“Ithuriel and Zephon, with winged speed Search through this garden; leave unsearched no nook; But chiefly where those two fair creatures lodge, Now laid perhaps asleep, secure of harm. This evening from the sun’s decline arrived Who tells of some infernal Spirit seen Hitherward bent (who could have thought?), escaped The bars of Hell, on errand bad, no doubt: Such, where ye find, seize fast, and hither bring.”
So saying, on he led his radiant files, Dazzling the moon; these to the bower direct In search of whom they sought. Him there they found Squat like a toad, close at the ear of Eve, Assaying by his devilish art to reach The organs of her fancy, and with them forge Illusions as he list, phantasms and dreams; Or if, inspiring venom, he might taint The animal spirits, that from pure blood arise Like gentle breaths from rivers pure, thence raise At least distempered, discontented thoughts, Vain hopes, vain aims, inordinate desires, Blown up with high conceits engendering pride. Him thus intent Ithuriel with his spear Touched lightly; for no falsehood can endure Touch of celestial temper, but returns Of force to its own likeness: up he starts, Discovered and surprised. As when a spark Lights on a heap of nitrous powder, laid Fit for the tun, some magazine to store Against a rumoured war, the smutty grain, With sudden blaze diffused, inflames the air: So started up in his own shape the Fiend. Back stept those two fair Angels, half amazed So sudden to behold the grisly King; Yet thus, unmoved with fear, accost him soon:
“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?”