REGAI N'D.

BOOK III.

S

O spake the Son of God, and Satan ftood A while as mute confounded what to say, What to reply, confuted and convinc'd Of his weak arguing, and fallacious drift; At length collecting all his serpent wiles, With foothing words renew'd, him thus accofls. I fee thou know'ft what is of use to know, What best to say canst say, to do canst do; Thy actions to thy words accord, thy words To thy large heart give utterance due, thy heart 10 Contains of good, wife, juft, the perfect shape.

Should kings and nations from thy mouth consult,
Thy counfel would be as the oracle

Urim and Thummim, thofe oraculous gems
On Aaron's breaft; or tongue of feers old
Infallible: or wert thou fought to deeds

That might require th' array of war, thy fkill

Of conduct would be such, that all the world

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Could

Could not sustain thy prowess, or subsist
In battel, though against thy few in arms.
These God-like virtues wherefore doft thou hide,
Affecting private life, or more obscure
In favage wilderness? wherefore deprive
All earth her wonder at thy acts, thyfelf
The fame and glory, glory the reward
That fole excites to high attempts, the flame
Of most erected spi'rits, most temper'd pure
Ethereal, who all pleasures elfe despise,
All treasures and all gain esteem as dross,
And dignities and pow'rs all but the highest?
Thy years are ripe, and over-ripe; the fon
Of Macedonian Philip had ere these

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Won Asia, and the throne of Cyrus held
At his difpofe; young Scipio had brought down
The Carthaginian pride; young Pompey quell'd 35
The Pontic king, and in triumph had rode.
Yet years, and to ripe years judgment mature,
Quench not the thirst of glory, but augment.
Great Julius, whom now all the world admires,
The more he grew in years, the more inflam'd
With glory, wept that he had liv'd so long
Inglorious: but thou yet art not too late.

To whom our Saviour calmly thus reply'd.
Thou neither dost persuade me to seek wealth
For empire's fake, nor empire to affect
For glory's fake by all thy argument.

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For

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For what is glory but the blaze of fame,
The peoples praise, if always praise unmix'd?
And what the people but a herd confus'd,
A miscellaneous rabble, who extol
(praise?
Things vulgar, and well weigh'd, scarce worth the
They praise, and they admire they know not what,
And know not whom, but as one leads the other;
And what delight to be by such extoll'd,
To live upon their tongues and be their talk,
Of whom to be disprais'd were no small praise?
His lot who dares be fingularly good.
Th' intelligent among them and the wife
Are few, and glory scarce of few is rais'd.
This is true glory and renown, when God
Looking on th' earth, with approbation marks
The juft man, and divulges him through Heaven
To all his Angels, who with true applause
Recount his praises: thus he did to Job,
When to extend his fame through Heav'n and Earth,
As thou to thy reproach may'st well remember, 66
He afk'd thee, Haft thou seen my fervant Job?
Famous he was in Heav'n, on Earth lefs known;
Where glory is false glory, attributed

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Large countries, and in field great battels win,
Great cities by affault: what do these worthies,

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To things not glorious, men not worthy' of fame. 70
They err who count it glorious to fubdue

By conqueft far and wide, to over-run

But