Paradise Lost. John Milton

goodness, grace and mercy shewn

      On Man by him seduc’t, but on himself

      Treble confusion, wrath and vengeance pour’d.

      Forthwith upright he rears from off the Pool

      His mighty Stature; on each hand the flames

      Drivn backward slope their pointing spires, & rowld

      In billows, leave i’th’ midst a horrid Vale.

      Then with expanded wings he stears his flight

      Aloft, incumbent on the dusky Air

      That felt unusual weight, till on dry Land

      He lights, if it were Land that ever burn’d

      With solid, as the Lake with liquid fire;

      And such appear’d in hue, as when the force

      Of subterranean wind transports a Hill

      Torn from PELORUS, or the shatter’d side

      Of thundring AETNA, whose combustible

      And fewel’d entrals thence conceiving Fire,

      Sublim’d with Mineral fury, aid the Winds,

      And leave a singed bottom all involv’d

      With stench and smoak: Such resting found the sole

      Of unblest feet. Him followed his next Mate,

      Both glorying to have scap’t the STYGIAN flood

      As Gods, and by their own recover’d strength,

      Not by the sufferance of supernal Power.

      Is this the Region, this the Soil, the Clime,

      Said then the lost Arch Angel, this the seat

      That we must change for Heav’n, this mournful gloom

      For that celestial light? Be it so, since hee

      Who now is Sovran can dispose and bid

      What shall be right: fardest from him is best

      Whom reason hath equald, force hath made supream

      Above his equals. Farewel happy Fields

      Where Joy for ever dwells: Hail horrours, hail

      Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell

      Receive thy new Possessor: One who brings

      A mind not to be chang’d by Place or Time.

      The mind is its own place, and in it self

      Can make a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n.

      What matter where, if I be still the same,

      And what I should be, all but less then hee

      Whom Thunder hath made greater? Here at least

      We shall be free; th’ Almighty hath not built

      Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:

      Here we may reign secure, and in my choyce

      To reign is worth ambition though in Hell:

      Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heav’n.

      But wherefore let we then our faithful friends,

      Th’ associates and copartners of our loss

      Lye thus astonisht on th’ oblivious Pool,

      And call them not to share with us their part

      In this unhappy Mansion, or once more

      With rallied Arms to try what may be yet

      Regaind in Heav’n, or what more lost in Hell?

      So SATAN spake, and him BEELZEBUB

      Thus answer’d. Leader of those Armies bright,

      Which but th’ Omnipotent none could have foyld,

      If once they hear that voyce, their liveliest pledge

      Of hope in fears and dangers, heard so oft

      In worst extreams, and on the perilous edge

      Of battel when it rag’d, in all assaults

      Their surest signal, they will soon resume

      New courage and revive, though now they lye

      Groveling and prostrate on yon Lake of Fire,

      As we erewhile, astounded and amaz’d,

      No wonder, fall’n such a pernicious highth.

      He scarce had ceas’t when the superiour Fiend

      Was moving toward the shore; his ponderous shield

      Ethereal temper, massy, large and round,

      Behind him cast; the broad circumference

      Hung on his shoulders like the Moon, whose Orb

      Through Optic Glass the TUSCAN Artist views

      At Ev’ning from the top of FESOLE,

      Or in VALDARNO, to descry new Lands,

      Rivers or Mountains in her spotty Globe.

      His Spear, to equal which the tallest Pine

      Hewn on NORWEGIAN hills, to be the Mast

      Of some great Ammiral, were but a wand,

      He walkt with to support uneasie steps

      Over the burning Marle, not like those steps

      On Heavens Azure, and the torrid Clime

      Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with Fire;

      Nathless he so endur’d, till on the Beach

      Of that inflamed Sea, he stood and call’d

      His Legions, Angel Forms, who lay intrans’t

      Thick as Autumnal Leaves that strow the Brooks

      In VALLOMBROSA, where th’ ETRURIAN shades

      High overarch’t imbowr; or scatterd sedge

      Afloat, when with fierce Winds ORION arm’d

      Hath vext the Red-Sea Coast, whose waves orethrew

      BUSIRIS and his MEMPHIAN Chivalrie,

      VVhile with perfidious hatred they pursu’d

      The Sojourners of GOSHEN, who beheld

      From the safe shore their floating Carkases

      And broken Chariot Wheels, so thick bestrown

      Abject and lost lay these, covering the Flood,

      Under amazement of their hideous change.

      He call’d so loud, that all the hollow Deep

      Of Hell resounded. Princes, Potentates,

      Warriers, the Flowr of Heav’n, once yours, now lost,

      If such astonishment as this can sieze

      Eternal spirits; or have ye chos’n this place

      After the toyl of Battel to repose

      Your wearied vertue, for the ease you find

      To slumber here, as in the Vales of Heav’n?

      Or in this abject posture have ye sworn

      To adore the Conquerour? who now beholds

      Cherube and Seraph rowling in the Flood

      With scatter’d Arms and Ensigns, till anon

      His