Analysis of Paradise Lost: Book 02

John Milton 1608 (Cheapside) – 1674 (Chalfont St Giles)



High on a throne of royal state, which far
Outshone the wealth or Ormus and of Ind,
Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand
Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold,
Satan exalted sat, by merit raised
To that bad eminence; and, from despair
Thus high uplifted beyond hope, aspires
Beyond thus high, insatiate to pursue
Vain war with Heaven; and, by success untaught,
His proud imaginations thus displayed:--
  "Powers and Dominions, Deities of Heaven!--
For, since no deep within her gulf can hold
Immortal vigour, though oppressed and fallen,
I give not Heaven for lost: from this descent
Celestial Virtues rising will appear
More glorious and more dread than from no fall,
And trust themselves to fear no second fate!--
Me though just right, and the fixed laws of Heaven,
Did first create your leader--next, free choice
With what besides in council or in fight
Hath been achieved of merit--yet this loss,
Thus far at least recovered, hath much more
Established in a safe, unenvied throne,
Yielded with full consent. The happier state
In Heaven, which follows dignity, might draw
Envy from each inferior; but who here
Will envy whom the highest place exposes
Foremost to stand against the Thunderer's aim
Your bulwark, and condemns to greatest share
Of endless pain? Where there is, then, no good
For which to strive, no strife can grow up there
From faction: for none sure will claim in Hell
Precedence; none whose portion is so small
Of present pain that with ambitious mind
Will covet more! With this advantage, then,
To union, and firm faith, and firm accord,
More than can be in Heaven, we now return
To claim our just inheritance of old,
Surer to prosper than prosperity
Could have assured us; and by what best way,
Whether of open war or covert guile,
We now debate. Who can advise may speak."
  He ceased; and next him Moloch, sceptred king,
Stood up--the strongest and the fiercest Spirit
That fought in Heaven, now fiercer by despair.
His trust was with th' Eternal to be deemed
Equal in strength, and rather than be less
Cared not to be at all; with that care lost
Went all his fear: of God, or Hell, or worse,
He recked not, and these words thereafter spake:--
  "My sentence is for open war. Of wiles,
More unexpert, I boast not: them let those
Contrive who need, or when they need; not now.
For, while they sit contriving, shall the rest--
Millions that stand in arms, and longing wait
The signal to ascend--sit lingering here,
Heaven's fugitives, and for their dwelling-place
Accept this dark opprobrious den of shame,
The prison of his ryranny who reigns
By our delay? No! let us rather choose,
Armed with Hell-flames and fury, all at once
O'er Heaven's high towers to force resistless way,
Turning our tortures into horrid arms
Against the Torturer; when, to meet the noise
Of his almighty engine, he shall hear
Infernal thunder, and, for lightning, see
Black fire and horror shot with equal rage
Among his Angels, and his throne itself
Mixed with Tartarean sulphur and strange fire,
His own invented torments. But perhaps
The way seems difficult, and steep to scale
With upright wing against a higher foe!
Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench
Of that forgetful lake benumb not still,
That in our porper motion we ascend
Up to our native seat; descent and fall
To us is adverse. Who but felt of late,
When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear
Insulting, and pursued us through the Deep,
With what compulsion and laborious flight
We sunk thus low? Th' ascent is easy, then;
Th' event is feared! Should we again provoke
Our stronger, some worse way his wrath may find
To our destruction, if there be in Hell
Fear to be worse destroyed! What can be worse
Than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, condemned
In this abhorred deep to utter woe!
Where pain of unextinguishable fire
Must exercise us without hope of end
The vassals of his anger, when the scourge
Inexorably, and the torturing hour,
Calls us to penance? More destroyed than thus,
We should be quite abolished, and expire.
What fear we then? what doubt we to incense
His utmost ire? which, to the height enraged,
Will either quite consume us, and reduce
To nothing this essential--happier far
Than miserable to have eternal being!--
Or, if our substance be indeed divine,
And cannot cease to be, we are at worst
On this side nothing; and by proof we feel
Our power sufficient to distu


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Poetic Form
Metre 1101110111 010111011 1101011101 10101010101 1001011101 1111000101 11100011010 01111101 1111001011 110010101 1001100110 1111010111 0101101010 11110111101 0101010101 11000111111 0101111101 11110011110 1101110111 1101010101 1101110111 1111010111 01000111 10110101001 01011010011 10110100111 11010101010 11101011 1100011101 1101111111 1111111111 1101111101 1001110111 1101110101 1101110101 1100110101 11110101101 11101010011 1011010100 1101101111 1011011101 1101110111 11011111 11010001010 11010110101 111111010111 1001010111 1111111111 1111111111 1110110101 1101110111 11111111 0111111111 11111101 1011010101 01010111001 10100011101 01111111 01011111 11001111101 1111010111 10101101111 10101001101 01010011101 1101010111 0101001101 11001011101 0111001101 111100110 110101101 0111000111 1011010101 111110101 110101111 1010110101 11101010101 1110111111 10111110101 0100011101 11010001001 111111011101 110111110101 10101111111 11001011101 1111011111 11111011101 010111101 111110 110101111 0101110101 010000010010 1111010111 1111010001 1111111101 111110101 1101011001 11010101001 110001101010 11101010101 0101111111 1111001111 101001011
Closest metre Iambic pentameter
Characters 4,379
Words 773
Sentences 25
Stanzas 1
Stanza Lengths 102
Lines Amount 102
Letters per line (avg) 34
Words per line (avg) 8
Letters per stanza (avg) 3,446
Words per stanza (avg) 767
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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

3:53 min read
106

John Milton

John Milton was the Secretary of State of Georgia from 1777 to 1799. more…

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