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Said then the lost archangel, this the seat That we must change for Heaven; this mournful gloom For that celestial light? Be it so! Since He, Who now is Sovran, can dispose and bid What shall be right: furthest from him is best, Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme Above His equals. Farewell, happy fields, Where joy for ever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail, Infernal world! And thou, profoundest Hell, Receive thy new possessor! One who brings A mind not to be changed by place or time. The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven. What matter where, if I be still the same, And what I should be, all but less than He Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least We shall be free; the Almighty hath not built Here for his envy; will not drive us hence. Here we may reign secure, and, in my choice,1 To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell. Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven. But wherefore let we then our faithful friends, The associates and copartners of our loss, Lie thus astonished on the 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 Regained in Heaven, or what more lost in Hell?

So Satan spake; and him Beelzebub

Thus answered: Leader of those armies bright,

Which but the Omnipotent none could have foiled!

If once they hear that voice, their livliest pledge

Of hope in fears and dangers, heard so oft

In worse extremes, and on the perilous edge

1 In my choice. — In my judgment—to me.

So numberless were those bad Angels seen, Hovering on wing, under the cope of Hell. Book I., lines 344, 345.