XXXIV.

What thy Alecto, what these hands can doe, Thou mad'st bold proofe upon the brow of Heav'n, Nor should'st thou bate in pride, because that now To these thy sooty kingdomes thou art driven. Let Heav'n's Lord chide above lowder than thou In language of His thunder, thou art even With Him below: here thou art lord alone, Boundlesse and absolute: Hell is thine owne.