John Milton, Paradise Lost
the poem, quotes, maybe nice editions
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So numberless were those bad Angels seen Hovering on wing under the cope of Hell, ’Twixt upper, nether, and surrounding fires; Till, as a signal given, th’ uplifted spear Of their great Sultan waving to direct Their course, in even balance down they light On the firm brimstone, and fill all the plain: A multitude like which the populous North Poured never from her frozen loins to pass Rhene or the Danaw, when her barbarous sons Came like a deluge on the South, and spread •Book I, 344–355