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But what if hee our conquerour, (whom I now
Of force beleive Almighty, since no lesse
Then such could have orepowr'd such force as ours)
Have left us this our spirit, and strength intire
Strongly to suffer and support our pains,
That wee may so suffice his vengefull ire
Or doe him mightier service as his thralls
By right of warr, what e're his buis'nesse bee 150
Here in the heart of Hell to work in fire,
Or doe his errands in the gloomy deep,
What can it then availe though yet wee feele
Strength undiminish'd, or eternall being
To undergoe eternall punishment?
Where to with speedy words th' Arch-fiend reply'd.
Fall'n Cherube, to bee weak is miserable
Doing or suffering: but of this be sure
To do aught good never will bee our task,
But ever to doe ill our sole delight, 160
As being the contrary to his high will
Whom wee resist. If then his providence
Out of our evill seek to bring forth good,
Our labour must be to pervert that end,
And out of good still to find means of evill,