groveling and proſtrate on yon Lake of Fire,
As we erewhile, aſtounded and amaz’d.
No wonder, fall'n ſuch a pernicious highth.
He ſcarce had ceas’t when the ſuperiour Fiend
Was moving toward the ſhore; his ponderous ſhield
Ethereal temper, maſſy, large and round.
Behind him caſt the broad circumference
Hung on his ſhoulders like the Moon, whoſe Orb
Through Optic Glaſs the Tuſcan Artiſt views
At Ev’ning from the top of Feſole
290 Or in Valdarno, to deſcry new Lands,
Rovers or Mountains in her ſpotty Globe.
His Spear, to equal which the tailed Pine
Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the Mad
Of ſome great Ammiral, were’ but a wand.
He walkt with to ſupport uneaſie ſteps
Over the burning Marie, not like thoſe ſteps
On Heavens Azure, and the torrid Clime
Smote on him fore beſides, vaulted with Fire;
Nathleſs he ſo endur’d, till on the Beach
300 Of that inflamed Sea, he dood and call'd
His Legions, Angel Forms, who lay intrans't
Thick as Autumnal Leaves that draw the Brooks
Thus anſwer’d. Wader of thoſe Armies bright,
Which but th’ Omnipotent none could have foyld.
If once they hear that voyce, their livelieſt pledge
Of hope in fears and dangers, heard ſo oft
In worſt extreams, and on the perilous edge
Of battel when it rag'd, in all aſſaults
Their ſureft ſignal, they will ſoon reſume
New courage and revive, though now they lye
280Groveling and proſtrate on yon Lake of Fire,
As we erewhile, aſtounded and amaz’d.
No wonder, fall'n ſuch a pernicious highth.
He ſcarce had ceas’t when the ſuperiour Fiend
Was moving toward the ſhore; his ponderous ſhield
Ethereal temper, maſſy, large and round.
Behind him caſt the broad circumference
Hung on his ſhoulders like the Moon, whoſe Orb
Through Optic Glaſs the Tuſcan Artiſt views
At Ev’ning from the top of Feſole
290 Or in Valdarno, to deſcry new Lands,
Rovers or Mountains in her ſpotty Globe.
His Spear, to equal which the tailed Pine
Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the Mad
Of ſome great Ammiral, were’ but a wand.
He walkt with to ſupport uneaſie ſteps
Over the burning Marie, not like thoſe ſteps
On Heavens Azure, and the torrid Clime
Smote on him fore beſides, vaulted with Fire;
Nathleſs he ſo endur’d, till on the Beach
300 Of that inflamed Sea, he dood and call'd
His Legions, Angel Forms, who lay intrans't
Thick as Autumnal Leaves that draw the Brooks
In
