Paradise Regain'd: Book IV (1671)

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PErplex'd and troubl'd at his bad successThe Tempter stood, nor had what to reply,Discover'd in his fraud, thrown from his hope,So oft, and the perswasive RhetoricThat sleek't his tongue, and won so much on Eve,So little here, nay lost; but Eve was Eve,This far his over-match, who self deceiv'dAnd rash, before-hand had no better weigh'dThe strength he was to cope with, or his own:But as a man who had been matchless heldIn cunning, over-reach't where least he thought,To salve his credit, and for very spightStill will be tempting him who foyls him still,And never cease, though to his shame the more;Or as a swarm of flies in vintage time,About the wine-press where sweet moust is powr'd,Beat off, returns as oft with humming sound;Or surging waves against a solid rock,Though all to shivers dash't, the assault renew,Vain battry, and in froth or bubbles end;So Satan, whom repulse upon repulseMet ever; and to shameful silence brought,Yet gives not o're though desperate of success,And his vain importunity pursues.He brought our Saviour to the western sideOf that high mountain, whence he might beholdAnother plain, long but in bredth not wide;Wash'd by the Southern Sea, and on the NorthTo equal length back'd with a ridge of hillsThat screen'd the fruits of the earth and seats of menFrom cold Septentrion blasts, thence in the midstDivided by a river, of whose banksOn each side an Imperial City stood,With Towers and Temples proudly elevateOn seven small Hills, with Palaces adorn'd,Porches and Theatres, Baths, Aqueducts,Statues and Trophees, and Triumphal Arcs,Gardens and Groves presented to his eyes,Above the highth of Mountains interpos'd.By what strange Parallax or Optic skillOf vision multiplyed through air, or glassOf Telescope, were curious to enquire:And now the Tempter thus his silence broke. The City which thou seest no other deemThen great and glorious Rome, Queen of the EarthSo far renown'd, and with the spoils enrichtOf Nations; there the Capitol thou seestAbove the rest lifting his stately headOn the Tarpeian rock, her CittadelImpregnable, and there Mount PalatineThe Imperial Palace, compass huge, and highThe Structure, skill of noblest Architects,With gilded battlements, conspicuous far,Turrets and Terrases, and glittering Spires.Many a fair Edifice besides, more likeHouses of Gods (so well I have dispos'dMy Aerie Microscope) thou may'st beholdOutside and inside both, pillars and roofsCarv'd work, the hand of fam'd ArtificersIn Cedar, Marble, Ivory or Gold.Thence to the gates cast round thine eye, and seeWhat conflux issuing forth, or entring in,Pretors, Proconsuls to thir ProvincesHasting or on return, in robes of State;Lictors and rods the ensigns of thir power,Legions and Cohorts, turmes of horse and wings:Or Embassies from Regions far remoteIn various habits on the Appian road,Or on the Æmilian, some from farthest South,Syene, and where the shadow both way falls,Meroe Nilotic Isle, and more to West,The Realm of Bocchus to the Black-moor Sea;From the Asian Kings and Parthian among these,From India and the golden Chersoness,And utmost Indian Isle Taprobane,Dusk faces with white silken Turbants wreath'd:From Gallia, Gades, and the Brittish West,Germans and Scythians, and Sarmatians NorthBeyond Danubius to the Tauric Pool.All Nations now to Rome obedience pay,To Rome's great Emperour, whose wide domainIn ample Territory, wealth and power,Civility of Manners, Arts, and Arms,And long Renown thou justly may'st preferBefore the Parthian; these two Thrones except,The rest are barbarous, and scarce worth the sight,Shar'd among petty Kings too far remov'd;These having shewn thee, I have shewn thee allThe Kingdoms of the world, and all thir glory.This Emperour hath no Son, and now is old,Old, and lascivious, and from Rome retir'dTo Capreæ an Island small but strongOn the Campanian shore, with purpose thereHis horrid lusts in private to enjoy,Committing to a wicked FavouriteAll publick cares, and yet of him suspicious,Hated of all, and hating; with what easeIndu'd with Regal Vertues as thou art,Appearing, and beginning noble deeds,Might'st thou expel this monster from his ThroneNow made a stye, and in his place ascendingA victor, people free from servile yoke?And with my help thou may'st; to me the powerIs given, and by that right I give it thee.Aim therefore at no less then all the world,Aim at the highest, without the highest attain'dWill be for thee no sitting, or not longOn David's Throne, be propheci'd what will. To whom the Son of God unmov'd reply'd.Nor doth this grandeur and majestic showOf luxury, though call'd magnificence,More then of arms before, allure mine eye,Much less my mind; though thou should'st add to tellThir sumptuous gluttonies, and gorgeous feastsOn Cittron tables or Atlantic stone;(For I have also heard, perhaps have read)Their wines of Setia, Cales, and Falerne,Chios and Creet, and how they quaff in Gold,Crystal and Myrrhine cups imboss'd with GemsAnd studs of Pearl, to me should'st tell who thirstAnd hunger still: then Embassies thou shew'stFrom Nations far and nigh; what honour that,But tedious wast of time to sit and hearSo many hollow complements and lies,Outlandish flatteries? then proceed'st to talkOf the Emperour, how easily subdu'd,How gloriously; I shall, thou say'st, expelA brutish monster: what if I withalExpel a Devil who first made him such?Let his tormenter Conscience find him out,For him I was not sent, nor yet to freeThat people victor once, now vile and base,Deservedly made vassal, who once just,Frugal, and mild, and temperate, conquer'd well,But govern ill the Nations under yoke,Peeling thir Provinces, exhausted allBy lust and rapine; first ambitious grownOf triumph that insulting vanity;Then cruel, by thir sports to blood enur'dOf fighting beasts, and men to beasts expos'd,Luxurious by thir wealth, and greedier still,And from the daily Scene effeminate.What wise and valiant man would seek to freeThese thus degenerate, by themselves enslav'd,Or could of inward slaves make outward free?Know therefore when my season comes to sitOn David's Throne, it shall be like a treeSpreading and over-shadowing all the Earth,Or as a stone that shall to pieces dashAll Monarchies besides throughout the world,And of my Kingdom there shall be no end:Means there shall be to this, but what the means,Is not for thee to know, nor me to tell. To whom the Tempter impudent repli'd.I see all offers made by me how slightThou valu'st, because offer'd, and reject'st:Nothing will please the difficult and nice,Or nothing more then still to contradict:On the other side know also thou, that IOn what I offer set as high esteem,Nor what I part with mean to give for naught;All these which in a moment thou behold'st,The Kingdoms of the world to thee I give;For giv'n to me, I give to whom I please,No trifle; yet with this reserve, not else,On this condition, if thou wilt fall down,And worship me as thy superior Lord,Easily done, and hold them all of me;For what can less so great a gift deserve? Whom thus our Saviour answer'd with disdain.I never lik'd thy talk, thy offers less,Now both abhor, since thou hast dar'd to utterThe abominable terms, impious condition;But I endure the time, till which expir'd,Thou hast permission on me. It is writtenThe first of all Commandments, Thou shalt worshipThe Lord thy God, and only him shalt serve;And dar'st thou to the Son of God propoundTo worship thee accurst, now more accurstFor this attempt bolder then that on Eve,And more blasphemous? which expect to rue.The Kingdoms of the world to thee were giv'n,Permitted rather, and by thee usurp't,Other donation none thou canst produce:If given, by whom but by the King of Kings,God over all supreme? if giv'n to thee,By thee how fairly is the Giver nowRepaid? But gratitude in thee is lostLong since. Wert thou so void of fear or shame,As offer them to me the Son of God,To me my own, on such abhorred pact,That I fall down and worship thee as God?Get thee behind me; plain thou now appear'stThat Evil one, Satan for ever damn'd. To whom the Fiend with fear abasht reply'd.Be not so sore offended, Son of God;Though Sons of God both Angels are and Men,If I to try whether in higher sortThen these thou bear'st that title, have propos'dWhat both from Men and Angels I receive,Tetrarchs of fire, air, flood, and on the earthNations besides from all the quarter'd winds,God of this world invok't and world beneath;Who then thou art, whose coming is foretoldTo me so fatal, me it most concerns.The tryal hath indamag'd thee no way,Rather more honour left and more esteem;Me naught advantag'd, missing what I aim'd.Therefore let pass, as they are transitory,The Kingdoms of this world; I shall no moreAdvise thee, gain them as thou canst, or not.And thou thy self seem'st otherwise inclin'dThen to a worldly Crown, addicted moreTo contemplation and profound dispute,As by that early action may be judg'd,When slipping from thy Mothers eye thou went'stAlone into the Temple; there was foundAmong the gravest Rabbies disputantOn points and questions fitting Moses Chair,Teaching not taught; the childhood shews the man,As morning shews the day. Be famous thenBy wisdom; as thy Empire must extend,So let extend thy mind o're all the world,In knowledge, all things in it comprehend,All knowledge is not couch't in Moses Law,The Pentateuch or what the Prophets wrote,The Gentiles also know, and write, and teachTo admiration, led by Natures light;And with the Gentiles much thou must converse,Ruling them by perswasion as thou mean'st,Without thir learning how wilt thou with them,Or they with thee hold conversation meet?How wilt thou reason with them, how refuteThir Idolisms, Traditions, Paradoxes?Error by his own arms is best evinc't.Look once more e're we leave this specular MountWestward, much nearer by Southwest, beholdWhere on the Ægean shore a City standsBuilt nobly, pure the air, and light the soil,Athens the eye of Greece, Mother of ArtsAnd Eloquence, native to famous witsOr hospitable, in her sweet recess,City or Suburban, studious walks and shades;See there the Olive Grove of Academe,Plato's retirement, where the Attic BirdTrills her thick-warbl'd notes the summer long,There flowrie hill Hymettus with the soundOf Bees industrious murmur oft invitesTo studious musing; there Ilissus roulsHis whispering stream; within the walls then viewThe schools of antient Sages; his who bredGreat Alexander to subdue the world,Lyceum there, and painted Stoa next:There thou shalt hear and learn the secret powerOf harmony in tones and numbers hitBy voice or hand, and various-measur'd verse,Æolian charms and Dorian Lyric Odes,And his who gave them breath, but higher sung,Blind Melesigenes thence Homer call'd,Whose Poem Phœbus challeng'd for his own.Thence what the lofty grave Tragœdians taughtIn Chorus or Iambic, teachers bestOf moral prudence, with delight receiv'dIn brief sententious precepts, while they treatOf fate, and chance, and change in human life;High actions, and high passions best describing:Thence to the famous Orators repair,Those antient, whose resistless eloquenceWielded at will that fierce Democratie,Shook the Arsenal and fulmin'd over Greece,To Macedon, and Artaxerxes Throne;To sage Philosophy next lend thine ear,From Heaven descended to the low-rooft houseOf Socrates, see there his Tenement,Whom well inspir'd the Oracle pronounc'dWisest of men; from whose mouth issu'd forthMellifluous streams that water'd all the schoolsOf Academics old and new, with thoseSirnam'd Peripatetics, and the SectEpicurean, and the Stoic severe;These here revolve, or, as thou lik'st, at home,Till time mature thee to a Kingdom's waight;These rules will render thee a King compleatWithin thy self, much more with Empire joyn'd. To whom our Saviour sagely thus repli'd.Think not but that I know these things, or thinkI know them not; not therefore am I shortOf knowing what I aught: he who receivesLight from above, from the fountain of light,No other doctrine needs, though granted true;But these are false, or little else but dreams,Conjectures, fancies, built on nothing firm.The first and wisest of them all profess'dTo know this only, that he nothing knew;The next to fabling fell and smooth conceits,A third sort doubted all things, though plain sence;Others in vertue plac'd felicity,But vertue joyn'd with riches and long life,In corporal pleasure he, and careless ease,The Stoic last in Philosophic pride,By him call'd vertue; and his vertuous man,Wise, perfect in himself, and all possessingEqual to God, oft shames not to prefer,As fearing God nor man, contemning allWealth, pleasure, pain or torment, death and life,Which when he lists, he leaves, or boasts he can,For all his tedious talk is but vain boast,Or subtle shifts conviction to evade.Alas what can they teach, and not mislead;Ignorant of themselves, of God much more,And how the world began, and how man fellDegraded by himself, on grace depending?Much of the Soul they talk, but all awrie,And in themselves seek vertue, and to themselvesAll glory arrogate, to God give none,Rather accuse him under usual names,Fortune and Fate, as one regardless quiteOf mortal things. Who therefore seeks in theseTrue wisdom, finds her not, or by delusionFar worse, her false resemblance only meets,An empty cloud. However many booksWise men have said are wearisom; who readsIncessantly, and to his reading brings notA spirit and judgment equal or superior,(And what he brings, what needs he elsewhere seek)Uncertain and unsettl'd still remains,Deep verst in books and shallow in himself,Crude or intoxicate, collecting toys,And trifles for choice matters, worth a spunge;As Children gathering pibles on the shore.Or if I would delight my private hoursWith Music or with Poem, where so soonAs in our native Language can I findThat solace? All our Law and Story strew'dWith Hymns, our Psalms with artful terms inscrib'd,Our Hebrew Songs and Harps in Babylon,That pleas'd so well our Victors ear, declareThat rather Greece from us these Arts deriv'd;Ill imitated, while they loudest singThe vices of thir Deities, and thir ownIn Fable, Hymn, or Song, so personatingThir Gods ridiculous, and themselves past shame.Remove their swelling Epithetes thick laidAs varnish on a Harlots cheek, the rest,Thin sown with aught of profit or delight,Will far be found unworthy to compareWith Sion's songs, to all true tasts excelling,Where God is prais'd aright, and Godlike men,The Holiest of Holies, and his Saints;Such are from God inspir'd, not such from thee;Unless where moral vertue is express'tBy light of Nature not in all quite lost.Thir Orators thou then extoll'st, as thoseThe top of Eloquence, Statists indeed,And lovers of thir Country, as may seem;But herein to our Prophets far beneath,As men divinely taught, and better teachingThe solid rules of Civil GovernmentIn thir majestic unaffected stileThen all the Oratory of Greece and Rome.In them is plainest taught, and easiest learnt,What makes a Nation happy, and keeps it so,What ruins Kingdoms, and lays Cities flat;These only with our Law best form a King. So spake the Son of God; but Satan nowQuite at a loss, for all his darts were spent,Thus to our Saviour with stern brow reply'd. Since neither wealth, nor honour, arms nor arts,Kingdom nor Empire pleases thee, nor aughtBy me propos'd in life contemplative,Or active, tended on by glory, or fame,What dost thou in this World? the WildernessFor thee is fittest place, I found thee there,And thither will return thee, yet rememberWhat I foretell thee, soon thou shalt have causeTo wish thou never hadst rejected thusNicely or cautiously my offer'd aid,Which would have set thee in short time with easeOn David's Throne; or Throne of all the world,Now at full age, fulness of time, thy season,When Prophesies of thee are best fullfill'd.Now contrary, if I read aught in Heaven,Or Heav'n write aught of Fate, by what the StarsVoluminous, or single characters,In their conjunction met, give me to spell,Sorrows, and labours, opposition, hate,Attends thee, scorns, reproaches, injuries,Violence and stripes, and lastly cruel death,A Kingdom they portend thee, but what Kingdom,Real or Allegoric I discern not,Nor when, eternal sure, as without end,Without beginning; for no date prefixtDirects me in the Starry Rubric set. So saying he took (for still he knew his powerNot yet expir'd) and to the WildernessBrought back the Son of God, and left him there,Feigning to disappear. Darkness now rose,As day-light sunk, and brought in lowring nightHer shadowy off-spring unsubstantial both,Privation meer of light and absent day.Our Saviour meek and with untroubl'd mindAfter his aerie jaunt, though hurried sore,Hungry and cold betook him to his rest,Wherever, under some concourse of shadesWhose branching arms thick intertwind might shieldFrom dews and damps of night his shelter'd head,But shelter'd slept in vain, for at his headThe Tempter watch'd, and soon with ugly dreamsDisturb'd his sleep; and either Tropic nowGan thunder, and both ends of Heav'n, the CloudsFrom many a horrid rift abortive pour'dFierce rain with lightning mixt, water with fireIn ruine reconcil'd: nor slept the windsWithin thir stony caves, but rush'd abroadFrom the four hinges of the world, and fellOn the vext Wilderness, whose tallest Pines,Though rooted deep as high, and sturdiest OaksBow'd their Stiff necks, loaden with stormy blasts,Or torn up sheer: ill wast thou shrouded then,O patient Son of God, yet only stoodstUnshaken; nor yet staid the terror there,Infernal Ghosts, and Hellish Furies, roundEnviron'd thee, some howl'd, some yell'd, some shriek'd,Some bent at thee thir fiery darts, while thouSat'st unappall'd in calm and sinless peace.Thus pass'd the night so foul till morning fairCame forth with Pilgrim steps in amice gray;Who with her radiant finger still'd the roarOf thunder, chas'd the clouds, and laid the winds,And grisly Spectres, which the Fiend had rais'dTo tempt the Son of God with terrors dire.And now the Sun with more effectual beamsHad chear'd the face of Earth, and dry'd the wetFrom drooping plant, or dropping tree; the birdsWho all things now behold more fresh and green,After a night of storm so ruinous,Clear'd up their choicest notes in bush and sprayTo gratulate the sweet return of morn;Nor yet amidst this joy and brightest mornWas absent, after all his mischief done,The Prince of darkness, glad would also seemOf this fair change, and to our Saviour came,Yet with no new device, they all were spent,Rather by this his last affront resolv'd,Desperate of better course, to vent his rage,And mad despight to be so oft repell'd.Him walking on a Sunny hill he found,Back'd on the North and West by a thick wood,Out of the wood he starts in wonted shape;And in a careless mood thus to him said. Fair morning yet betides thee Son of God,After a dismal night; I heard the rackAs Earth and Skie would mingle; but my selfWas distant; and these flaws, though mortals fear themAs dangerous to the pillard frame of Heaven,Or to the Earths dark basis underneath,Are to the main as inconsiderable,And harmless, if not wholsom, as a sneezeTo mans less universe, and soon are gone;Yet as being oft times noxious where they lightOn man, beast, plant, wastful and turbulent,Like turbulencies in the affairs of men,Over whose heads they rore, and seem to point,They oft fore-signifie and threaten ill:This Tempest at this Desert most was bent;Of men at thee, for only thou here dwell'st.Did I not tell thee, if thou didst rejectThe perfet season offer'd with my aidTo win thy destin'd seat, but wilt prolongAll to the push of Fate, persue thy wayOf gaining David's Throne no man knows when,For both the when and how is no where told,Thou shalt be what thou art ordain'd, no doubt;For Angels have proclaim'd it, but concealingThe time and means: each act is rightliest done,Not when it must, but when it may be best.If thou observe not this, be sure to find,What I foretold thee, many a hard assayOf dangers, and adversities and pains,E're thou of Israel's Scepter get fast hold;Whereof this ominous night that clos'd thee round,So many terrors, voices, prodigiesMay warn thee, as a sure fore-going sign. So talk'd he, while the Son of God went onAnd staid not, but in brief him answer'd thus. Mee worse then wet thou find'st not; other harmThose terrors which thou speak'st of, did me none;I never fear'd they could, though noising loudAnd threatning nigh; what they can do as signsBetok'ning, or ill boding, I contemnAs false portents, not sent from God, but thee;Who knowing I shall raign past thy preventing,Obtrud'st thy offer'd aid, that I acceptingAt least might seem to hold all power of thee,Ambitious spirit, and wouldst be thought my God,And storm'st refus'd, thinking to terrifieMee to thy will; desist, thou art discern'dAnd toil'st in vain, nor me in vain molest. To whom the Fiend now swoln with rage reply'd:Then hear, O Son of David, Virgin-born;For Son of God to me is yet in doubt,Of the Messiah I have heard foretoldBy all the Prophets; of thy birth at lengthAnnounc't by Gabriel with the first I knew,And of the Angelic Song in Bethlehem field,On thy birth-night, that sung thee Saviour born.From that time seldom have I ceas'd to eyeThy infancy, thy childhood, and thy youth,Thy manhood last, though yet in private bred;Till at the Ford of Jordan whither allFlock'd to the Baptist, I among the rest,Though not to be Baptiz'd, by voice from Heav'nHeard thee pronounc'd the Son of God belov'd.Thenceforth I thought thee worth my nearer viewAnd narrower Scrutiny, that I might learnIn what degree or meaning thou art call'dThe Son of God, which bears no single sence;The Son of God I also am, or was,And if I was, I am; relation stands;All men are Sons of God; yet thee I thoughtIn some respect far higher so declar'd.Therefore I watch'd thy footsteps from that hour,And follow'd thee still on to this wast wild;Where by all best conjectures I collectThou art to be my fatal enemy.Good reason then, if I before-hand seekTo understand my Adversary, whoAnd what he is; his wisdom, power, intent,By parl, or composition, truce, or leagueTo win him, or win from him what I can.And opportunity I here have hadTo try thee, sift thee, and confess have found theeProof against all temptation as a rockOf Adamant, and as a Center, firmTo the utmost of meer man both wise and good,Not more; for Honours, Riches, Kingdoms, GloryHave been before contemn'd, and may agen:Therefore to know what more thou art then man,Worth naming Son of God by voice from Heav'n,Another method I must now begin. So saying he caught him up, and without wingOf Hippogrif bore through the Air sublimeOver the Wilderness and o're the Plain;Till underneath them fair Jerusalem,The holy City lifted high her Towers,And higher yet the glorious Temple rear'dHer pile, far off appearing like a MountOf Alabaster, top't with Golden Spires:There on the highest Pinacle he setThe Son of God; and added thus in scorn: There stand, if thou wilt stand; to stand uprightWill ask thee skill; I to thy Fathers houseHave brought thee, and highest plac't, highest is best,Now shew thy Progeny; if not to stand,Cast thy self down; safely if Son of God:For it is written, He will give commandConcerning thee to his Angels, in thir handsThey shall up lift thee, lest at any timeThou chance to dash thy foot against a stone. To whom thus Jesus: also it is written,Tempt not the Lord thy God, he said and stood.But Satan smitten with amazement fellAs when Earths Son Antæus (to compareSmall things with greatest) in Irassa stroveWith Joves Alcides, and oft foil'd still rose,Receiving from his mother Earth new strength,Fresh from his fall, and fiercer grapple joyn'd,Throttl'd at length in the Air, expir'd and fell;So after many a foil the Tempter proud,Renewing fresh assaults, amidst his prideFell whence he stood to see his Victor fall.And as that Theban Monster that propos'dHer riddle, and him, who solv'd it not, devour'd;That once found out and solv'd, for grief and spightCast her self headlong from th' Ismenian steep,So strook with dread and anguish fell the Fiend,And to his crew, that sat consulting, broughtJoyless triumphals of his hop't success,Ruin, and desperation, and dismay,Who durst so proudly tempt the Son of God.So Satan fell and strait a fiery GlobeOf Angels on full sail of wing flew nigh,Who on their plumy Vans receiv'd him softFrom his uneasie station, and upboreAs on a floating couch through the blithe Air,Then in a flowry valley set him downOn a green bank, and set before him spredA table of Celestial Food, Divine,Ambrosial, Fruits fetcht from the tree of life,And from the fount of life Ambrosial drink,That soon refresh'd him wearied, and repair'dWhat hunger, if aught hunger had impair'd,Or thirst, and as he fed, Angelic QuiresSung Heavenly Anthems of his victoryOver temptation, and the Tempter proud. True Image of the Father whether thron'dIn the bosom of bliss, and light of lightConceiving, or remote from Heaven, enshrin'dIn fleshly Tabernacle, and human form,Wandring the Wilderness, whatever place,Habit, or state, or motion, still expressingThe Son of God, with Godlike force indu'dAgainst th' Attempter of thy Fathers Throne,And Thief of Paradise; him long of oldThou didst debel, and down from Heav'n castWith all his Army, now thou hast aveng'dSupplanted Adam, and by vanquishingTemptation, hast regain'd lost Paradise,And frustrated the conquest fraudulent:He never more henceforth will dare set footIn Paradise to tempt; his snares are broke:For though that seat of earthly bliss be fail'd,A fairer Paradise is founded nowFor Adam and his chosen Sons, whom thouA Saviour art come down to re-install.Where they shall dwell secure, when time shall beOf Tempter and Temptation without fear.But thou, Infernal Serpent, shalt not longRule in the Clouds; like an Autumnal StarOr Lightning thou shalt fall from Heav'n trod downUnder his feet: for proof, e're this thou feel'stThy wound, yet not thy last and deadliest woundBy this repulse receiv'd, and hold'st in HellNo triumph; in all her gates Abaddon ruesThy bold attempt; hereafter learn with aweTo dread the Son of God: he all unarm'dShall chase thee with the terror of his voiceFrom thy Demoniac holds, possession foul,Thee and thy Legions, yelling they shall flye,And beg to hide them in a herd of Swine,Lest he command them down into the deepBound, and to torment sent before thir time.Hail Son of the most High, heir of both worlds,Queller of Satan, on thy glorious workNow enter, and begin to save mankind. Thus they the Son of God our Saviour meekSung Victor, and from Heavenly Feast refreshtBrought on his way with joy; hee unobserv'dHome to his Mothers house private return'd.

The END.

© John Milton