No, let us rather choose, Arm’d 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 Mix’d with Tartarean Sulphur, and strange fire, His own invented torments[.] (II, 60–70)
War therefore, open or conceal’d, alike My voice dissuades: for what can force or guile With him, or who deceive his mind, whose eye Views all things at one view? He from heaven’s height All these our motions vain sees and derides: Not more almighty to resist our might, Than wise to frustrate all our plots and wiles. (II, 187–193)
There is a place, (If ancient and prophetic fame in heaven Err not,) another world, the happy seat Of some new race call’d Man; about this time To be created like to us, though less In power and excellence, but favour’d more Of him who rules above[.] (II, 345–351)