John Milton

So farewel Hope, and with Hope farewel Fear,

Farewel Remorse: all Good to me is lost;

Evil be thou my Good; by thee at least

Divided Empire with Heav'ns King I hold

By thee, and more then half perhaps will reigne;

As Man ere long, and this new World shall know.

Embryos and idiots, eremites and friars,

White, black, and gray, with all their trumpery.

With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout,

Confusion worse confounded.

The other shape,

If shape it might be call'd that shape had none

Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb;

Or substance might be call'd that shadow seem'd,

For each seem'd either,—black it stood as night,

Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell,

And shook a dreadful dart; what seem'd his head

The likeness of a kingly crown had on.

Satan was now at hand.

On a sudden open fly,

With impetuous recoil and jarring sound,

Th' infernal doors, and on their hinges grate

Harsh thunder.

Hell

Grew darker at their frown.

In discourse more sweet;

For eloquence the soul, song charms the sense.

Others apart sat on a hill retired,

In thoughts more elevate, and reasoned high

Of Providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate,

Fixed fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute,

And found no end, in wand'ring mazes lost.

Proserpine gathering flowers,

Herself a fairer flower.

Vain wisdom all and false philosophy.

The rising world of waters dark and deep.

Flowers worthy of paradise.

Oh, shame to men! devil with devil damn'd

Firm concord holds, men only disagree

Of creatures rational.