“O Hell! what do mine eyes with grief behold? Into our room of bliss thus high advanced Creatures of other mould, Earth-born perhaps, Not Spirits, yet to Heavenly Spirits bright Little inferior; whom my thoughts pursue With wonder, and could love, so lively shines In them divine resemblance, and such grace The hand that formed them on their shape hath poured. Ah! gentle pair, ye little think how nigh Your change approaches, when all these delights Will vanish, and deliver ye to woe⁠— More woe, the more your taste is now of joy: Happy, but for so happy ill secured Long to continue, and this high seat, your Heaven, Ill fenced for Heaven to keep out such a foe As now is entered; yet no purposed foe To you, whom I could pity thus forlorn, Though I unpitied. League with you I seek, And mutual amity, so strait, so close, That I with you must dwell, or you with me, Henceforth: my dwelling, haply, may not please, Like this fair Paradise, your sense; yet such Accept your Maker’s work; he gave it me, Which I as freely give. Hell shall unfold,