“Is this the region, this the soil, the clime,” Said then the lost Archangel, “this the seat That we must change for Heaven? this mournful gloom For that celestial light? Be it so, since he Who now is sovereign can dispose and bid What shall be right: farthest from him is best, Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme Above his equals. Farewell happy fields, Where joy for ever dwells! Hail horrors! hail, Infernal world! and thou, profoundest Hell Receive thy new possessor, one who brings A mind not to be changed by place or time. The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven. What matter where, if I be still the same, And what I should be, all but less than he Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least We shall be free; the Almighty hath not built Here for his envy, will not drive us hence: Here we may reign secure, and in my choice To reign is worth ambition though in Hell: Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven. But wherefore let we then our faithful friends, The associates and co-partners of our loss