As a poor miserable captive thrall Comes to the place where he before had sat To all the host of Heav'n: the happy place 415 420 425 For lying is thy sustenance, thy food. Yet thou pretend'ft to truth; all oracles 430 By thee are giv'n, and what confefs'd more true 435 Return'd Return'd the wiser, or the more instruct To fly or follow what concern'd him moft, Among them to declare his providence 440 445 To thee not known, whence hast thou then thy truth, In every province? who themselves difdaining Then to thyself ascrib'st the truth foretold. 450 455 At least in vain, for they shall find thee mute. God hath now fent his living oracle 460 Into the world to teach his final will, And fends his Spirit of truth henceforth to dwell In pious hearts, an inward oracle To all truth requifite for men to know. So fpake our Saviour; but the subtle Fiend, 465 Though inly ftung with anger and disdain, Diffembled, and this answer smooth return'd. 470 Sharply thou hast insisted on rebuke, And urg'd me hard with doings, which not will But mifery hath wrested from me: where Eafily canft thou find one miserable, And not enforc'd oft-times to part from truth; If it may ftand him more in ftead to lie, Say and unfay, feign, flatter, or abjure? But thou art plac'd above me, thou art Lord; From thee I can and muft fubmifs indure Check or reproof, and glad to 'scape fo quit. Hard are the ways of truth, and rough to walk, Smooth on the tongue discours'd, pleasing to th' ear, And tuneable as fylvan pipe or fong; What wonder then if I delight to hear Her dictates from thy mouth? most men admire 475 480 Virtue, who follow not her lore: permit me To hear thee when I come (fince no man comes) And talk at least, though I despair to' attain. 485 Thy Father, who is holy, wife and pure, Infpir'd; difdain not such access to me. To whom our Saviour with unalter'd brow. Thy coming hither, though I know thy scope, 490 I bid not or forbid; do as thou find'ft He added not; and Satan bowing low 495 His gray diffimulation, disappear’d Into thin air diffus'd: for now began Night with her fullen wings to double-shade 500 The defert; fowls in their clay nefts were couch'd; And now wild beafts came forth the woods to roam. The end of the First Book. |