This said, he sat; and expectation held His look suspence, awaiting who appeer'd To second, or oppose, or undertake The perilous attempt: but all sat mute, Pondering the danger with deep thoughts; & each In others count'nance red his own dismay Astonisht: none among the choice and prime Of those Heav'n-warring Champions could be found So hardie as to proffer or accept Alone the dreadful voyage; till at last SATAN, whom now transcendent glory rais'd Above his fellows, with Monarchal pride Conscious of highest worth, unmov'd thus spake.

O Progeny of Heav'n, Empyreal Thrones, With reason hath deep silence and demurr Seis'd us, though undismaid: long is the way And hard, that out of Hell leads up to Light; Our prison strong, this huge convex of Fire, Outrageous to devour, immures us round Ninefold, and gates of burning Adamant Barr'd over us prohibit all egress.

These past, if any pass, the void profound Of unessential Night receives him next Wide gaping, and with utter loss of being Threatens him, plung'd in that abortive gulf.

If thence he scape into what ever world, Or unknown Region, what remains him less Then unknown dangers and as hard escape.

But I should ill become this Throne, O Peers, And this Imperial Sov'ranty, adorn'd With splendor, arm'd with power, if aught propos'd And judg'd of public moment, in the shape Of difficulty or danger could deterre Me from attempting.