Why pause ye now? to your infernal reeds
And pipes of hoarest sound, with pitch cemented,
And various instruments of discord,

Now let the hand, and lip be quick applied!
Behold how triumph now to us returns,
As rightly he foretold

Our Stygian Emperor! Spread to the wind
Your fluttering banners! Oh thou festive day
To hell of glory! and to heav'n of shame!

SCENE THE FOURTH.

SERPENT, VAIN GLORY, SATAN, VOLANO, and SPIRITS.

Serpent. To pleasures, and to joys,
Ye formidable dark sulphurious Warriors!
Let fame to heav'n now on her raven plumes
Direct her rapid flight,

Of Man's completed crime

The mournful messenger.

Satan. Behold! again expanded in the air

Th' insignia of hell!

Hear now the sounds of triumph,

And voices without number

That raise to heav'n the shout of victory!

Serpent. Lo, I return, ye Spirits of Avernus,
And as I promis'd, a proud conqueror !

Lo, to these deep infernal realms of darkness
I bring transcendent light, transcendent joy,
Thanks to my fortitude, which from that giant
Now wretched, and in tears,

Forc'd his aspiring crown, of fragile glass;
And thanks to her, this martial heroine,
Vain Glory, whom to my proud heart I press.

Satan. The torrent hastes not to the sea so rapid, Nor yet so rapid in the realm of fire

Flashes kindle, and die,

As the quick circling hours

Of good, are join❜d to evil

In life's corrupted state ;

The work of my great Lord, nor less the work

Of thee, great Goddess of the scene condemn'd;
Up, up with homage quick

To shew ourselves of both the blest adorers!

Serpent. Now, from their bended knees let all

arise,

And to increase our joys

Let thy glad song, Canoro,

Now memorize the prosperous toil of hell.

Canoro. Happy Canoro, rais'd to matchless bliss,

Since tis thy lot to speak

The prosperous exploits of Lucifer,

Behold! I bend the knee,

And sing thy triumph in a joyous strain.
Behold! the glorious triumph
Of that unconquer'd power,
Who every power surpasses,

The mighty monarch of the deadly realm.

Now raise the tumid form

Avernus, banish grief;

Man is involv'd in snares,

And death is glutted with his frail existence.

This is the potent, brave,

And antient enemy

Of man, the dauntless foe,

And dread destroyer of the starry court.

No more contentment dwell

In the terrestrial seat:

Thou moon, and sun, be darken'd,

And every element to chaos turn!
Man is at length subdued;

From a corrupted source,

A weak, and hapless offspring,

Thanks to the fruit, his progeny shall prove.

To that exalted seat

By destiny our due,

Can deaths vile prey ascend,

Who now lies prostrate at the feet of hell?

Serpent. Silence, no more! now in superior joys

Ye quick and flutt'ring spirits,

Now, now, your wings expand,
And active in your pleasure,

Weave a delightful dance!

SCENE THE FIFTH.

A Chorus of SPRIGHTS in the shape of ANTICS, SERPENT, SATAN, VOLAN, CANORO, VAIN GLORY, and SPIRITS.

To thee behold us flying,

Round thee behold us sporting,

O monarch of Avernus!

To recreate thy heart in joyous dance!
Come let us dance, happy and light,
Ye little Sprights;

Man was of flesh, now all of dust,

Such is the will of hideous death;
A blessed lot

No more is his, wretched in all,

Now let us weave, joyous and dancing,

Ties as many,

As now hells

prosperous Chieftain

Spreads around man, who weeps, and wails,
And now lifeless,

Is almost render'd by his anguish.
Enjoy, enjoy in fragile vesture

Man O heaven;

Stygian Serpent has o'erwhelm'd him,
Wherefore let each dance in triumph,
Full of glory,

Since our king has prov'd victorious.

But, what think'st thou ? heav'n in sorrow
On the sudden

He will spring to scenes celestial;

And he there will wreck his vengeance

On the Godhead

That is now in heav'n so troubled.

Serpent. Ah what lofty sounding trumpets

Thro' the extensive fields of heav'n rebellow?

Vain Glory. Ah from my triumph, now I fall to

hell

Thro' subterraneous scenes exhaling fire,

With all my fatal pomp at once I sink !

Serpent. And I alas! am plunging

With thee to deepest horror!

Satan. Avoid, avoid companions

This unexpected lustre ;

That brings alas to us a night of horror!

Volano. Alas, why should we tarry? Fly all, O fly with speed