Oh mee! (thus bellow'd he) Oh mee! what great
Portents before mine eyes their powers advance?
And serves my purer sight, onely to beat
Downe my proud thought, and leave it in a trance?
Frowne I: and can great Nature keep her seat?
And the gay starrs lead on their golden dance?
Can His attempts above still prosp'rous be,
Auspicious still, in spight of Hell and me?
XXVII.
Hee has my Heaven (what would He more?) whose bright
And radiant scepter this bold hand should beare:
And for the never-fading fields of light,
My faire inheritance, He confines me here
To this darke house of shades, horrour and night,
To draw a long-liv'd death, where all my cheere
Is the solemnity my sorrow weares,
That mankind's torment waits upon my teares.
XXVIII.
Darke, dusky Man, He needs would single forth,
To make the partner of His Owne pure ray:
And should we powers of Heav'n, spirits of worth,
Bow our bright heads before a king of clay?
It shall not be, said I, and clombe the North,
Where never wing of angell yet made way:
What though I mist my blow? yet I strooke high,
And to dare something, is some victory.
XXIX.
Is He not satisfied? meanes He to wrest
Hell from me too, and sack my territories?
Vile humane nature means He not t' invest
(O my despight!) with His divinest glories?
And rising with rich spoiles upon His brest
With His faire triumphs fill all future stories?
Must the bright armes of Heav'n, rebuke these eyes?
Mocke me, and dazle my darke mysteries?
XXX.
Art thou not Lucifer? he to whom the droves
Of stars that gild the Morne, in charge were given?
The nimblest of the lightning-wingèd loves,
The fairest, and the first-borne smile of Heav'n?
Looke in what pompe the mistrisse planet moves
Rev'rently circled by the lesser seaven:
Such, and so rich, the flames that from thine eyes,
Opprest the common-people of the skyes.