Book 1.
Paradiſe loſt.
Thither, if but to prie, ſhall be perhapsOur firſt eruption, thither or elſewhere:For this Infernal Pit ſhall never holdCæleſtial Spirits in Bondage, nor th' AbyſſeLong under darkneſs cover. But theſe thoughtsFull Counſel must mature: Peace is deſpaird, 660For who can think Submiſſion? Warr then, WarrOpen or underſtood muſt be reſolv'd. He ſpake: and, to confirm his words, out-flewMillions of flaming ſwords, drawn from the thighsOf mighty Cherubim; the 'udden blazeFar round illumin'd hell: highly they rag'dAgainſt the Higheſt, and fierce with graſped arm'sClaſh'd on their ſounding ſhields the din of war,Hurling defiance toward the vault of Heav'n. There ſtood a Hill not far whoſe grieſly top 670Belch'd fire and rolling ſmoak; the reſt entireShon with a gloſſie ſcurff, undoubted ſignThat in his womb was hid metallic Ore,The work of Sulphur. Thither wing'd with ſpeedA numerous Brigad haſten'd As when bandsOf Pioners with Spade and Pickaxe arm'dForerun the Royal Camp, to trench a Field,Or caſt a Rampart. Mammon led them on,Mammon, the leaſt erected Spirit that fellFrom heav'n, for ev'n in heav'n his looks & thoughts 680Were always downward bent, admiring moreThe riches of Heav'ns pavement, trod'n Gold,Than aught divine or holy elſe enjoy'dIn viſion beatific: by him firſtMen alſo, and by his ſuggeſtion taught,Ranſack'd the Center, and with impious hands
Rifl'd
