Chanting

We, the host of seraphium, the armies bright
We do not true the dire event
That, with sad overthrow and foul defeat, hath lost us heaven
Ever to do ill will be our sole delight
Reassembling our afflicted powers
On the burning lake of liquid fire
Hail horrours!
Hail infernal world !
Here at last we shall be free
Better to reign in hell than to serve in heaven