Manuscript of Book I, in the hand of an amanuensis, ca. 1665.
Purchased by Pierpont Morgan, 1904
Which oftimes may succeed, so as perhaps
Shall grieve him, if I faile not, and disturb
His inmost counsells from thir destind aim.
But see the Angry Victor hath recall'd
His ministers of vengeance and persuit
Back to the gates of Heaven: The sulphurous haile
Shot after us in storm, oreblow'n hath layd
This fiery Surge, that from the precipice
Of heaven receiv'd us falling, and the thunder
Wingd with red lightning and impetuous rage
Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now
To bellow through the vast and boundlesse deep.
Let us not slip th' occasion: whether scorn,
Or satiate fury yeild it from our foe.
Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wilde,
The seat of desolation, voyd of light,
Save what the glimmering of these livid flames
Casts pale and dreadfull! Thither let us tend
From off the tossing of these fiery waves,
There rest, if any rest can harbour there,
And reassembling our afflicted powers,
Consult how wee may hence forth most offend
Our enemy, our owne losse how repair,
How overcome this dire calamity,
What reinforcement wee may gaine from hope,