by John Dryden
— Pictoribus atque Poetis
Quidlibet audendi semper fuit æqua potestas: ...
Sed non, ut placidis coeant immitia, non ut
Serpentes avibus geminentur, tigribus hædi.
He would have a poem of a piece; not to begin with one thing, and end with another: He restrains it so far, that thoughts of an unlike nature ought not to be joined together. That were indeed to make a chaos. He taxed not Homer, nor the divine Virgil, for interesting their gods in the wars of Troy and Italy; neither, had he now lived, would he have taxed Milton, as our false critics have presumed to do, for his choice of a supernatural argument; but he would have blamed my author, who was a Christian, had he introduced into his poem heathen deities, as Tasso is condemned by Rapin on the like occasion; and as Camoëns, the author of the “Lusiads,” ought to be censured by all his readers, when he brings in Bacchus and Christ into the same adventure of his fable.
From that which has been said, it may be collected, that the definition of wit (which has been so often attempted, and ever unsuccessfully by many poets,) is only this: That it is a propriety of thoughts and words; or, in other terms, thoughts and words elegantly adapted to the subject. If our critics will join issue on this definition, that we may convenire in aliquo tertio; if they will take it as a granted principle, it will be easy to put an end to this dispute. No man will disagree from another’s judgment concerning the dignity of style in heroic poetry; but all reasonable men will conclude it necessary, that sublime subjects ought to be adorned with the sublimest, and consequently often, with the most figurative expressions. In the mean time I will not run into their fault of imposing my opinions on other men, any more than I would my writings on their taste: I have only laid down, and that superficially enough, my present thoughts; and shall be glad to be taught better by those who pretend to reform our poetry.
ACT I.
SCENE I. — Represents a Chaos, or a confused Mass of Matter; the Stage is almost wholly dark: A Symphony of warlike Music is heard for some time; then from the Heavens, (which are opened) fall the rebellious Angels, wheeling in Air, and seeming transfixed with Thunderbolts: The bottom of the Stage being opened, receives the Angels, who fall out of sight. Tunes of Victory are played, and an Hymn sung; Angels discovered above, brandishing their Swords: The Music ceasing, and the Heavens being closed, the Scene shifts, and on a sudden represents Hell: Part of the Scene is a Lake of Brimstone, or rolling Fire; the Earth of a burnt Colour: The fallen Angels appear on the Lake, lying prostrate; a Tune of Horror and Lamentation is heard.
Lucifer, raising himself on the Lake.
Lucif. Is this the seat our conqueror has given?
And this the climate we must change for heaven?
These regions and this realm my wars have got;
This mournful empire is the loser’s lot:
In liquid burnings, or on dry, to dwell,
Is all the sad variety of hell.
But see, the victor has recalled, from far,
The avenging storms, his ministers of war:
His shafts are spent, and his tired thunders sleep,
Nor longer bellow through the boundless deep.
Best take the occasion, and these waves forsake,
While time is given. — Ho, Asmoday, awake,
If thou art he! But ah! how changed from him,
Companion of my arms! how wan! how dim!
How faded all thy glories are! I see
Myself too well, and my own change in thee.
Asm. Prince of the thrones, who in the fields of light
Led’st forth the embattled seraphim to fight;
Who shook the power of heaven’s eternal state,
Had broke it too, if not upheld by fate;
But now those hopes are fled: Thus low we lie,
Shut from his day, and that contended sky,
And lost, as far as heavenly forms can die;
Yet, not all perished: We defy him still,
And yet wage war, with our unconquered will.
Lucif. Strength may return.
Asm. Already of thy virtue I partake,
Erected by thy voice.
Lucif. See on the lake
Our troops, like scattered leaves in autumn, lie;
First let us raise ourselves, and seek the dry,
Perhaps more easy dwelling.
Asm. From the beach
Thy well-known voice the sleeping gods will reach,
And wake the immortal sense, which thunder’s noise
Had quelled, and lightning deep had driven within them.
Lucif. With wings expanded wide, ourselves we’ll rear,
And fly incumbent on the dusky air. —
Hell, thy new lord receive!
Heaven cannot envy me an empire here.[Both fly to dry Land.
Asm. Thus far we have prevailed; if that be gain,
Which is but change of place, not change of pain.
Now summon we the rest.
Lucif. Dominions, Powers, ye chiefs of heaven’s bright host,
(Of heaven, once your’s; but now in battle lost)
Wake from your slumber! Are your beds of down?
Sleep you so easy there? Or fear the frown
Of him who threw you hence, and joys to see
Your abject state confess his victory?
Rise, rise, ere from his battlements he view
Your prostrate postures, and his bolts renew,
To strike you deeper down.
Asm. They wake, they hear,
Shake off their slumber first, and next their fear;
And only for the appointed signal stay.
Lucif. Rise from the flood, and hither wing your way.
Mol. [From the Lake.]
Thine to command; our part is to obey. [The rest of the Devils rise up, and fly to the Land.
Lucif. So, now we are ourselves again an host,
Fit to tempt fate, once more, for what we lost;
To o’erleap the etherial fence, or if so high
We cannot climb, to undermine his sky,
And blow him up, who justly rules us now,
Because more strong: Should he be forced to bow.
The right were ours again: ’Tis just to win
The highest place; to attempt, and fail, is sin.
Mol. Changed as we are, we’re yet from homage free;
We have, by hell, at least gained liberty:
That’s worth our fall; thus low though we are driven,
Better to rule in hell, than serve in heaven.
Lucif. There spoke the better half of Lucifer!
Asm. ’Tis fit in frequent senate we confer,
And then determine how to steer our course;
To wage new war by fraud, or open force.
The doom’s now past; submission were in vain.
Mol. And were it not, such baseness I disdain;
I would not stoop, to purchase all above,
And should contemn a power, whom prayer could move,
As one unworthy to have conquered me.
Beelzebub. Moloch, in that all are resolved, like thee.
The means are unproposed; but ’tis not fit
Our dark divan in public view should sit;
Or what we plot against the Thunderer,
The ignoble crowd of vulgar devils hear.
Luci. A golden palace let be raised on high;
To imitate? No, to outshine the sky!
All mines are ours, and gold above the rest:
Let this be done; and quick as ’twas exprest.
A Palace rises, where sit, as in council, Lucifer, Asmoday, Moloch, Belial, Beelzebub, and Satan.
Most high and mighty lords, who better fell
From heaven, to rise states-general of hell,
Nor yet repent, though ruined and undone,
Our upper provinces already won,
Such pride there is in souls created free,
Such hate of universal monarchy;
Speak, for
we therefore meet:
If peace you chuse, your suffrages declare;
Or means propound, to carry on the war.
Mol. My sentence is for war; that open too:
Unskilled in stratagems, plain force I know:
Treaties are vain to losers; nor would we,
Should heaven grant peace, submit to sovereignty.
We can no caution give we will adore;
And he above is warned to trust no more.
What then remains but battle?
Satan. I agree
With this brave vote; and if in hell there be
Ten more such spirits, heaven is our own again:
We venture nothing, and may all obtain.
Yet who can hope but well, since even success
Makes foes secure, and makes our danger less?
Seraph and cherub, careless of their charge,
And wanton, in full ease now live at large;
Unguarded leave the passes of the sky,
And all dissolved in hallelujahs lie.
Mol. Grant that our hazardous attempt prove vain;
We feel the worst, secured from greater pain:
Perhaps we may provoke the conquering foe
To make us nothing; yet, even then, we know,
That not to be, is not to be in woe.
Belial. That knowledge which, as spirits, we obtain,
Is to be valued in the midst of pain:
Annihilation were to lose heaven more;
We are not quite exiled where thought can soar.
Then cease from arms;
Tempt him not farther to pursue his blow,
And be content to bear those pains we know.
If what we had, we could not keep, much less
Can we regain what those above possess.
Beelzebub. Heaven sleeps not; from one wink a breach would be
In the full circle of eternity.
Long pains, with use of bearing, are half eased;
Heaven, unprovoked, at length may be appeased.
By war we cannot scape our wretched lot;
And may, perhaps, not warring, be forgot.
Asm. Could we repent, or did not heaven well know
Rebellion, once forgiven, would greater grow,
I should, with Belial, chuse ignoble ease;
But neither will the conqueror give peace,
Nor yet so lost in this low state we are,
As to despair of a well-managed war.
Nor need we tempt those heights which angels keep,
Who fear no force, or ambush, from the deep.
What if we find some easier enterprise?
There is a place, — if ancient prophecies
And fame in heaven not err, — the blest abode
Of some new race, called Man, a demi-god,
Whom, near this time, the Almighty must create;
He swore it, shook the heavens, and made it fate.
Lucif. I heard it; through all heaven the rumour ran,
And much the talk of this intended Man:
Of form divine; but less in excellence
Than we; endued with reason lodged in sense:
The soul pure fire, like ours, of equal force;
But, pent in flesh, must issue by discourse:
We see what is; to Man truth must be brought
By sense, and drawn by a long chain of thought:
By that faint light, to will and understand;
For made less knowing, he’s at more command.
Asm. Though heaven be shut, that world, if it be made,
As nearest heaven, lies open to invade:
Man therefore must be known, his strength, his state,
And by what tenure he holds all of fate.
Him let us then seduce, or overthrow;
The first is easiest, and makes heaven his foe.
Advise, if this attempt be worth our care.
Belial. Great is the advantage, great the hazards are.
Some one (but who that task dares undertake?)
Of this new creature must discovery make.
Hell’s brazen gates he first must break, then far
Must wander through old night, and through the war
Of antique chaos; and, when these are past,
Meet heaven’s out-guards, who scout upon the waste:
At every station must be bid to stand,
And forced to answer every strict demand.
Mol. This glorious enterprise — [Rising up.
Lucif. Rash angel, stay; [Rising, and laying his sceptre on Moloch’s head.
That palm is mine, which none shall take away.
Hot braves, like thee, may fight; but know not well
To manage this, the last great stake of hell.
Why am I ranked in state above the rest,
If, while I stand of sovereign power possest,
Another dares, in danger, farther go?
Kings are not made for ease, and pageant-show.
Who would be conqueror, must venture all:
He merits not to rise, who dares not fall.
Asm. The praise, and danger, then, be all your own.
Lucif. On this foundation I erect my throne:
Through brazen gates, vast chaos, and old night,
I’ll force my way, and upwards steer my flight;
Discover this new world, and newer Man;
Make him my footstep to mount heaven again:
Then, in the clemency of upward air,
We’ll scour our spots, and the dire thunder scar,
With all the remnants of the unlucky war,
And once again grow bright, and once again grow fair.
Asm. Meantime the youth of hell strict guard may keep,
And set their centries to the utmost deep,
That no etherial parasite may come
To spy our ills, and tell glad tales at home.
Lucif. Before yon brimstone lake thrice ebb and flow,
(Alas, that we must measure time by woe!)
I shall return, (my mind presages well)
And outward lead the colonies of hell.
Your care I much approve; what time remains,
Seek to forget, at least divert your pains
With sports and music, in the vales and fields,
And whate’erjoy so sad a climate yields.
Betwixt the first Act and the second, while the Chiefs sit in the palace, may be expressed the sports of the Devils; as flights, and dancing in grotesque figures: And a song, expressing the change of their condition; what they enjoyed before, and how they fell bravely in battle, having deserved victory by their valour, and what they would have done if they had conquered.
ACT II.
SCENE 1. — A Champaign Country.
Adam, as newly created, laid on a bed of moss and flowers, by a rock.
Adam. What am I? or from whence? For that I am[Rising.
I know, because I think; but whence I came,
Or how this frame of mine began to be,
What other being can disclose to me?
I move, I see, I speak, discourse, and know;
Though now I am, I was not always so.
Then that, from which I was, must be before,
Whom, as my spring of being, I adore.
How full of ornament is all I view,
In all its parts! and seems as beautiful as new:
O goodly-ordered work! O Power Divine,
Of thee I am, and what I am is thine!
Raphael descends to Adam, in a cloud.
Raphael. First of mankind, made o’er the world to reign,
Whose fruitful loins an unborn kind contain,
Well hast thou reasoned: Of himself is none
But that Eternal Infinite and One,
Who never did begin, who ne’er can end;
On Him all beings, as their source, depend.
We first, who of his image most partake,
Whom he all spirit, immortal, pure, did make
;
Man next; whose race, exalted, must supply
The place of those, who, falling, lost the sky.
Adam. Bright minister of heaven, sent here below
To me, who but begin to think and know;
If such could fall from bliss, who knew and saw,
By near admission, their creator’s law,
What hopes have I, from heaven remote so far,
To keep those laws, unknowing when I err?
Raphael. Right reason’s law to every human heart
The Eternal, as his image, will impart:
This teaches to adore heaven’s Majesty;
In prayer and praise does all devotion lie:
So doing, thou and all thy race are blest.
Adam. Of every creeping thing, of bird, and beast,
I see the kinds: In pairs distinct they go;
The males their loves, their lovers females know:
Thou nam’st a race which must proceed from me,
Yet my whole species in myself I see:
A barren sex, and single, of no use,
But full of forms which I can ne’er produce.
Raphael. Think not the Power, who made thee thus, can find
No way like theirs to propagate thy kind:
Meantime, live happy in thyself alone;
Like him who, single, fills the etherial throne.
To study nature will thy time employ:
Knowledge and innocence are perfect joy.
Adam. If solitude were best, the All-wise above
Had made no creature for himself to love.
I add not to the power he had before;
Yet to make me, extends his goodness more.
He would not be alone, who all things can;
But peopled heaven with angels, earth with man.
Raphael. As man and angels to the Deity,
So all inferior creatures are to thee.
Heaven’s greatness no society can bear;
Servants he made, and those thou want’st not here.
Adam. Why did he reason in my soul implant,
And speech, the effect of reason? To the mute,
My speech is lost; my reason to the brute.
Love and society more blessings bring
To them, the slaves, than power to me, their king.
Raphael. Thus far to try thee; but to heaven ’twas known,
It was not best for man to be alone;
An equal, yet thy subject, is designed,
For thy soft hours, and to unbend thy mind.
Thy stronger soul shall her weak reason sway;
And thou, through love, her beauty shalt obey;
Thou shalt secure her helpless sex from harms,
And she thy cares shall sweeten with her charms.