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Nor sleeping him nor waking harm'd; his walk
The fiery serpent fled, and noxious worm,
The lion and fierce tiger glar'd aloof.

But now an aged man in rural weeds,

Following, as seem'd, the quest of some stray ewe, 315
Or wither'd sticks to gather, which might serve
Against a winter's day, when winds blow keen,
To warm him wet return'd from field at eve,

He saw approach, who first with curious eye
Perus'd him, then with words thus uttered spake. 320
"Sir, what ill chance hath brought thee to this place
So far from path or road of men, who pass

In troop or caravan? for single none

Durst ever, who return'd, and dropt not here

His carcase, pin'd with hunger and with drouth. 325

I ask the rather, and the more admire,

For that to me thou seem'st the man, whom late

Our new baptizing Prophet at the ford

Of Jordan honour'd so, and call'd thee Son

Of God: I saw and heard, for we sometimes

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Who dwell this wild, constrain'd by want, come forth To town or village nigh, (nighest is far,)

Where aught we hear, and curious are to hear,
What happens new; fame also finds us out."

To whom the Son of God. "Who brought me hither,

Will bring me hence; no other guide I seek." "By miracle he may," reply'd the swain,

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"What other way I see not; for we here

Live on tough roots and stubs, to thirst inur'd

More than the camel, and to drink go far,

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Men to much misery and hardship born:

But, if thou be the Son of God, command

That out of these hard stones be made thee bread,

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So shalt thou save thyself, and us relieve With food, whereof we wretched seldom taste." He ended, and the Son of God reply'd. "Think'st thou such force in bread? Is it not written, (For I discern thee other than thou seem'st,) Man lives not by bread only, but each word Proceeding from the mouth of God, who fed

350

Our fathers here with manna? in the mount
Moses was forty days, nor eat, nor drank;
And forty days Elijah, without food,
Wander'd this barren waste; the same I now:
Why dost thou then suggest to me distrust,
Knowing who I am, as I know who thou art?"
Whom thus answer'd the Arch-Fiend, now undis-

guis'd.

""Tis true, I am that Spirit unfortunate,

Who, leagu'd with millions more in rash revolt,
Kept not my happy station, but was driv'n
With them from bliss to the bottomless deep,
Yet to that hideous place not so confin'd
By rigour unconniving, but that oft,
Leaving my dolorous prison, I enjoy

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Large liberty to round this globe of earth,

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Or range in th' air; nor from the Heav'n of Heav'ns Hath he excluded my resort sometimes.

I came among the Sons of God, when he
Gave up into my hands Uzzean Job

To prove him, and illustrate his high worth;
And, when to all his Angels he propos'd
To draw the proud king Ahab into fraud
That he might fall in Ramoth, they demurring,
I undertook that office, and the tongues
Of all his flattering prophets glibb'd with lies
To his destruction, as I had in charge;
For what he bids I do. Though I have lost
Much lustre of my native brightness, lost
To be belov'd of God, I have not lost
To love, at least contemplate and admire,
What I see excellent in good, or fair,

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Or virtuous; I should so have lost all sense:
What can be then less in me than desire

To see thee and approach thee, whom I know
Declar'd the Son of God, to hear attent
Thy wisdom, and behold thy godlike deeds?
Men generally think me much a foe

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To all mankind: why should I? they to me
Never did wrong or violence; by them

I lost not what I lost, rather by them

I gain'd what I have gain'd, and with them dwell,
Copartner in these regions of the world,
If not disposer; lend them oft my aid,
Oft my advice by presages and signs,
And answers, oracles, portents, and dreams,
Whereby they may direct their future life.
Envy they say excites me, thus to gain
Companions of my misery and woe.

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At first it may be; but, long since with woe
Nearer acquainted, now I feel, by proof,
That fellowship in pain divides not smart,
Nor lightens aught each man's peculiar load.

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Small consolation then, were man adjoin'd:

This wounds me most, (what can it less ?) that man, Man fall'n shall be restor❜d, I never more."

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To whom our Saviour sternly thus reply'd. · "Deservedly thou griev'st, compos'd of lies From the beginning, and in lies wilt end;

Who boast'st release from Hell, and leave to come
Into the Heav'n of Heav'ns: thou com❜st indeed, 410
As a poor miserable captive thrall

Comes to the place where he before had sat
Among the prime in splendour, now depos'd,
Ejected, emptied, gaz'd, unpitied, shunn'd,
A spectacle of ruin, or of scorn,

To all the host of Heav'n: the happy place
Imparts to thee no happiness, no joy;
Rather inflames thy torment; representing
Lost bliss, to thee no more communicable,
So never more in Hell than when in Heav'n.
But thou art serviceable to Heav'n's King.
Wilt thou impute to❜ obedience what thy fear
Extorts, or pleasure to do ill excites?
What but thy malice mov'd thee to misdeem
Of righteous Job, then cruelly to' afflict him
With all inflictions? but his patience won.
The other service was thy chosen task,
To be a liar in four hundred mouths;
For lying is thy sustenance, thy food.

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420

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430

Yet thou pretend'st to truth; all oracles
By thee are giv'n, and what confess'd more true
Among the nations? that hath been thy craft,
By mixing somewhat true to vent more lies.
But what have been thy answers, what but dark,
Ambiguous, and with double sense deluding,
Which they who ask'd have seldom understood,
And not well understood as good not known?
Who ever by consulting at thy shrine
Return'd the wiser, or the more instruct,
To fly or follow what concern'd him most,
And run not sooner to his fatal snare?
For God hath justly giv'n the nations up
To thy delusions; justly, since they fell
Idolatrous: but, when his purpose is
Among them to declare his providence

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To thee not known, whence hast thou then thy truth,
But from him, or his Angels president

In every province? who, themselves disdaining
T'approach thy temples, give thee in command
What, to the smallest tittle, thou shalt say
To thy adorers? thou, with trembling fear,
Or like a fawning parasite, obey'st;
Then to thyself ascrib'st the truth foretold.
But this thy glory shall be soon retrench'd;
No more shalt thou by oracling abuse

The Gentiles; henceforth oracles are ceas'd,
And thou no more with pomp and sacrifice
Shall be inquir'd at Delphos, or elsewhere;
At least in vain, for they shall find thee mute.
God hath now sent his living oracle

Into the world to teach his final will,

And sends his Spi'rit of truth henceforth to dwell
In pious hearts, an inward oracle

To all truth requisite for men to know."

So spake our Saviour; but the subtle Fiend,
Though inly stung with anger and disdain,
Dissembled, and this answer smooth return'd.
"Sharply thou hast insisted on rebuke,
And urg'd me hard with doings, which not will

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460

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But misery hath wrested from me. Where
Easily canst thou find one miserable,
And not enfore'd oft-times to part from truth,
If it may stand him more in stead to lie,
Say and unsay, feign, flatter, or abjure,
But thou art plae'd above me, thou art Lord;
From thee I can, and must submiss, endure
Check or reproof, and glad to 'scape so quit.
Hard are the ways of truth, and rough to walk;
Smooth on the tongue discours'd, pleasing to th' ear,
And tuneable as sylvan pipe or song;
What wonder then if I delight to hear

Her dietates from thy mouth? most men admire
Virtue, who follow not her lore: permit me

480

To hear thee when I come, (since no man comes,)
And talk at least, though I despair to' attain. 485
Thy father, who is holy, wise, and pure,
Suffers the hypocrite or atheous priest
To tread his sacred courts, and minister
About his altar, handling holy things,
Praying or vowing; and vouchsaf'd his voice
To Balaam reprobate, a prophet yet
Inspir'd: disdain not such access to me."

To whom our Saviour, with unalter'd brow.
"Thy coming hither, though I know thy scope,
I bid not, or forbid; do as thou find'st
Permission from above; thou canst not more."

He added not; and Satan, bowing low

His gray dissimulation, disappear'd

Into thin air diffus'd: for now began

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495

Night with her sullen wings to double-shade

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The desert; fowls in their clay nests were couch'd;
And now wild beasts came forth the woods to roam.

END OF THE FIRST BOOK.

Vol. II.

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