Book i. Paradiſe loſt.
So Satan ſpake, and him BeelzebubThus anſwer’d. Wader of thoſe Armies bright,Which but th’ Omnipotent none could have foyld.If once they hear that voyce, their livelieſt pledgeOf hope in fears and dangers, heard ſo oftIn worſt extreams, and on the perilous edgeOf battel when it rag'd, in all aſſaultsTheir ſureft ſignal, they will ſoon reſumeNew courage and revive, though now they lye280Groveling 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 FiendWas moving toward the ſhore; his ponderous ſhieldEthereal temper, maſſy, large and round.Behind him caſt the broad circumferenceHung on his ſhoulders like the Moon, whoſe OrbThrough Optic Glaſs the Tuſcan Artiſt viewsAt Ev’ning from the top of Feſole290 Or in Valdarno, to deſcry new Lands,Rovers or Mountains in her ſpotty Globe.His Spear, to equal which the tailed PineHewn on Norwegian hills, to be the MadOf ſome great Ammiral, were’ but a wand.He walkt with to ſupport uneaſie ſtepsOver the burning Marie, not like thoſe ſtepsOn Heavens Azure, and the torrid ClimeSmote on him fore beſides, vaulted with Fire;Nathleſs he ſo endur’d, till on the Beach300 Of that inflamed Sea, he dood and call'dHis Legions, Angel Forms, who lay intrans'tThick as Autumnal Leaves that draw the Brooks
In
