“Which of those rebel Spirits adjudged to Hell Com’st thou, escaped thy prison? and, transformed, Why sat’st thou like an enemy in wait, Here watching at the head of these that sleep?”

“Know ye not, then,” said Satan, filled with scorn, “Know ye not me? Ye knew me once no mate For you, there sitting where ye durst not soar! Not to know me argues yourselves unknown, The lowest of your throng; or if ye know, Why ask ye, and superfluous begin Your message, like to end as much in vain?”

To whom thus Zephon, answering scorn with scorn: “Think not, revolted Spirit, thy shape the same, Or undiminished brightness, to be known As when thou stood’st in Heaven upright and pure. That glory then, when thou no more wast good, Departed from thee; and thou resemblest now Thy sin and place of doom obscure and foul. But come; for thou, be sure, shalt give account To him who sent us, whose charge is to keep This place inviolable, and these from harm.”