Into this wild abyss, The womb of Nature and perhaps her grave.
A bevy of fair women.
Earth felt the wound; and Nature from her seat, Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe That all was lost.
Heaven, the seat of bliss, Brooks not the works of violence and war.
His rod revers'd, And backward mutters of dissevering power.
What in me is dark Illumine, what is low raise and support, That to the height of this great argument I may assert eternal Providence, And justify the ways of God to men. 1 Paradise Lost. Book i. Line 22.