Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell >From heaven; for ev'n in heaven his looks and thoughts Were always downward bent, admiring more The riches of heaven's pavement, trodden gold, Than aught divine or holy else enjoy'd In vision beatific.

His rod revers'd, And backward mutters of dissevering power.

First Moloch, horrid king, besmirched in blood, Of Human sacrifice, and parent's tears, Though, for the noise of drums and timbrels loud, Their childrens' cries unheard, that passed through fire, To his grim idol.

Heaven, the seat of bliss, Brooks not the works of violence and war.

A poet soaring in the high reason of his fancies, with his garland and singing robes about him.

Who can in reason then or right assume monarchy over such as live by right his equals, if in power or splendor less, in freedom equal?

There swift return Diurnal, merely to officiate light Round this opacous earth, this punctual spot.