Rafael monologue (Act 3) — Vondel's Lucifer

O Lucifer, Be merciful! Oh I save thyself; nor bear 170 Thy weapons thus 'gainst me, who sadly melt In tears, and pine in sorrow for thy sake. I come with medicine and mercy's balm, Sprung from the bosom of the Deity, "Who, as within His Council He decreed, Hath made thee chief of myriad crowned Powers, And thee, anointed, placed upon thy throne As Stadtholder. What folly this, that thus Deprives thee of thy wit? God hath His seal And image stamped upon thy hallowed head 180 And forehead, where all beauty seemed outpoured, With wisdom and benevolence and all That flows in streams unbounded from the fount Of every precious thing. In Paradise, Before the countenance of God's own sun, Thou shon'st from clouds of dew and roses fresh; Thy festal robes stood stiff with pearl, turquoise. And diamond, ruby, emerald, and fine gold; 'Twas thy right hand the weightiest sceptre held; And as soon as thou didst mount into the light, 190 Throughout the blazing firmament and through These shining vaults the sounds began to roll Of trumpet and of drum. And wouldst thou now So rashly hurl thyself from thy great throne? --Thus jeopardize thy glory, all this pomp? Wouldst thou thy splendors that the Heavens adorn And that obscure our glow so heedlessly Now cause to change into a shapeless lump And complication of all beasts and monsters In one, with claw of griffin, dragon's head, 200 And other horrors terrible? And shall The eyes of Heaven, the stars, see thee so low, Deprived of all thy power, thy honor, worth, And majesty, through perjuring thine oath? Prevent it, O good God, whose countenance, Amid the Blessed Light, I gaze upon, Where we, the hallowed Seven, do Him serve, Before His Throne, and shake and tremble 'neath That Majesty that on our forehead beams, That quickens, and that life doth give to all 210 That live and breathe. Lord Stadtholder, let now My prayers affect thy heart. Thou know'st my pure Intent, and heart distressed for thee. Tear off That shining crest so proud, that armor toss Aside. The battle-axe cast from this hand, Thy shield then from the other: nay, not thus, Not higher. Oh! throw it now aside. I pray. Oh! cast it down. Let fall thy streaming standard Of thine own free will, also thine outstretched wings, Before God and His splendor, ere He shall 220 From cut His Throne, the highest firmament O honor, swoop to grind thee into dust: Yea, so that of the race of Spirits, nor branch Nor root, nor life nor even memory, Remain; unless it be a state of woe, Of pain, of death and of despair, the worm Endless remorse, and a gnashing dire of teeth Should bear the name of life. Submit thou, then. Cease this attempt. I offer thee God's grace, Even with this olive-branch. Accept, or else 230 'Twill be too late.