O fpake the Son of God; and Satan flood
A while as mute, confounded what to say,
What to reply, confuted and convinc'd
Of his weak arguing, and fallacious drift:
At length collecting all his Serpent wiles,
With foothing words renew'd, him thus
accofts..
'I fee thou know'ft what is of use to know,
What beft to fay can't say, to do canft do:
Thy actions to thy words accord, thy words
To thy large heart give utterance due; thy heart
Contains of good, wife, juft, the perfect shape.
Should Kings and Nations, from thy mouth confalt,
Thy Counfel would be as the Oracle
Urim and Thummim, thofe oraculous gems
On Aaron's breaft, or tongue of Seers old
Infallible; or wert thou fought to deeds
That might require th' array of war, thy skill
Of conduct would be fuch, that all the world
Could not sustain thy Prowefs, or fubfift
In battle, though against thy few in arms.
Thefe God-like Virtues wherefore doft thou hide,
Affecting private life, or more obfcure
In favage Wilderness? wherefore deprive
All Earth her wonder at thy Acts, thyself
The fame and glory; glory, the reward
That fole excites to high attempts, the flame
Of moft erected-Spirits, moft temper'd pure
Etherial, who all pleafures elfe defpife,
All treasures and all gain esteem as drofs,
And dignities and pow'rs all but the higheft?
Thy years are ripe, and over-ripe; the fon
Of Macedonian Philip had ere these
Won Afia, and the Throne of Cyrus held
At his difpofe; young Scipio had brought down
The Carthaginian pride, young Pompey quell'd
The Pontic King, and in triumph had rode.
Yet years, and to ripe years judgment mature,
Quench not the thirft of glory, but augment.
Great Julius, whom now all the world admires,
The more he grew in years, the more enflam'd
With glory, wept that he had liv'd fo long
Inglorious: But thou yet art not too late.
To whom our Saviour calmly thus reply'd.
Thou neither doft perfuade me to feek wealth
For Empire's fake, nor Empire to affe&t
For glory's fake, by all thy argument.
For what is glory but the blaze of Fame,
The Peoples praife, if always praife unmixt?
And what the People but a herd confus'd,
A mifcellaneous rabble, who extol
They praife and they admire they know not what;
And know not whom, but as one leads the other:
Things vulgar, and well weigh'd fcarce worth the praire ?.
And what delight to be by such extol'd,
To live upon their torgues and be their talk,
Of whom to be defpis'd were no fmall praise ?
His lot who dares be fingularly good.
Th' intelligent among them and the wife
Are few, and glory scarce of few is rais'd.
This is true glory and renown, when God
Looking on th' Earth, with approbation marks
The just man, and divulges him through Heav'n
To all his Angels, who with true applause
Recount his praifes; thus he did to Job,
When to extend his fame through Heav'n and Earth 65
(As thou to thy reproach mayft well remember)
He afk'd thee, haft thou feen my servant Job?
Famous he was in Heav'n, on earth less known ;
Where glory is false glory, attributed
To things not glorious, men not worthy of fame.
They err, who count it glorious to fubdue
By Conqueft far and wide, to over-run
Large countries, and in field great Battles win,
Great Cities by affault. What do these Worthies,
But rob and fpoil, burn, flaughter, and enslave -
Peaceable Nations, neighbouring, or remote,
Made Captive, yet deferving freedom more
Than thofe their Conquerors, who leave behind
Nothing but ruin wherefo'er they rove,
And all the flourishing works of peace destroy;
Then fwell with Pride, and must be titled Gods,
Great Benefactors of mankind, Deliverers,
Worship'd with Temple, Prieft and Sacrifice;
One is the Son of Jove, of Mars the other,
Till Conqu'ror Death discover them scarce men,
Rolling in brutish vices, and deform'd,
Violent or fhameful death their due reward? -
But if there be in glory aught of good,
It may by means far different be attain'd
Without ambition, war, or violence;
By deeds of peace, by wisdom eminent,
By patience, temperance. I mention ftill
Him whom thy wrongs, with Saintly patience born,
Made famous in a land and times obfcure;
S Who names not now with honour patient Job?
Poor Socrates (who next more memorable ?)
By what he taught and fuffer'd for fo doing,
For truth's fake fuffering death unjuft, lives now
Equal in fame to proudelt Conquerors.
Yet if for fame and glory aught be done,
Aught fuffer'd; if young African for fame
His wafted Country freed from Punic rage,
The deed becomes unprais'd, the man at least,
And lofes, though but verbal, his reward.
Shall I feek glory then, as vain Men feek
Oft not deferv'd? I feek not mine, but his
Who fent me, and thereby witness whence I am.
To whom the Tempter murm'ring thus reply'd.
Think not fo flight of glory, therein leaft
Refembling thy great Father: he feeks glory,
And for his glory all things made, all things
Orders and governs, not content in Heav'n
By all his Angels glorify'd, requires
Glory from men, from all men, good or bad,
Wife or unwife, no difference, no exemption;
Above all Sacrifice, or hallow'd gift,
Glory he requires, and glory he receives.
Promifcuous from all Nations, Jew, or Greek,
Or Barbarous, nor exception hath declar'd;
From us his foes pronounc'd glory he exacts.
To whom our Saviour fervently reply'd.
And reafon; fince his word all things produc'd,
Though chiefly not for glory as prime end,
But to fhew forth his goodne fs, and impart
His good communicable t' ev'ry foul
Freely; of whom what could he less expect.
Than glory and benediction, that is, thanks,
The flighteft, eafieft, readieft recompence
From them who could return him nothing else,
And not returning what would likelieft render
Contempt in ftead, difhonour, obloquy?
Hard recompence, unfutable return
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