But men endu'd with thefe have oft attain'd
In lowest poverty to highest deeds;
Gideon, and Jephtha, and the fhepherd lad,
Whofe offspring on the throne of Judah fat
So many ages, and shall yet regain
That feat, and reign in Ifrael without end.
Among the Heathen, (for throughout the world
To me is not unknown what hath been done
Worthy of memorial) canft thou not remember
Quintius, Fabricius, Curius, Regulus?
For I efteem thofe names of men so poor
Who could do mighty things, and could contemn
Riches, though offer'd from the hand of kings.
And what in me feems wanting, but that I
May alfo in this poverty as foon

Accomplish what they did, perhaps, and more?
Extol not riches then, the toil of fools,

The wife man's cumbrance, if not fnare, more apt
To flacken virtue, and abate her edge,

1 Than prompt her to do aught may merit praise."
What if with like adverfion I reject

Riches and realms; yet not for that a crown,

Golden in fhow, is but a wreath of thorns,

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Brings dangers, troubles, cares, and fleepless nights,

To him who wears the regal diadem,

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When on his shoulders each man's burthen lies;

For therein ftands the office of a king,

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His honour, virtue, merit, and chief praise,
That for the public all this weight he bears.
Yet he who reigns within himself, and rules
#Paffions, defires, and fears, is more a king ;

Which every wife and virtuous man attains :
And who attains not, ill afpires to rule
Cities of men, or headstrong multitudes,
Subject himself to anarchy within,

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Or lawless paffions in him which he serves.
But to guide nations in the way of truth

By faving doctrine, and from error lead

To know, and knowing, worship God aright,
Is yet more kingly: this attracts the foul,

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VOL. II.

I

Governs the inner man, the nobler part;
That other o'er the body only reigns,
And oft by force, which to a generous mind
So reigning can be no fincere delight.
Besides, to give a kingdom hath been thought
Greater and nobler done, and to lay down
Far more magnanimous than to assume.
Riches are needless then, both for themselves,
And for thy reason why they should be fought,
To gain a fceptre, ofteft better miss'd,

THE END OF THE SECOND BOOK.

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PARADISE REGAIN'D.

BOOK III.

So fpake 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 ferpent wiles,
With foothing words renew'd, him thus accosts :
I fee thou know'ft what is of ufe to know,
What beft to fay canft fay, to do can't do ;
Thy actions to thy words accord, thy words
To thy large heart give utterance due, thy heart
Contains of good, wise, juft, the perfect shape.
Should kings and nations from thy mouth consult,
Thy council 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 skill
Of conduct would be fuch, that all the world
Could not fuftain thy prowess, or fubfist
In battle, though against thy few in arms.
Thefe God-like virtues wherefore doft thou hide,
Affecting private life, or more obfcure

In favage wilderness? wherefore deprive

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All earth her wonder at thy acts, thyself
The fame and glory, glory the reward
That fole excites to high attempts, the flame
Of moft erected fpirits, moft temper'd pure
Ethereal, who all pleasures else despise,
All treasures and all gain efteem as drofs,
And dignities and powers all but the highest ?
Thy years are ripe, and over-ripe; the fon
Of Macedonian Philip had ere thele

Won Afia, and the throne of Cyrus held

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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 thirft 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 fo long
Inglorious but thou yet art not too late.

To whom our Saviour calmly thus reply'd:
Thou neither doft perfuade me to feek wealth
For empire's fake, nor empire to affect
For glory's fake, by all thy argument.
For what is glory but the blaze of fame,
The people's praife, if always praise unmix'd?
And what the people but a herd confus'd,
A mifcellaneous rabble, who extol
Things vulgar, and, well weigh'd, fcarce worth the
They praife, and they admire they known 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 difprais'd were no fmall praife?
His lot who dares be fingularly good.

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[praife?

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Th' intelligent among them and the wife
Are few, and glory icarce of few is rais'd.
This is true glory and renown, when God,
Looking on th' earth, with approbation marks
The jutt man, and divulges him through heav'n
To all his angels, who with true applaufe

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Recount his praifes: thus he did to Job,

When, to extend his fame through heav'n and earth,
As thou to thy reproach may'ft well remember,
He afk'd thee, Haft thou feen my fervant Job?
Famous he was in heav'n, on earth lefs known;
Where glory is falfe glory attributed

To things not glorious, men not worthy of fame.
They err who count it glorious to fubdue
By conqueft far and wide, to over-run

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Large countries, and in field great battles win,
Great cities by affault: what do thefe worthies,
But rob and spoil, burn, flaughter, and enslave
Peaceable nations, neighb'ring or remote,
Made captive, yet deferving freedom more
Than thofe their conquerors, who leave behind
Nothing but ruin wherefoe'er they rove,
And all the flourishing works of peace deftroy,
Then fwell with pride, and muft be titled Gods,
Great benefactors of mankind, deliverers,
Worshipt with temple, priest, and sacrifice ?
One is the fon of Jove, of Mars the other;
Till conquer'd Death discover them fcarce men
Rolling in brutish vices, and deform'd,
Violent or fhameful death their due reward.
But if there be in glory ought of good,
It may by means far different be attain'd,
Without ambition, war, or violence;
By deeds of peace, by wisdom eminent,
By patience, temperance: I mention still
Him whom thy wrongs, with faintly patience borne,
Made famous in a land and times obicure;

Who names not now with honour patient Job?

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Poor Socrates, (who next more memorable ?)
By what he taught, and fuffer'd for fo doing,
For truth's fake fuffering death unjust, lives now
Equal in fame to proudest conquerors.
Yet if for fame and glory aught be done,
Aught fuffer'd; if young African for fame
His wafted country freed from Punic rage,

The deed becomes unprais'd, the man at least,

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And lofes, though but verbal, his reward.
Shall I feek glory then, as vain men feek,
Oft not deferv'd? I feek not mine, but his
Who fent me, and thereby witness whence I am.
To whom the Tempter murm'ring thus reply'd:
Think not fo flight of glory; therein least
Refembling thy great Father: he feeks glory,
And for his glory all things made, all things
Orders and governs; nor content in heav'n,
By all his angels glorify'd, requires

Glory from men, from all men, good or bad,
Wife or unwife, no difference, no exemption;
Above all facrifice, or hollow'd gift,
Glory he requires, and glory he receives
Promiscuous from all nations, Jew, or Greek,
Or barbarous, nor exception hath declar'd;
From us his foes pronounc'd glory he exacts.~

To whom our Saviour fervently reply'd :
And reafon, fince his word all things produc'd,
Though chiefly not for glory as prime end,
But to fhow forth his goodness, and impart
His good communicable to every foul
Freely; of whom what could he lefs expect
Than glory and benediction, that is, thanks,
The flighteft, eafieft, readieft recompence

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From them who could return him nothing else,
And not returning that, would likelieft render
Contempt instead, difhonour, obloquy?

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Hard recompence, unfuitable return

For fo much good, fo much beneficence.

But why (hould man feek glory, who of his own

Hath nothing, and to whom nothing belongs,

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But condemnation, ignominy', and shame ?
Who, for fo many benefits receiv'd,
Turn'd recreant to God, ingrate and falfe, ́
And fo of all true good himself defpoil'd;
Yet facrilegious, to himself would take
That which to God alone of right belongs;
Yet fo much bounty is in God, fuch grace,

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