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Which way I fly is Hell, myself am Hell
Freely we serve,
Because we freely love
He, above the rest
In shape and gesture proudly eminent,
Stood like a tower. His form had yet not lost
All her original brightness, nor appeared
Less than Archangel ruined, and th' excess
Of glory obscured: as when the sun new-risen
Looks through the horizontal misty air
Shorn of his beams, or, from behind the moon,
In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds
On half the nations, and with fear of change
Perplexes monarchs.
To sit in darkness here
Hatching vain empires.
Our torments also may in length of time
Become our elements.
Man shall not quite be lost, but saved who will Yet not of will in him, but grace in me
Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven.