Paradise Lost.
Manuscript of Book I, in the hand of an amanuensis, ca. 1665.
Purchased by Pierpont Morgan, 1904
That underneath had veins of liquid fire
Sluc'd from the lake a second multitude
With wondrous art founded the massy Ore,
Severing each kind, and scum'd the bullion drosse:
[ ]rd as soon had form'd within the ground
[ ]arious mould, and from the boyleing cells
[ ] strange conveiance fill'd each hollow nook:
As in an Organ from one blast of wind
To many a row of pipes the sound-bord breaths.
Anon out of the earth a fabric huge
Rose like an exhalation, with the sound
Of dulcet symphonies and voices sweet:
Built like a temple, where pilasters round
Were set, and Doric pillars overlayd
With golden Architrave; nor did there want
Cornice or freeze with bossy sculptures grav'n,
The roof was fretted gold. Not Babilon,
Nor great Alcairo such magnificence
Equall'd in all thir glories, to inshrine
Belus or Serapis thir Gods, or seate
Thir kings, when Egipt with Assyria strove
In wealth and luxury. Th' ascending pile
Stood fixt her stately highth, and strait the dores
Op'ning thir brasen folds discover wide
Within, her ample spaces, o're the smooth
And level pavement: from the arched roof
Paradise Lost. Manuscript of Book I, in the hand of an amanuensis, ca. 1665.