But what your father never would have done,
You cherish the remains of Troy;
And, by an ill-timed pity, keep alive
The dying embers of a ten-years' war.
Have you so soon forgot the mighty Hector?
The Greeks remember his high brandish'd sword,
That fill'd their states with widows and with orphans;
For which they call for vengeance on his son.
Who knows what he may one day prove? Who knows
But he may brave us in our ports; and, fill'd
With Hector's fury, set our fleets on blaze?
You may yourself live to repent your mercy.
Comply, then, with the Grecians' just demands :
Satiate their vengeance, and preserve yourself:
Pyrr. The Greeks are for my safety more concern'd
Than I desire. I thought your kings were met
On more important counsel. When I heard
The name of their embassador, I hop'd
Some glorious enterprise was taking birth.
Is Agamemnon's son dispatch'd for this?
And do the Grecian chiefs, renown'd in war,
A race of heroes, join in close debate
To plot an infant's death ?-What right has Greece
To ask his life! must I, must I alone, g
Of all her scepter'd warriors, be deny'd
To treat my captive as I please! Know, prince,
When Troy lay smoking on the ground, and each
Proud victor shar'd the harvest of the war,
Andromache, and this her son, were mine;
Were mine by lot! and who shall wrest them from me? Ulysses bore away old Priam's queen ;
Cassandra was your own great father's prize:
Did I concern myself in what they won?
Did I send embassies to claim their captives?
Orestes. But, sir, we fear for you and for ourselves.
Troy may again revive, and a new Hector
Rise in Astyanax. Then think betimes
Pyrrhus. Let dastard, souls be timorously wise: But tell them, Pyrrhus knows not how to form
Far-fancy'd ills, and dangers out of sight.
Ores. Sir, call to mind the unrivall'd strength of Troy;
Her walls, her bulwarks, and her gates of brass;
Her kings, her heroes, and embattled armies!
Pyrrhus. I call them all to mind; and see them all Confus'd in dust; all mix'd in one wide ruin; All but a child, and he in bondage held. What vengeance can we fear from such a Troy? If they have sworn to extinguish Hector's race, Why was their vow for twelve long months deferr'd? Why was he not in Priam's bosom slain?
He should have fall'n among the slaughter'd heaps
Whelm'd under Troy. His death had then been just,
When age with infancy, alike in vain
Pleaded their weakness; when the heat of conquest,
And horrors of the fight, rous'd all our rage,
And blindly hurry'd us through scenes of death.
My fury then was without bounds: but now,
My wrath appeas'd, must I be cruel still,
And, deaf to all the tender calls of pity,
Like a cool murderer, bathe my hands in blood-
An infant's blood?-No, prince-Go, bid the Greeks
Mark out some other victim; my revenge
Has had its fill. What has escap'd from Troy
Shall not be sav'd to perish in Epirus.
Orestes. I need not tell you, sir, Astyanax
Was doom'd to death in Troy; nor mention how
The crafty mother sav'd her darling son:
The Greeks do now but urge their former sentence:
Nor is 't the boy, but Hector they pursue;
The father draws the vengeance on the son:
The father, who so oft in Grecian blood
Has drench'd his sword: the father, whom the Greeks · May seek even here.-Prevent them, sir, in time. Pyrrhus. No! let them come; since I was born to
Let them now turn their arms
On him, who conquer'd for them: let them come,
And in Epirus seek another Troy.
'Twas thus they recompens'd my godlike sire;
Thus was Achilles thank'd. But, prince, remember, Their black ingratitude then cost them dear.
Orestes. Shall Greece then find a rebel son in Pyrrhus? Pyrrhus. Have I then conquer'd to depend on Greece? Orestes. Hermione will sway your soul to peace, And mediate 'twixt your father and yourself: Her beauty will enforce my embassy.
Pyrrhus. Hermione may have her charms, and I
May love her still, tho' not her father's slave.
I may in time give proofs that I am a lover;
But never must forget that I am a king.
Meanwhile, sir, you may see fair Helen's daughter:
I know how near in blood you stand ally'd.
That done, you have my answer, prince. The Greeks,
No doubt, expect your quick return.
XIX. Satan's speech to his Angels at the opening the debate in Pandemonium.
Pow'ns and dominions! deities of heaven!
For (since no deep within her gulph can hold
Celestial vigour, though opprest and fallen)
I give not heav'n for lost. From this descent
Celestial virtues rising will appear
More glorious, and more dread, than from no fall,
And trust themselves to fear no second fate.
Me though just right, and the fix'd laws of heav'n,
Did first create your leader, next free choice,
With what beside, in council, or in fight,
Hath been achiev'd of merit; yet this loss
Thus far, at least, recover'd, hath much more
Establish'd in a safe, un-envied throne
Yielded with full consent. The happier state
In heav'n, which follows dignity, might draw
Envy from each inferior; but who here
Will envy whom the highest place exposes
Foremost to stand against the thund'rer's aim
Your bulwark, and condemns to greatest share
́Of endless pain. With this advantage then
To union and firm faith, and firm accord,
More than can be in heav'n, we now return
To claim our just inheritance of old,
Surer to prosper, than prosperity
Could have assur'd us, and by what best way,
Whether of open war, or covert guile,
We now debate. Who can advise, may speak,
XX. Moloch's oration for war.
My sentence is for open war: of wiles,
More unexpert, I boast not: them let those
Contrive who need; or when they need; not now.
For while they sit contriving, shall the rest,
Millions that stand in arms, and longing wait
The signal to ascend, sit ling'ring here
Heav'n's fugitives, and for their dwelling-place-
Accept this dark opprobrious den of shame,
The prison of his tyranny who reigns
By our delay! No,-let us rather choose,
Arm'd with hell flames and fury, all at once
O'er heav'n's high tow'rs to force resistless way,
Turning our tortures into horrid arms
Against the torturer; when to meet the noise
Of his almighty engine he shall hear
Infernal thunder; and, for lightning, sec
Black fire and horror shot with equal rage
Among his angels: and his throne itself
Mix'd with Tartarean sulphur, and strange fire,
His own invented torments.-But perhaps
The way seems difficult, and steep to scale
With upright wing against a higher foc.
Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench
Of that forgetful lake benumb not still,
That in our proper motion we ascend
Up to our native seat: descent and fall
To us is adverse. Who but felt of late
When the fierce foc hung on our broken rear
Insulting, and pursu'd us through the deep,
With what compulsion and laborious flight
We sunk thus low?-Th' ascent is easy then:
Th' event is fear'd:-should we again provoke
Our stronger, some worse way his wrath may find
To our destruction; if there be in hell
Fear to be worse destroy'd.-What can be worse
Than to dwell here, driv'n out from bliss, condemn'd
In this abhorred deep to utter woe;
Where pain of unextinguishable fire
Must exercise us without hope of end,
The vassals of his anger, when the scourge
Inexorable, and the torturing hour
Call us to penance?-More destroy'd than thus,
We should be quite abolish'd, and expire.
What fear we then?-what doubt we to incense
His utmost ire? which, to the height enrag'd,
Will either quite consume us, and reduce
To nothing this essential; happier far,
Than miserable to have eternal being;
Or if our substance be indeed divine,
And cannot cease to be, we are, at worst,
On this side nothing; and by proof we feel
Our pow'r sufficient to disturb his heaven,
And with perpetual inroad to alarm,
Though inaccessible, his fatal throne;
Which, if not victory, is yet revenge.
The speech of Belial dissuading war.
I SHOULD be much for open war, O peers,
As not behind in hate, if what were urg'd
Main reason to persuade immediate war,
Did not dissuade me more, and seem to cast
Ominous conjecture on the whole success;
When he who most excels in fact of arms,
In what he counsels, and in what excels,
Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair,
And utter dissolution, as the scope
Of all his aim, after some dire revenge.
First, what revenge?-The tow'rs of heav'n are fill'd
With armed watch, that render all access
Impregnable: oft on the bord'ring deep
Encamp their legions: or, with obscure wing,
Scout far and wide into the realms of night,
Scorning surprise.-Or could we break our way.
By force, and at our heels, all hell should rise
With blackest insurrection, to confound
Heav'n's purest light; yet our great enemy,
All incorruptible, would, on his throne,
Sit unpolluted; and th' etherial mould,
Incapable of stain, would soon expel
Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire,
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