|Milton's Paradise Lost|
|John Milton||His epic poem offers insight into the roots of revolution|
"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 is now 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 forever dwells! Hail, horrors! Hail,
Infernal world! and thou profoundest Hell,
Receive they new possessor - one who brings
A mind not to be changed by place or time.
A mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heaven of Hell and Hell of Heaven.
What matter where, if I be still the same,
And what should I 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 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."