Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit 
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste 
Brought death into the World, and all our woe, 
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man 
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat, 
Sing, Heavenly Muse, that, on the secret top 
Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire 
That shepherd who first taught the chosen seed 
In the beginning how the heavens and earth 
Rose out of Chaos: or, if Sion hill 
Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flowed 
Fast by the oracle of God, I thence 
Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song, 
That with no middle flight intends to soar 
Above th' Aonian mount, while it pursues 
Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme. 
And chiefly thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer 
Before all temples th' upright heart and pure, 
Instruct me, for thou know'st; thou from the first 
Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread, 
Dove-like sat'st brooding on the vast Abyss, 
And mad'st it pregnant: what in me is dark 
Illumine, what is low raise and support; 
That, to the height of this great argument, 
I may assert Eternal Providence, 
And justify the ways of God to men. 
 Say first--for Heaven hides nothing from thy view, 
Nor the deep tract of Hell--say first what cause 
Moved our grand parents, in that happy state, 
Favoured of Heaven so highly, to fall off 
From their Creator, and transgress his will 
For one restraint, lords of the World besides. 
Who first seduced them to that foul revolt? 
 Th' infernal Serpent; he it was whose guile, 
Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived 
The mother of mankind, what time his pride 
Had cast him out from Heaven, with all his host 
Of rebel Angels, by whose aid, aspiring 
To set himself in glory above his peers, 
He trusted to have equalled the Most High, 
If he opposed, and with ambitious aim 
Against the throne and monarchy of God, 
Raised impious war in Heaven and battle proud, 
With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power 
Hurled headlong flaming from th' ethereal sky, 
With hideous ruin and combustion, down 
To bottomless perdition, there to dwell 
In adamantine chains and penal fire, 
Who durst defy th' Omnipotent to arms. 
 Nine times the space that measures day and night 
To mortal men, he, with his horrid crew, 
Lay vanquished, rolling in the fiery gulf, 
Confounded, though immortal. But his doom 
Reserved him to more wrath; for now the thought 
Both of lost happiness and lasting pain 
Torments him: round he throws his baleful eyes, 
That witnessed huge affliction and dismay, 
Mixed with obdurate pride and steadfast hate. 
At once, as far as Angels ken, he views 
The dismal situation waste and wild. 
A dungeon horrible, on all sides round, 
As one great furnace flamed; yet from those flames 
No light; but rather darkness visible 
Served only to discover sights of woe, 
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace 
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes 
That comes to all, but torture without end 
Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed 
With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed. 
Such place Eternal Justice has prepared 
For those rebellious; here their prison ordained 
In utter darkness, and their portion set, 
As far removed from God and light of Heaven 
As from the centre thrice to th' utmost pole. 
Oh how unlike the place from whence they fell! 
There the companions of his fall, o'erwhelmed 
With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire, 
He soon discerns; and, weltering by his side, 
One next himself in power, and next in crime, 
Long after known in Palestine, and named 
Beelzebub. To whom th' Arch-Enemy, 
And thence in Heaven called Satan, with bold words 
Breaking the horrid silence, thus began:-- 
 "If thou beest he--but O how fallen! how changed 
From him who, in the happy realms of light 
Clothed with transcendent brightness, didst outshine 
Myriads, though bright!--if he whom mutual league, 
United thoughts and counsels, equal hope 
And hazard in the glorious enterprise 
Joined with me once, now misery hath joined 
In equal ruin; into what pit thou seest 
From what height fallen: so much the stronger proved 
He with his thunder; and till then who knew 
The force of those dire arms? Yet not for those, 
Nor what the potent Victor in his rage 
Can else inflict, do I repent, or change, 
Though changed in outward lustre, that fixed mind, 
And high disdain from sense of injured merit, 
That with the Mightiest raised me to contend, 
And to the fierce contentions brought along 
Innumerable force of Spirits armed, 
That durst dislike his reign, and, me preferring, 
His utmost power with adverse power opposed 
In dubious battle on the plains of Heaven, 
And shook his throne. What though the field be lost?