John Milton

What reinforcement we may gain from hope,

If not, what resolution from despair."

heavens and earth
Rose out of Chaos: or, if Sion hill
Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flowed

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

Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes
That comes to all, but torture

With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed.

With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire,

Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.

One next himself in power, and next in crime,

Long after known in Palestine, and named

Beelzebub. To whom th' Arch-Enemy,

All is not lost—the unconquerable will,

And study of revenge, immortal hate,

And courage never to submit or yield:

And what is else not to be overcome?

That glory never shall his wrath or might

Extort from me. To bow and sue for grace

With suppliant knee, and deify his power

Who, from the terror of this arm, so late

Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven