With thought that they must be. Let no man seek
Henceforth to be foretold what shall befall

Him or his children, evil he may be sure,
Which neither his foreknowing can prevent,
And he the future evil fhall no lefs

In apprehenfion than in substance feel
Grievous to bear: but that care now is past,
Man is not whom to warn : thofe few efcap't
Famine and anguish will at last consume
Wandring that watrie defert: I had hope
When violence was ceas't, and war on earth,

All would have then gone well, peace would have crown'd
With length of happy days the race of man;
But I was far deceav'd; for now I fee

Peace to corrupt no less than war to waste.

How comes it thus? unfould, celestial guide,
And whether here the race of man will end.
To whom thus Michael. Those whom laft thou fawf
In triumph and luxurious wealth, are they

First seen in acts of prowess eminent

And great exploits, but of true vertue void;

Who having fpilt much blood, and done much waste
Subduing nations, and atchiev'd thereby

Fame in the world, high titles, and rich prey,
Shall change their course to pleasure, ease, and sloth,
Surfeit, and luft, till wantonnefs and pride
Raife out of friendship hostile deeds in peace.
The conquer'd alfo, and enflav'd by war
Shall with their freedom loft all vertue lofe
And fear of God, from whom their pietie feign'd
In fharp conteft of battel found no aid

Against invaders; therefore cool'd in zeal
Thenceforth fhall practise how to live fecure,
Worldlie or diffolute, on what their lords

Shall leave them to enjoy; for th'earth fhall bear
More then anough, that temperance may be tri'd :
So all fhall turn degenerate, all deprav'd,
Juftice and temperance, truth and faith forgot;
One man except, the only fon of light
In a dark age, against example good,
Against allurement, custom, and a world
Offended; fearless of reproach and fcorn,
Or violence, he of their wicked wayes
Shall them admonish, and before them fet
The paths of righteousness, how much more safe,
And full of peace, denouncing wrauth to come
On their impenitence; and fhall return

Of them derided, but of God obferv'd
The one juft man alive; by his command
Shall build a wondrous, ark, as thou beheldft,
To fave himself and houshold from amidst
A world devote to univerfal rack.
No fooner he with them of man and beaft
Select for life shall in the ark be lodg'd,
And shelter'd round, but all the cataracts
Of heav'n fet open on the earth fhall, powre
Rain day and night, all fountains of the deep
Broke up, shall heave the ocean to ufurp
Beyond all bounds, till inundation rife
Above the highest hills: then shall this mount
Of Paradise by might of waves be mov'd
Out of his place, push'd by the horred floud,

With all his verdure spoil'd, and trees adrift
Down the great river to the op'ning gulph,
And there take root an island salt and bare,

The haunt of seales and orcs, and fea-mews clang.
To teach thee that God attributes to place
No fanctitie, if none be thither brought
By men who there frequent, or therein dwell,
And now what further shall enfue, behold.

He look'd, and saw the ark hull on the floud, Which now abated, for the clouds were filed, Driv'n by a keen north-wind, that blowing drie Wrinkl'd the face of deluge, as decai'd; And the cleer fun on his wide watrie glass Gaz'd hot, and of the fresh wave largely drew, As after thirst, which made their flowing shrink From ftanding lake to tripping ebb, that stole With foft foot towards the deep, who now had stopt His fluces, as the heav'n his windows shut.. The ark no more now flotes, but seems on ground Faft on the top of fome high mountain fixt. And now the tops of hills as rocks appeer; With clamour thence the rapid currents drive Towards the retreating sea their furious tide. Forthwith from out the ark a raven flies, And after him, the furer messenger, A dove fent forth once and again to spie Green tree or ground whereon his foot may light; The fecond time returning, in his bill An olive leaf he brings, pacific fign: Anon drie ground appeers, and from his ark

The ancient fire defcends with all his train ;

Then with uplifted hands, and eyes devout,
Grateful to heav'n, over his head beholds
A dewie cloud, and in the cloud a bow
Confpicuous with three lifted colours gay,
Betok'ning peace from God, and cov'nant new.
Whereat the heart of Adam erst so sad
Greatly rejoic'd, and thus his joy broke forth.
O thou who future things canft reprefent
As prefent, heav'nly inftructor, I revive
At this laft fight, affur'd that man shall live
With all the creatures, and their feed preserve.
Far lefs I now lament for one whole world
Of wicked fons destroy'd, than I rejoice
For one man found fo perfet and so just,
That God voutfafes to raise another world
From him, and all his anger to forget.
But fay, what mean thofe colour'd ftreaks in heav'n,
Distended as the brow of God appeas'd,

Or ferve they as a flourie verge to bind
The fluid fkirts of that fame watrie cloud,
Leaft it again diffolve and fhowr the earth?

To whom th'archangel. Dextrously thou aim'ft So willingly doth God remit his ire,

Though late repenting him of man deprav'd,
Griev'd at his heart, when looking down he saw
The whole earth fill'd with violence, and all flesh.
Corrupting each their way; yet thofe remov'd,"
Such grace shall one just man find in his fight,
That he relents, not to blot out mankind,
And makes a cov'nant never to destroy
The earth again by floud, nor let the fea

Surpass his bounds, nor rain to drown the world
With man therein or beast; but when he brings
Over the earth a cloud, will therein set
His triple-colour'd bow, whereon to look
And call to mind his cov'nant:: day and night,
Seed time and harvest, heat and hoary froft
Shall hold their course, till fire purge all things new,
Both heav'n and earth, wherein the just shall dwell.

The End of the Eleventh Book.