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Crowns inwove with Amarant and Gold,

       Immortal Amarant, a Flour which once

       In Paradise, fast by the Tree of Life

       Began to bloom, but soon for mans offence

       To Heav’n remov’d where first it grew, there grows,

       And flours aloft shading the Fount of Life,

       And where the river of Bliss through midst of Heavn

       Rowls o’re Elisian Flours her Amber stream; With these that never fade the Spirits Elect Bind thir resplendent locks inwreath’d with beams, Now in loose Garlands thick thrown off, the bright Pavement that like a Sea of Jasper shon Impurpl’d with Celestial Roses smil’d. Then Crown’d again thir gold’n Harps they took, Harps ever tun’d, that glittering by their side Like Quivers hung, and with Praeamble sweet Of charming symphonie they introduce Thir sacred Song, and waken raptures high; No voice exempt, no voice but well could joine Melodious part, such concord is in Heav’n.

      Thee Father first they sung Omnipotent,

       Immutable, Immortal, Infinite,

       Eternal King; thee Author of all being,

       Fountain of Light, thy self invisible

       Amidst the glorious brightness where thou sit’st

       Thron’d inaccessible, but when thou shad’st

       The full blaze of thy beams, and through a cloud

       Drawn round about thee like a radiant Shrine,

       Dark with excessive bright thy skirts appeer,

       Yet dazle Heav’n, that brightest Seraphim

       Approach not, but with both wings veil thir eyes.

       Thee next they sang of all Creation first,

       Begotten Son, Divine Similitude,

       In whose conspicuous count’nance, without cloud

       Made visible, th’ Almighty Father shines,

       Whom else no Creature can behold; on thee

       Impresst the effulgence of his Glorie abides,

       Transfus’d on thee his ample Spirit rests.

       Hee Heav’n of Heavens and all the Powers therein

       By thee created, and by thee threw down

       Th’ aspiring Dominations: thou that day

       Thy Fathers dreadful Thunder didst not spare,

       Nor stop thy flaming Chariot wheels, that shook

       Heav’ns everlasting Frame, while o’re the necks

       Thou drov’st of warring Angels disarraid.

       Back from pursuit thy Powers with loud acclaime

       Thee only extold, Son of thy Fathers might,

       To execute fierce vengeance on his foes,

       Not so on Man; him through their malice fall’n,

       Father of Mercie and Grace, thou didst not doome

       So strictly, but much more to pitie encline:

       No sooner did thy dear and onely Son

       Perceive thee purpos’d not to doom frail Man

       So strictly, but much more to pitie enclin’d,

       He to appease thy wrauth, and end the strife

       Of Mercy and Justice in thy face discern’d,

       Regardless of the Bliss wherein hee sat

       Second to thee, offerd himself to die

       For mans offence. O unexampl’d love,

       Love no where to be found less then Divine!

       Hail Son of God, Saviour of Men, thy Name

       Shall be the copious matter of my Song

       Henceforth, and never shall my Harp thy praise

       Forget, nor from thy Fathers praise disjoine.

      Thus they in Heav’n, above the starry Sphear,

       Thir happie hours in joy and hymning spent.

       Mean while upon the firm opacous Globe

       Of this round World, whose first convex divides

       The luminous inferior Orbs, enclos’d

       From Chaos and th’ inroad of Darkness old, Satan alighted walks: a Globe farr off It seem’d, now seems a boundless Continent Dark, waste, and wild, under the frown of Night Starless expos’d, and ever-threatning storms Of Chaos blustring round, inclement skie; Save on that side which from the wall of Heav’n Though distant farr som small reflection gaines Of glimmering air less vext with tempest loud: Here walk’d the Fiend at large in spacious field. As when a Vultur on Imaus bred, Whose snowie ridge the roving Tartar bounds, Dislodging from a Region scarce of prey To gorge the flesh of Lambs or yeanling Kids On Hills where Flocks are fed, flies toward the Springs Of Ganges or Hydaspes, Indian streams; But in his way lights on the barren plaines Of Sericana, where Chineses drive With Sails and Wind thir canie Waggons light: So on this windie Sea of Land, the Fiend Walk’d up and down alone bent on his prey, Alone, for other Creature in this place Living or liveless to be found was none, None yet, but store hereafter from the earth Up hither like Aereal vapours flew Of all things transitorie and vain, when Sin With vanity had filld the works of men: Both all things vain, and all who in vain things Built thir fond hopes of Glorie or lasting fame, Or happiness in this or th’ other life; All who have thir reward on Earth, the fruits Of painful Superstition and blind Zeal, Naught seeking but the praise of men, here find Fit retribution, emptie as thir deeds; All th’ unaccomplisht works of Natures hand, Abortive, monstrous, or unkindly mixt, Dissolvd on earth, fleet hither, and in vain, Till final dissolution, wander here, Not in the neighbouring Moon, as some have dreamd; Those argent Fields more likely habitants, Translated Saints, or middle Spirits hold Betwixt th’ Angelical and Human kinde: Hither of ill-joynd Sons and Daughters born First from the ancient World those Giants came With many a vain exploit, though then renownd: The builders next of Babel on the Plain Of Sennaar, and still with vain designe New Babels, had they wherewithall, would build: Others came single; hee who to be deemd A God, leap’d fondly into Aetna flames, Empedocles, and hee who to enjoy Plato’s Elysium, leap’d into the Sea, Cleombrotus, and many more too long, Embryo’s and Idiots, Eremits and Friers White, Black and Grey, with all thir trumperie. Here Pilgrims roam, that stray’d so farr to seek In Golgotha him dead, who lives in Heav’n; And they who to be sure of Paradise Dying put on the weeds of Dominic, Or in Franciscan think to pass disguis’d; They pass the Planets seven, and pass the fixt, And that Crystalline Sphear whose ballance weighs The Trepidation talkt, and that first mov’d; And now Saint Peter at Heav’ns Wicket seems To wait them with his Keys, and now at foot Of Heav’ns ascent they lift thir Feet, when loe A violent cross wind from either Coast Blows them transverse ten thousand Leagues awry Into the devious Air; then might ye see Cowles, Hoods and Habits with thir wearers tost And flutterd into Raggs, then Reliques, Beads, Indulgences, Dispenses, Pardons, Bulls, The sport of Winds: all these upwhirld aloft Fly o’re the backside of the World farr off Into a Limbo large and broad, since calld The Paradise of Fools, to few unknown Long after, now unpeopl’d, and untrod; All this dark Globe the Fiend found as he pass’d, And long he wanderd, till at last a gleame Of dawning light turnd thither-ward in haste His travell’d steps; farr distant hee descries Ascending by degrees magnificent Up to the wall of Heaven a Structure high, At top whereof, but farr more rich appeerd The work as of a Kingly Palace Gate With Frontispice of Diamond and Gold Imbellisht, thick with sparkling orient Gemmes The Portal shon, inimitable on Earth By Model, or by shading Pencil drawn. The Stairs were such as whereon Jacob saw Angels ascending and descending, bands Of Guardians bright, when he from Esau fled To Padan-Aram in the field of Luz, Dreaming by night under the open Skie, And waking cri’d,

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