Apollion. Belial. Chorus

Apollion:

What murmur this? Dost hear a strife of tongues?

Belial:

What throngs lament here, plunged in sable hue. With veils girt round the breast and loins? None would Believe that one among the Spirits, amid The joys unending and the feast eterne, Could mourn, did we not see this wretched throng Cast down in woeful grief. What great misfortune, What dire disaster them disturbs? Oh! how? O brothers, what doth cause this sad lament? Who hath offended you? Your Rights we'll guard. O brothers, speak. Why miserable? the cause?

Chorus:

They make complaint of man's approaching state And triumph, as proclaimed by Gabriel's trumpet; That he outranks the Angels and that God Shall join His Being to Adam's—all the Spirits Thus made subordinate unto man's sway. This briefly, clearly, states their sorrow's cause.

Apollion:

'Tis hard such inequality to bear.

Belial:

It almost goes beyond our utmost strength.

Chorus:

We pray your aid this difference to compose.

Apollion:

What remedy? How can we them appease? They rest secure upon their lawful Rights.

Chorus:

What Rights? The same power that ordaineth laws Hath might to abrogate those laws as well.

Apollion:

How thus can Justice unjust verdicts speak?

Chorus:

Correct God's verdicts, thou! Write thou His laws!

Belial:

The child doth follow in his father's steps.

Chorus:

To walk where He hath trod is Him to heed.

Apollion:

The change in God's own will doth cause this strife.

Chorus:

While one He setteth on a throne. He casts Another down: the one least worthy must Unto the son more favored then submit.

Belial:

Equality of grace would best become The Godhead. Now the darkness dares to dim The light celestial, while the sons of night Defy the day itself.

Chorus:

Whatever doth breathe May rightly the Creator praises bring, Who each his being gave and unto each Gave his degree. Whene'er it pleaseth Him, The element of earth shall change to air, To water, or to fire; the Heaven itself, To Earth; an Angel, to a beast; mankind, To Angels or to something new and strange. One Power rules over all, and thus can make The proudest tower become the humblest base. The least received is in pure money given. Here is no choice. Here wit and knowledge fail. In such unlikeness doth God's glory lie. So see we with things lightest weighed those things Of greatest weight, which thus e'en heavier grow: Thus beauty fairer glows o'er beauty glossed, Hue cast o'er hue, the diamond splendor over The blue turquoise; so see 'gainst odors odors, The light intense against the glimmer dim, The galaxies unto the stars opposed. Our place within the universal plan Thus to disturb, into confusion all Things throwing that once God did there dispose And place; and all the creature may arrange: This is mis-shapen to the inmost joint. Cease, then, this murmuring. The Godhead can The state of Angels miss; nor aided is By others' service; for the glorious Realm Eterne nor music needs, nor incense, nor These odors swung, nor harmonies of praise. Ungrateful Spirits, be still: your base tongues curb. Ye know not God's design. Be ye content With your established lot, and unto God And Gabriel's decree yourselves submit.

Apollion:

Is then the high state of the ruling Spirits So changeable? They stand on slippery ground, How pitiable their lot! how miserable!

Chorus:

Because a lesser in this Realm shall reign? We shall remain as now: how are we wronged?

Belial:

They are the nighest God, their refuge sure And Father: they upon His breast have lain: Now lies a lesser one more close than they.

Chorus:

For one to grieve o'er others' bliss shows lack Of love, and scents of envy and of pride. Let not this stain upon the purity And brightness of the Angels thus remain. To strive in concord, love, and faithfulness. The one against the other here, doth please The Father, who all things in ranks ordained.

Belial:

So they maintain the rank the Heavens them gave; But hardly can endure man's slave to be.

Chorus:

That's disobedience, and from their rank They thus shall fall away. Thou seest how, too, The hosts of Heaven, in golden armor clad And in appointed ranks arrayed, keep watch, Each in his turn; how this star sets and that Ascends; and how not one of all on high The lustre dulls of others there more clear, Nor yet of those more dim; how some stars, too, A greater, others lesser orbits trace: Those nearest to Heaven most swift and those beyond More slowly turn: yet midst this all, among These inequalities of light, degree, And rank, of orbit, kind, and pace, thou seest No discord, envy, strife. The Voice of Him Who ruleth all this measured cadence leads, That listens and Him faithfully obeys.

Belial:

The firmament remains, as God decreed. Had it not pleased Him thus to disarrange The state of Angels, they would not, as now, Awake the stars from their harmonious peace, Nor thus disturb with plaints these quiet courts,

Chorus:

Beware lest thou this discontent shouldst flame.

Apollion:

We would this low'ring cloud might leave our sky Before it bursts and sets the vast expanse Of Heaven in flames. They grow in numbers. Who Shall them appease? Who cometh hitherward?