Perplexed and troubled at his bad success The Tempter stood, nor had what to reply, Discovered in his fraud, thrown from his hope So oft, and the persuasive rhetoric That sleeked his tongue, and won so much on Eve, So little here, nay lost.
But Eve was Eve; This far his over-match, who, self-deceived And rash, beforehand had no better weighed The strength he was to cope with, or his own.
But—as a man who had been matchless held 10 In cunning, over-reached where least he thought, To salve his credit, and for very spite, Still will be tempting him who foils him still, And never cease, though to his shame the more; Or as a swarm of flies in vintage-time, About the wine-press where sweet must is poured, Beat off, returns as oft with humming sound; Or surging waves against a solid rock, Though all to shivers dashed, the assault renew, (Vain battery!
) and in froth or bubbles end— 20 So Satan, whom repulse upon repulse Met ever, and to shameful silence brought, Yet gives not o’er, though desperate of success, And his vain importunity pursues.
He brought our Saviour to the western side Of that high mountain, whence he might behold Another plain, long, but in breadth not wide, Washed by the southern sea, and on the north To equal length backed with a ridge of hills That screened the fruits of the earth and seats of men 30 From cold Septentrion blasts; thence in the midst Divided by a river, off whose banks On each side an Imperial City stood, With towers and temples proudly elevate On seven small hills, with palaces adorned, Porches and theatres, baths, aqueducts, Statues and trophies, and triumphal arcs, Gardens and groves, presented to his eyes Above the highth of mountains interposed—