Thus Satan; and him thus the Anarch old, With faltering speech and visage incomposed, Answered: “I know thee, stranger, who thou art, That mighty leading Angel, who of late Made head against Heaven’s King, though overthrown. I saw and heard; for such a numerous host Fled not in silence through the frighted deep, With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout, Confusion worse confounded; and Heaven-gates Poured out by millions her victorious bands, Pursuing. I upon my frontiers here Keep residence; if all I can will serve That little which is left so to defend, Encroached on still through our intestine broils Weakening the sceptre of old Night: first Hell, Your dungeon, stretching far and wide beneath; Now lately Heaven and Earth, another world Hung o’er my realm, linked in a golden chain To that side Heaven from whence your legions fell. If that way be your walk, you have not far; So much the nearer danger. Go, and speed! Havoc, and spoil, and ruin, are my gain.”