Language
John Milton
Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him
He who seeking asses found a kingdom.
But on occasion’s forelock watchful wait.
A paradise within thee, happier far.
Demoniac frenzy, moping melancholy
Oft-times nothing profits more
Evil, be thou my good.
Me miserable! which way shall I fly
With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout,
Chaos umpire sits,
Incensed with indignation Satan stood
Black it stood as night,
Let none admire
Pandemonium, the high capital
Mammon led them on,
Who overcomes
A shout that tore hell’s concave, and beyond
First Moloch, horrid king besmeared with blood
Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven.
What though the field be lost?
