“Whereto, with look composed, Satan replied: ‘Not uninvented that, which thou aright Believ’st so main to our success, I bring. Which of us who beholds the bright surface Of this ethereous mould whereon we stand⁠— This continent of spacious Heaven, adorned With plant, fruit, flower ambrosial, gems and gold⁠— Whose eye so superficially surveys These things, as not to mind from whence they grow Deep under ground, materials dark and crude, Of spiritous and fiery spume, till touched With Heaven’s ray, and tempered, they shoot forth So beauteous, opening to the ambient light? These in their dark nativity the deep Shall yield us, pregnant with infernal flame; Which, into hollow engines long and round Thick-rammed, at the other bore with touch of fire Dilated and infuriate, shall send forth From far, with thundering noise, among our foes Such implements of mischief as shall dash To pieces and o’erwhelm whatever stands Adverse, that they shall fear we have disarmed The Thunderer of his only dreaded bolt. Nor long shall be our labour; yet ere dawn