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00482129 |
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| If answerable style I can obtain |
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| Of my celestial patroness, who deigns |
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| Her nightly visitation unimplor'd, |
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| And dictates to me slumbering; or inspires |
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| Easy my unpremeditated verse: |
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| Since first this subject for heroick song |
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| Pleas'd me long choosing, and beginning late; |
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| Not sedulous by nature to indite |
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| Wars, hitherto the only argument |
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| Heroick deem'd chief mastery to dissect |
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| With long and tedious havock fabled knights |
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| In battles feign'd; the better fortitude |
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| Of patience and heroick martyrdom |
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| Unsung; or to describe races and games, |
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| Or tilting furniture, imblazon'd shields, |
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| Impresses quaint, caparisons and steeds, |
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| Bases and tinsel trappings, gorgeous knights |
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| At joust and tournament; then marshall'd feast |
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| Serv'd up in hall with sewers and seneshals; |
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| The skill of artifice or office mean, |
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| Not that which justly gives heroick name |
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| To person, or to poem. Me, of these |
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| Nor skill'd nor studious, higher argument |
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| Remains; sufficient of itself to raise |
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| That name, unless an age too late, or cold |
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| Climate, or years, damp my intended wing |
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| Depress'd; and much they may, if all be mine, |
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| Not hers, who brings it nightly to my ear. |
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| The sun was sunk, and after him the star |
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| Of Hesperus, whose office is to bring |
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| Twilight upon the earth, short arbiter |
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| "twixt day and night, and now from end to end |
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| Night's hemisphere had veil'd the horizon round: |
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| When satan, who late fled before the threats |
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| Of Gabriel out of Eden, now improv'd |
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| In meditated fraud and malice, bent |
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| On Man's destruction, maugre what might hap |
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| Of heavier on himself, fearless returned |
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| From compassing the earth; cautious of day, |
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| Since Uriel, regent of the sun, descried |
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| His entrance, and foreworned the Cherubim |
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| That kept their watch; thence full of anguish driven, |
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| The space of seven continued nights he rode |
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| With darkness; thrice the equinoctial line |
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| He circled; four times crossed the car of night |
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| From pole to pole, traversing each colure; |
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| On the eighth returned; and, on the coast averse |
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| From entrance or Cherubick watch, by stealth |
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| Found unsuspected way. There was a place, |
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| Now not, though sin, not time, first wrought the change, |
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| Where Tigris, at the foot of Paradise, |
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| Into a gulf shot under ground, till part |
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| Rose up a fountain by the tree of life: |
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| In with the river sunk, and with it rose |
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| Satan, involved in rising mist; then sought |
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| Where to lie hid; sea he had searched, and land, |
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| From Eden over Pontus and the pool |
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| Maeotis, up beyond the river Ob; |
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| Downward as far antarctick; and in length, |
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| West from Orontes to the ocean barred |
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| At Darien ; thence to the land where flows |
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| Ganges and Indus: Thus the orb he roamed |
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| With narrow search; and with inspection deep |
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| Considered every creature, which of all |
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| Most opportune might serve his wiles; and found |
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| The Serpent subtlest beast of all the field. |
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| Him after long debate, irresolute |
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| Of thoughts revolved, his final sentence chose |
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| Fit vessel, fittest imp of fraud, in whom |
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| To enter, and his dark suggestions hide |
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| From sharpest sight: for, in the wily snake |
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| Whatever sleights, none would suspicious mark, |
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| As from his wit and native subtlety |
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| Proceeding; which, in other beasts observed, |
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| Doubt might beget of diabolick power |
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| Active within, beyond the sense of brute. |
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| Thus he resolved, but first from inward grief |
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| His bursting passion into plaints thus poured. |
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| More justly, seat worthier of Gods, as built |
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| With second thoughts, reforming what was old! |
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| O Earth, how like to Heaven, if not preferred |
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| For what God, after better, worse would build? |
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| Terrestrial Heaven, danced round by other Heavens |
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| That shine, yet bear their bright officious lamps, |
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| Light above light, for thee alone, as seems, |
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| In thee concentring all their precious beams |
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| Of sacred influence! As God in Heaven |
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| Is center, yet extends to all; so thou, |
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| Centring, receivest from all those orbs: in thee, |
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| Not in themselves, all their known virtue appears |
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| Productive in herb, plant, and nobler birth |
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| Of creatures animate with gradual life |
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| Of growth, sense, reason, all summed up in Man. |
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| With what delight could I have walked thee round, |
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| If I could joy in aught, sweet interchange |
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| Of hill, and valley, rivers, woods, and plains, |
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| Now land, now sea and shores with forest crowned, |
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| Rocks, dens, and caves! But I in none of these |
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| Find place or refuge; and the more I see |
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| Pleasures about me, so much more I feel |
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| Torment within me, as from the hateful siege |
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| Of contraries: all good to me becomes |
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| Bane, and in Heaven much worse would be my state. |
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| But neither here seek I, no nor in Heaven |
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| To dwell, unless by mastering Heaven's Supreme; |
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| Nor hope to be myself less miserable |
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| By what I seek, but others to make such |
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| As I, though thereby worse to me redound: |
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| For only in destroying I find ease |
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| To my relentless thoughts; and, him destroyed, |
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| Or won to what may work his utter loss, |
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| For whom all this was made, all this will soon |
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| Follow, as to him linked in weal or woe; |
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| In woe then; that destruction wide may range: |
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| To me shall be the glory sole among |
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| The infernal Powers, in one day to have marred |
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| What he, Almighty styled, six nights and days |
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| Continued making; and who knows how long |
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| Before had been contriving? though perhaps |
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| Not longer than since I, in one night, freed |
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| From servitude inglorious well nigh half |
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| The angelick name, and thinner left the throng |
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| Of his adorers: He, to be avenged, |
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| And to repair his numbers thus impaired, |
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| Whether such virtue spent of old now failed |
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| More Angels to create, if they at least |
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| Are his created, or, to spite us more, |
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| Determined to advance into our room |
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| A creature formed of earth, and him endow, |
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| Exalted from so base original, |
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| With heavenly spoils, our spoils: What he decreed, |
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| He effected; Man he made, and for him built |
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| Magnificent this world, and earth his seat, |
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| Him lord pronounced; and, O indignity! |
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| Subjected to his service angel-wings, |
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| And flaming ministers to watch and tend |
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| Their earthly charge: Of these the vigilance |
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| I dread; and, to elude, thus wrapt in mist |
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| Of midnight vapour glide obscure, and pry |
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| In every bush and brake, where hap may find |
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| The serpent sleeping; in whose mazy folds |
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| To hide me, and the dark intent I bring. |
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| O foul descent! that I, who erst contended |
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| With Gods to sit the highest, am now constrained |
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| Into a beast; and, mixed with bestial slime, |
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| This essence to incarnate and imbrute, |
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| That to the highth of Deity aspired! |
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| But what will not ambition and revenge |
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| Descend to? Who aspires, must down as low |
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| As high he soared; obnoxious, first or last, |
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| To basest things. Revenge, at first though sweet, |
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| Bitter ere long, back on itself recoils: |
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| Let it; I reck not, so it light well aimed, |
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| Since higher I fall short, on him who next |
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| Provokes my envy, this new favourite |
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| Of Heaven, this man of clay, son of despite, |
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| Whom, us the more to spite, his Maker raised |
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| From dust: Spite then with spite is best repaid. |
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| So saying, through each thicket dank or dry, |
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| Like a black mist low-creeping, he held on |
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| His midnight-search, where soonest he might find |
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| The serpent; him fast-sleeping soon he found |
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| In labyrinth of many a round self-rolled, |
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| His head the midst, well stored with subtile wiles: |
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| Not yet in horrid shade or dismal den, |
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| Nor nocent yet; but, on the grassy herb, |
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| Fearless unfeared he slept: in at his mouth |
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| The Devil entered; and his brutal sense, |
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| In heart or head, possessing, soon inspired |
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| With act intelligential; but his sleep |
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| Disturbed not, waiting close the approach of morn. |
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| Now, when as sacred light began to dawn |
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| In Eden on the humid flowers, that breathed |
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| Their morning incense, when all things, that breathe, |
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| From the Earth's great altar send up silent praise |
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| To the Creator, and his nostrils fill |
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| With grateful smell, forth came the human pair, |
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| And joined their vocal worship to the quire |
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| Of creatures wanting voice; that done, partake |
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| The season prime for sweetest scents and airs: |
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| Then commune, how that day they best may ply |
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| Their growing work: for much their work out-grew |
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| The hands' dispatch of two gardening so wide, |
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| And Eve first to her husband thus began. |
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| Adam, well may we labour still to dress |
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| This garden, still to tend plant, herb, and flower, |
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| Our pleasant task enjoined; but, till more hands |
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| Aid us, the work under our labour grows, |
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| Luxurious by restraint; what we by day |
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| Lop overgrown, or prune, or prop, or bind, |
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| One night or two with wanton growth derides |
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| Tending to wild. Thou therefore now advise, |
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| Or bear what to my mind first thoughts present: |
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| Let us divide our labours; thou, where choice |
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| Leads thee, or where most needs, whether to wind |
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| The woodbine round this arbour, or direct |
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| The clasping ivy where to climb; while I, |
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| In yonder spring of roses intermixed |
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| With myrtle, find what to redress till noon: |
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| For, while so near each other thus all day |
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| Our task we choose, what wonder if so near |
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| Looks intervene and smiles, or object new |
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| Casual discourse draw on; which intermits |
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| Our day's work, brought to little, though begun |
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| Early, and the hour of supper comes unearned? |
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| To whom mild answer Adam thus returned. |
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| Sole Eve, associate sole, to me beyond |
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| Compare above all living creatures dear! |
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| Well hast thou motioned, well thy thoughts employed, |
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| How we might best fulfil the work which here |
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| God hath assigned us; nor of me shalt pass |
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| Unpraised: for nothing lovelier can be found |
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| In woman, than to study houshold good, |
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| And good works in her husband to promote. |
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| Yet not so strictly hath our Lord imposed |
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| Labour, as to debar us when we need |
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| Refreshment, whether food, or talk between, |
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| Food of the mind, or this sweet intercourse |
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| Of looks and smiles; for smiles from reason flow, |
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| To brute denied, and are of love the food; |
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| Love, not the lowest end of human life. |
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| For not to irksome toil, but to delight, |
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| He made us, and delight to reason joined. |
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| These paths and bowers doubt not but our joint hands |
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| Will keep from wilderness with ease, as wide |
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| As we need walk, till younger hands ere long |
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| Assist us; But, if much converse perhaps |
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| Thee satiate, to short absence I could yield: |
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| For solitude sometimes is best society, |
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| And short retirement urges sweet return. |
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| But other doubt possesses me, lest harm |
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| Befall thee severed from me; for thou knowest |
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| What hath been warned us, what malicious foe |
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| Envying our happiness, and of his own |
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| Despairing, seeks to work us woe and shame |
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| By sly assault; and somewhere nigh at hand |
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| Watches, no doubt, with greedy hope to find |
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| His wish and best advantage, us asunder; |
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| Hopeless to circumvent us joined, where each |
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| To other speedy aid might lend at need: |
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| Whether his first design be to withdraw |
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| Our fealty from God, or to disturb |
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| Conjugal love, than which perhaps no bliss |
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| Enjoyed by us excites his envy more; |
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| Or this, or worse, leave not the faithful side |
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| That gave thee being, still shades thee, and protects. |
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| The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks, |
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| Safest and seemliest by her husband stays, |
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| Who guards her, or with her the worst endures. |
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| To whom the virgin majesty of Eve, |
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| As one who loves, and some unkindness meets, |
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| With sweet austere composure thus replied. |
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| Offspring of Heaven and Earth, and all Earth's Lord! |
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| That such an enemy we have, who seeks |
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| Our ruin, both by thee informed I learn, |
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| And from the parting Angel over-heard, |
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| As in a shady nook I stood behind, |
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| Just then returned at shut of evening flowers. |
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| But, that thou shouldst my firmness therefore doubt |
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| To God or thee, because we have a foe |
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| May tempt it, I expected not to hear. |
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| His violence thou fearest not, being such |
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| As we, not capable of death or pain, |
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| Can either not receive, or can repel. |
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| His fraud is then thy fear; which plain infers |
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| Thy equal fear, that my firm faith and love |
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| Can by his fraud be shaken or seduced; |
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| Thoughts, which how found they harbour in thy breast, |
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| Adam, mis-thought of her to thee so dear? |
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| To whom with healing words Adam replied. |
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| Daughter of God and Man, immortal Eve! |
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| For such thou art; from sin and blame entire: |
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| Not diffident of thee do I dissuade |
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| Thy absence from my sight, but to avoid |
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| The attempt itself, intended by our foe. |
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| For he who tempts, though in vain, at least asperses |
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| The tempted with dishonour foul; supposed |
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| Not incorruptible of faith, not proof |
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| Against temptation: Thou thyself with scorn |
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| And anger wouldst resent the offered wrong, |
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| Though ineffectual found: misdeem not then, |
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| If such affront I labour to avert |
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| From thee alone, which on us both at once |
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| The enemy, though bold, will hardly dare; |
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| Or daring, first on me the assault shall light. |
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| Nor thou his malice and false guile contemn; |
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| Subtle he needs must be, who could seduce |
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| Angels; nor think superfluous other's aid. |
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| I, from the influence of thy looks, receive |
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| Access in every virtue; in thy sight |
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| More wise, more watchful, stronger, if need were |
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| Of outward strength; while shame, thou looking on, |
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| Shame to be overcome or over-reached, |
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| Would utmost vigour raise, and raised unite. |
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| Why shouldst not thou like sense within thee feel |
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| When I am present, and thy trial choose |
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| With me, best witness of thy virtue tried? |
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| So spake domestick Adam in his care |
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| And matrimonial love; but Eve, who thought |
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| Less attributed to her faith sincere, |
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| Thus her reply with accent sweet renewed. |
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| If this be our condition, thus to dwell |
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| In narrow circuit straitened by a foe, |
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| Subtle or violent, we not endued |
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| Single with like defence, wherever met; |
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| How are we happy, still in fear of harm? |
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| But harm precedes not sin: only our foe, |
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| Tempting, affronts us with his foul esteem |
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| Of our integrity: his foul esteem |
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| Sticks no dishonour on our front, but turns |
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| Foul on himself; then wherefore shunned or feared |
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| By us? who rather double honour gain |
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| From his surmise proved false; find peace within, |
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| Favour from Heaven, our witness, from the event. |
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| And what is faith, love, virtue, unassayed |
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| Alone, without exteriour help sustained? |
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| Let us not then suspect our happy state |
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| Left so imperfect by the Maker wise, |
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| As not secure to single or combined. |
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| Frail is our happiness, if this be so, |
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| And Eden were no Eden, thus exposed. |
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| To whom thus Adam fervently replied. |
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| O Woman, best are all things as the will |
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| Of God ordained them: His creating hand |
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| Nothing imperfect or deficient left |
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| Of all that he created, much less Man, |
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| Or aught that might his happy state secure, |
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| Secure from outward force; within himself |
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| The danger lies, yet lies within his power: |
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| Against his will he can receive no harm. |
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| But God left free the will; for what obeys |
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| Reason, is free; and Reason he made right, |
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| But bid her well be ware, and still erect; |
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| Lest, by some fair-appearing good surprised, |
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| She dictate false; and mis-inform the will |
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| To do what God expressly hath forbid. |
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| Not then mistrust, but tender love, enjoins, |
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| That I should mind thee oft; and mind thou me. |
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| Firm we subsist, yet possible to swerve; |
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| Since Reason not impossibly may meet |
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| Some specious object by the foe suborned, |
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| And fall into deception unaware, |
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| Not keeping strictest watch, as she was warned. |
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| Seek not temptation then, which to avoid |
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| Were better, and most likely if from me |
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| Thou sever not: Trial will come unsought. |
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| Wouldst thou approve thy constancy, approve |
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| First thy obedience; the other who can know, |
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| Not seeing thee attempted, who attest? |
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| But, if thou think, trial unsought may find |
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| Us both securer than thus warned thou seemest, |
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| Go; for thy stay, not free, absents thee more; |
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| Go in thy native innocence, rely |
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| On what thou hast of virtue; summon all! |
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| For God towards thee hath done his part, do thine. |
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| So spake the patriarch of mankind; but Eve |
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| Persisted; yet submiss, though last, replied. |
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| With thy permission then, and thus forewarned |
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| Chiefly by what thy own last reasoning words |
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| Touched only; that our trial, when least sought, |
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| May find us both perhaps far less prepared, |
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| The willinger I go, nor much expect |
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| A foe so proud will first the weaker seek; |
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| So bent, the more shall shame him his repulse. |
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| Thus saying, from her husband's hand her hand |
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| Soft she withdrew; and, like a Wood-Nymph light, |
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| Oread or Dryad, or of Delia's train, |
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| Betook her to the groves; but Delia's self |
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| In gait surpassed, and Goddess-like deport, |
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| Though not as she with bow and quiver armed, |
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| But with such gardening tools as Art yet rude, |
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| Guiltless of fire, had formed, or Angels brought. |
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| To Pales, or Pomona, thus adorned, |
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| Likest she seemed, Pomona when she fled |
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| Vertumnus, or to Ceres in her prime, |
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| Yet virgin of Proserpina from Jove. |
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| Her long with ardent look his eye pursued |
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| Delighted, but desiring more her stay. |
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| Oft he to her his charge of quick return |
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| Repeated; she to him as oft engaged |
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| To be returned by noon amid the bower, |
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| And all things in best order to invite |
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| Noontide repast, or afternoon's repose. |
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| O much deceived, much failing, hapless Eve, |
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| Of thy presumed return! event perverse! |
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| Thou never from that hour in Paradise |
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| Foundst either sweet repast, or sound repose; |
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| Such ambush, hid among sweet flowers and shades, |
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| Waited with hellish rancour imminent |
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| To intercept thy way, or send thee back |
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| Despoiled of innocence, of faith, of bliss! |
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| For now, and since first break of dawn, the Fiend, |
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| Mere serpent in appearance, forth was come; |
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| And on his quest, where likeliest he might find |
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| The only two of mankind, but in them |
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| The whole included race, his purposed prey. |
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| In bower and field he sought, where any tuft |
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| Of grove or garden-plot more pleasant lay, |
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| Their tendance, or plantation for delight; |
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| By fountain or by shady rivulet |
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| He sought them both, but wished his hap might find |
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| Eve separate; he wished, but not with hope |
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| Of what so seldom chanced; when to his wish, |
|
|
| Beyond his hope, Eve separate he spies, |
|
|
| Veiled in a cloud of fragrance, where she stood, |
|
|
| Half spied, so thick the roses blushing round |
|
|
| About her glowed, oft stooping to support |
|
|
| Each flower of slender stalk, whose head, though gay |
|
|
| Carnation, purple, azure, or specked with gold, |
|
|
| Hung drooping unsustained; them she upstays |
|
|
| Gently with myrtle band, mindless the while |
|
|
| Herself, though fairest unsupported flower, |
|
|
| From her best prop so far, and storm so nigh. |
|
|
| Nearer he drew, and many a walk traversed |
|
|
| Of stateliest covert, cedar, pine, or palm; |
|
|
| Then voluble and bold, now hid, now seen, |
|
|
| Among thick-woven arborets, and flowers |
|
|
| Imbordered on each bank, the hand of Eve: |
|
|
| Spot more delicious than those gardens feigned |
|
|
| Or of revived Adonis, or renowned |
|
|
| Alcinous, host of old Laertes' son; |
|
|
| Or that, not mystick, where the sapient king |
|
|
| Held dalliance with his fair Egyptian spouse. |
|
|
| Much he the place admired, the person more. |
|
|
| As one who long in populous city pent, |
|
|
| Where houses thick and sewers annoy the air, |
|
|
| Forth issuing on a summer's morn, to breathe |
|
|
| Among the pleasant villages and farms |
|
|
| Adjoined, from each thing met conceives delight; |
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|
| The smell of grain, or tedded grass, or kine, |
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|
| Or dairy, each rural sight, each rural sound; |
|
|
| If chance, with nymph-like step, fair virgin pass, |
|
|
| What pleasing seemed, for her now pleases more; |
|
|
| She most, and in her look sums all delight: |
|
|
| Such pleasure took the Serpent to behold |
|
|
| This flowery plat, the sweet recess of Eve |
|
|
| Thus early, thus alone: Her heavenly form |
|
|
| Angelick, but more soft, and feminine, |
|
|
| Her graceful innocence, her every air |
|
|
| Of gesture, or least action, overawed |
|
|
| His malice, and with rapine sweet bereaved |
|
|
| His fierceness of the fierce intent it brought: |
|
|
| That space the Evil-one abstracted stood |
|
|
| From his own evil, and for the time remained |
|
|
| Stupidly good; of enmity disarmed, |
|
|
| Of guile, of hate, of envy, of revenge: |
|
|
| But the hot Hell that always in him burns, |
|
|
| Though in mid Heaven, soon ended his delight, |
|
|
| And tortures him now more, the more he sees |
|
|
| Of pleasure, not for him ordained: then soon |
|
|
| Fierce hate he recollects, and all his thoughts |
|
|
| Of mischief, gratulating, thus excites. |
|
|
| Thoughts, whither have ye led me! with what sweet |
|
|
| Compulsion thus transported, to forget |
|
|
| What hither brought us! hate, not love;nor hope |
|
|
| Of Paradise for Hell, hope here to taste |
|
|
| Of pleasure; but all pleasure to destroy, |
|
|
| Save what is in destroying; other joy |
|
|
| To me is lost. Then, let me not let pass |
|
|
| Occasion which now smiles; behold alone |
|
|
| The woman, opportune to all attempts, |
|
|
| Her husband, for I view far round, not nigh, |
|
|
| Whose higher intellectual more I shun, |
|
|
| And strength, of courage haughty, and of limb |
|
|
| Heroick built, though of terrestrial mould; |
|
|
| Foe not informidable! exempt from wound, |
|
|
| I not; so much hath Hell debased, and pain |
|
|
| Enfeebled me, to what I was in Heaven. |
|
|
| She fair, divinely fair, fit love for Gods! |
|
|
| Not terrible, though terrour be in love |
|
|
| And beauty, not approached by stronger hate, |
|
|
| Hate stronger, under show of love well feigned; |
|
|
| The way which to her ruin now I tend. |
|
|
| So spake the enemy of mankind, enclosed |
|
|
| In serpent, inmate bad! and toward Eve |
|
|
| Addressed his way: not with indented wave, |
|
|
| Prone on the ground, as since; but on his rear, |
|
|
| Circular base of rising folds, that towered |
|
|
| Fold above fold, a surging maze! his head |
|
|
| Crested aloft, and carbuncle his eyes; |
|
|
| With burnished neck of verdant gold, erect |
|
|
| Amidst his circling spires, that on the grass |
|
|
| Floated redundant: pleasing was his shape |
|
|
| And lovely; never since of serpent-kind |
|
|
| Lovelier, not those that in Illyria changed, |
|
|
| Hermione and Cadmus, or the god |
|
|
| In Epidaurus; nor to which transformed |
|
|
| Ammonian Jove, or Capitoline, was seen; |
|
|
| He with Olympias; this with her who bore |
|
|
| Scipio, the highth of Rome. With tract oblique |
|
|
| At first, as one who sought access, but feared |
|
|
| To interrupt, side-long he works his way. |
|
|
| As when a ship, by skilful steersmen wrought |
|
|
| Nigh river's mouth or foreland, where the wind |
|
|
| Veers oft, as oft so steers, and shifts her sail: |
|
|
| So varied he, and of his tortuous train |
|
|
| Curled many a wanton wreath in sight of Eve, |
|
|
| To lure her eye; she, busied, heard the sound |
|
|
| Of rusling leaves, but minded not, as used |
|
|
| To such disport before her through the field, |
|
|
| From every beast; more duteous at her call, |
|
|
| Than at Circean call the herd disguised. |
|
|
| He, bolder now, uncalled before her stood, |
|
|
| But as in gaze admiring: oft he bowed |
|
|
| His turret crest, and sleek enamelled neck, |
|
|
| Fawning; and licked the ground whereon she trod. |
|
|
| His gentle dumb expression turned at length |
|
|
| The eye of Eve to mark his play; he, glad |
|
|
| Of her attention gained, with serpent-tongue |
|
|
| Organick, or impulse of vocal air, |
|
|
| His fraudulent temptation thus began. |
|
|
| Wonder not, sovran Mistress, if perhaps |
|
|
| Thou canst, who art sole wonder! much less arm |
|
|
| Thy looks, the Heaven of mildness, with disdain, |
|
|
| Displeased that I approach thee thus, and gaze |
|
|
| Insatiate; I thus single;nor have feared |
|
|
| Thy awful brow, more awful thus retired. |
|
|
| Fairest resemblance of thy Maker fair, |
|
|
| Thee all things living gaze on, all things thine |
|
|
| By gift, and thy celestial beauty adore |
|
|
| With ravishment beheld! there best beheld, |
|
|
| Where universally admired; but here |
|
|
| In this enclosure wild, these beasts among, |
|
|
| Beholders rude, and shallow to discern |
|
|
| Half what in thee is fair, one man except, |
|
|
| Who sees thee? and what is one? who should be seen |
|
|
| A Goddess among Gods, adored and served |
|
|
| By Angels numberless, thy daily train. |
|
|
| So glozed the Tempter, and his proem tuned: |
|
|
| Into the heart of Eve his words made way, |
|
|
| Though at the voice much marvelling; at length, |
|
|
| Not unamazed, she thus in answer spake. |
|
|
| What may this mean? language of man pronounced |
|
|
| By tongue of brute, and human sense expressed? |
|
|
| The first, at least, of these I thought denied |
|
|
| To beasts; whom God, on their creation-day, |
|
|
| Created mute to all articulate sound: |
|
|
| The latter I demur; for in their looks |
|
|
| Much reason, and in their actions, oft appears. |
|
|
| Thee, Serpent, subtlest beast of all the field |
|
|
| I knew, but not with human voice endued; |
|
|
| Redouble then this miracle, and say, |
|
|
| How camest thou speakable of mute, and how |
|
|
| To me so friendly grown above the rest |
|
|
| Of brutal kind, that daily are in sight? |
|
|
| Say, for such wonder claims attention due. |
|
|
| To whom the guileful Tempter thus replied. |
|
|
| Empress of this fair world, resplendent Eve! |
|
|
| Easy to me it is to tell thee all |
|
|
| What thou commandest; and right thou shouldst be obeyed: |
|
|
| I was at first as other beasts that graze |
|
|
| The trodden herb, of abject thoughts and low, |
|
|
| As was my food; nor aught but food discerned |
|
|
| Or sex, and apprehended nothing high: |
|
|
| Till, on a day roving the field, I chanced |
|
|
| A goodly tree far distant to behold |
|
|
| Loaden with fruit of fairest colours mixed, |
|
|
| Ruddy and gold: I nearer drew to gaze; |
|
|
| When from the boughs a savoury odour blown, |
|
|
| Grateful to appetite, more pleased my sense |
|
|
| Than smell of sweetest fennel, or the teats |
|
|
| Of ewe or goat dropping with milk at even, |
|
|
| Unsucked of lamb or kid, that tend their play. |
|
|
| To satisfy the sharp desire I had |
|
|
| Of tasting those fair apples, I resolved |
|
|
| Not to defer; hunger and thirst at once, |
|
|
| Powerful persuaders, quickened at the scent |
|
|
| Of that alluring fruit, urged me so keen. |
|
|
| About the mossy trunk I wound me soon; |
|
|
| For, high from ground, the branches would require |
|
|
| Thy utmost reach or Adam's: Round the tree |
|
|
| All other beasts that saw, with like desire |
|
|
| Longing and envying stood, but could not reach. |
|
|
| Amid the tree now got, where plenty hung |
|
|
| Tempting so nigh, to pluck and eat my fill |
|
|
| I spared not; for, such pleasure till that hour, |
|
|
| At feed or fountain, never had I found. |
|
|
| Sated at length, ere long I might perceive |
|
|
| Strange alteration in me, to degree |
|
|
| Of reason in my inward powers; and speech |
|
|
| Wanted not long; though to this shape retained. |
|
|
| Thenceforth to speculations high or deep |
|
|
| I turned my thoughts, and with capacious mind |
|
|
| Considered all things visible in Heaven, |
|
|
| Or Earth, or Middle; all things fair and good: |
|
|
| But all that fair and good in thy divine |
|
|
| Semblance, and in thy beauty's heavenly ray, |
|
|
| United I beheld; no fair to thine |
|
|
| Equivalent or second! which compelled |
|
|
| Me thus, though importune perhaps, to come |
|
|
| And gaze, and worship thee of right declared |
|
|
| Sovran of creatures, universal Dame! |
|
|
| So talked the spirited sly Snake; and Eve, |
|
|
| Yet more amazed, unwary thus replied. |
|
|
| Serpent, thy overpraising leaves in doubt |
|
|
| The virtue of that fruit, in thee first proved: |
|
|
| But say, where grows the tree? from hence how far? |
|
|
| For many are the trees of God that grow |
|
|
| In Paradise, and various, yet unknown |
|
|
| To us; in such abundance lies our choice, |
|
|
| As leaves a greater store of fruit untouched, |
|
|
| Still hanging incorruptible, till men |
|
|
| Grow up to their provision, and more hands |
|
|
| Help to disburden Nature of her birth. |
|
|
| To whom the wily Adder, blithe and glad. |
|
|
| Empress, the way is ready, and not long; |
|
|
| Beyond a row of myrtles, on a flat, |
|
|
| Fast by a fountain, one small thicket past |
|
|
| Of blowing myrrh and balm: if thou accept |
|
|
| My conduct, I can bring thee thither soon |
|
|
| Lead then, said Eve. He, leading, swiftly rolled |
|
|
| In tangles, and made intricate seem straight, |
|
|
| To mischief swift. Hope elevates, and joy |
|
|
| Brightens his crest; as when a wandering fire, |
|
|
| Compact of unctuous vapour, which the night |
|
|
| Condenses, and the cold environs round, |
|
|
| Kindled through agitation to a flame, |
|
|
| Which oft, they say, some evil Spirit attends, |
|
|
| Hovering and blazing with delusive light, |
|
|
| Misleads the amazed night-wanderer from his way |
|
|
| To bogs and mires, and oft through pond or pool; |
|
|
| There swallowed up and lost, from succour far. |
|
|
| So glistered the dire Snake, and into fraud |
|
|
| Led Eve, our credulous mother, to the tree |
|
|
| Of prohibition, root of all our woe; |
|
|
| Which when she saw, thus to her guide she spake. |
|
|
| Serpent, we might have spared our coming hither, |
|
|
| Fruitless to me, though fruit be here to excess, |
|
|
| The credit of whose virtue rest with thee; |
|
|
| Wonderous indeed, if cause of such effects. |
|
|
| But of this tree we may not taste nor touch; |
|
|
| God so commanded, and left that command |
|
|
| Sole daughter of his voice; the rest, we live |
|
|
| Law to ourselves; our reason is our law. |
|
|
| To whom the Tempter guilefully replied. |
|
|
| Indeed! hath God then said that of the fruit |
|
|
| Of all these garden-trees ye shall not eat, |
|
|
| Yet Lords declared of all in earth or air$? |
|
|
| To whom thus Eve, yet sinless. Of the fruit |
|
|
| Of each tree in the garden we may eat; |
|
|
| But of the fruit of this fair tree amidst |
|
|
| The garden, God hath said, Ye shall not eat |
|
|
| Thereof, nor shall ye touch it, lest ye die. |
|
|
| She scarce had said, though brief, when now more bold |
|
|
| The Tempter, but with show of zeal and love |
|
|
| To Man, and indignation at his wrong, |
|
|
| New part puts on; and, as to passion moved, |
|
|
| Fluctuates disturbed, yet comely and in act |
|
|
| Raised, as of some great matter to begin. |
|
|
| As when of old some orator renowned, |
|
|
| In Athens or free Rome, where eloquence |
|
|
| Flourished, since mute! to some great cause addressed, |
|
|
| Stood in himself collected; while each part, |
|
|
| Motion, each act, won audience ere the tongue; |
|
|
| Sometimes in highth began, as no delay |
|
|
| Of preface brooking, through his zeal of right: |
|
|
| So standing, moving, or to highth up grown, |
|
|
| The Tempter, all impassioned, thus began. |
|
|
| O sacred, wise, and wisdom-giving Plant, |
|
|
| Mother of science! now I feel thy power |
|
|
| Within me clear; not only to discern |
|
|
| Things in their causes, but to trace the ways |
|
|
| Of highest agents, deemed however wise. |
|
|
| Queen of this universe! do not believe |
|
|
| Those rigid threats of death: ye shall not die: |
|
|
| How should you? by the fruit? it gives you life |
|
|
| To knowledge; by the threatener? look on me, |
|
|
| Me, who have touched and tasted; yet both live, |
|
|
| And life more perfect have attained than Fate |
|
|
| Meant me, by venturing higher than my lot. |
|
|
| Shall that be shut to Man, which to the Beast |
|
|
| Is open? or will God incense his ire |
|
|
| For such a petty trespass? and not praise |
|
|
| Rather your dauntless virtue, whom the pain |
|
|
| Of death denounced, whatever thing death be, |
|
|
| Deterred not from achieving what might lead |
|
|
| To happier life, knowledge of good and evil; |
|
|
| Of good, how just? of evil, if what is evil |
|
|
| Be real, why not known, since easier shunned? |
|
|
| God therefore cannot hurt ye, and be just; |
|
|
| Not just, not God; not feared then, nor obeyed: |
|
|
| Your fear itself of death removes the fear. |
|
|
| Why then was this forbid? Why, but to awe; |
|
|
| Why, but to keep ye low and ignorant, |
|
|
| His worshippers? He knows that in the day |
|
|
| Ye eat thereof, your eyes that seem so clear, |
|
|
| Yet are but dim, shall perfectly be then |
|
|
| Opened and cleared, and ye shall be as Gods, |
|
|
| Knowing both good and evil, as they know. |
|
|
| That ye shall be as Gods, since I as Man, |
|
|
| Internal Man, is but proportion meet; |
|
|
| I, of brute, human; ye, of human, Gods. |
|
|
| So ye shall die perhaps, by putting off |
|
|
| Human, to put on Gods; death to be wished, |
|
|
| Though threatened, which no worse than this can bring. |
|
|
| And what are Gods, that Man may not become |
|
|
| As they, participating God-like food? |
|
|
| The Gods are first, and that advantage use |
|
|
| On our belief, that all from them proceeds: |
|
|
| I question it; for this fair earth I see, |
|
|
| Warmed by the sun, producing every kind; |
|
|
| Them, nothing: if they all things, who enclosed |
|
|
| Knowledge of good and evil in this tree, |
|
|
| That whoso eats thereof, forthwith attains |
|
|
| Wisdom without their leave? and wherein lies |
|
|
| The offence, that Man should thus attain to know? |
|
|
| What can your knowledge hurt him, or this tree |
|
|
| Impart against his will, if all be his? |
|
|
| Or is it envy? and can envy dwell |
|
|
| In heavenly breasts? These, these, and many more |
|
|
| Causes import your need of this fair fruit. |
|
|
| Goddess humane, reach then, and freely taste! |
|
|
| He ended; and his words, replete with guile, |
|
|
| Into her heart too easy entrance won: |
|
|
| Fixed on the fruit she gazed, which to behold |
|
|
| Might tempt alone; and in her ears the sound |
|
|
| Yet rung of his persuasive words, impregned |
|
|
| With reason, to her seeming, and with truth: |
|
|
| Mean while the hour of noon drew on, and waked |
|
|
| An eager appetite, raised by the smell |
|
|
| So savoury of that fruit, which with desire, |
|
|
| Inclinable now grown to touch or taste, |
|
|
| Solicited her longing eye; yet first |
|
|
| Pausing a while, thus to herself she mused. |
|
|
| Great are thy virtues, doubtless, best of fruits, |
|
|
| Though kept from man, and worthy to be admired; |
|
|
| Whose taste, too long forborn, at first assay |
|
|
| Gave elocution to the mute, and taught |
|
|
| The tongue not made for speech to speak thy praise: |
|
|
| Thy praise he also, who forbids thy use, |
|
|
| Conceals not from us, naming thee the tree |
|
|
| Of knowledge, knowledge both of good and evil; |
|
|
| Forbids us then to taste! but his forbidding |
|
|
| Commends thee more, while it infers the good |
|
|
| By thee communicated, and our want: |
|
|
| For good unknown sure is not had; or, had |
|
|
| And yet unknown, is as not had at all. |
|
|
| In plain then, what forbids he but to know, |
|
|
| Forbids us good, forbids us to be wise? |
|
|
| Such prohibitions bind not. But, if death |
|
|
| Bind us with after-bands, what profits then |
|
|
| Our inward freedom? In the day we eat |
|
|
| Of this fair fruit, our doom is, we shall die! |
|
|
| How dies the Serpent? he hath eaten and lives, |
|
|
| And knows, and speaks, and reasons, and discerns, |
|
|
| Irrational till then. For us alone |
|
|
| Was death invented? or to us denied |
|
|
| This intellectual food, for beasts reserved? |
|
|
| For beasts it seems: yet that one beast which first |
|
|
| Hath tasted envies not, but brings with joy |
|
|
| The good befallen him, author unsuspect, |
|
|
| Friendly to man, far from deceit or guile. |
|
|
| What fear I then? rather, what know to fear |
|
|
| Under this ignorance of good and evil, |
|
|
| Of God or death, of law or penalty? |
|
|
| Here grows the cure of all, this fruit divine, |
|
|
| Fair to the eye, inviting to the taste, |
|
|
| Of virtue to make wise: What hinders then |
|
|
| To reach, and feed at once both body and mind? |
|
|
| So saying, her rash hand in evil hour |
|
|
| Forth reaching to the fruit, she plucked, she eat! |
|
|
| Earth felt the wound; and Nature from her seat, |
|
|
| Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe, |
|
|
| That all was lost. Back to the thicket slunk |
|
|
| The guilty Serpent; and well might;for Eve, |
|
|
| Intent now wholly on her taste, nought else |
|
|
| Regarded; such delight till then, as seemed, |
|
|
| In fruit she never tasted, whether true |
|
|
| Or fancied so, through expectation high |
|
|
| Of knowledge; not was Godhead from her thought. |
|
|
| Greedily she ingorged without restraint, |
|
|
| And knew not eating death: Satiate at length, |
|
|
| And hightened as with wine, jocund and boon, |
|
|
| Thus to herself she pleasingly began. |
|
|
| O sovran, virtuous, precious of all trees |
|
|
| In Paradise! of operation blest |
|
|
| To sapience, hitherto obscured, infamed. |
|
|
| And thy fair fruit let hang, as to no end |
|
|
| Created; but henceforth my early care, |
|
|
| Not without song, each morning, and due praise, |
|
|
| Shall tend thee, and the fertile burden ease |
|
|
| Of thy full branches offered free to all; |
|
|
| Till, dieted by thee, I grow mature |
|
|
| In knowledge, as the Gods, who all things know; |
|
|
| Though others envy what they cannot give: |
|
|
| For, had the gift been theirs, it had not here |
|
|
| Thus grown. Experience, next, to thee I owe, |
|
|
| Best guide; not following thee, I had remained |
|
|
| In ignorance; thou openest wisdom's way, |
|
|
| And givest access, though secret she retire. |
|
|
| And I perhaps am secret: Heaven is high, |
|
|
| High, and remote to see from thence distinct |
|
|
| Each thing on Earth; and other care perhaps |
|
|
| May have diverted from continual watch |
|
|
| Our great Forbidder, safe with all his spies |
|
|
| About him. But to Adam in what sort |
|
|
| Shall I appear? shall I to him make known |
|
|
| As yet my change, and give him to partake |
|
|
| Full happiness with me, or rather not, |
|
|
| But keeps the odds of knowledge in my power |
|
|
| Without copartner? so to add what wants |
|
|
| In female sex, the more to draw his love, |
|
|
| And render me more equal; and perhaps, |
|
|
| A thing not undesirable, sometime |
|
|
| Superiour; for, inferiour, who is free |
|
|
| This may be well: But what if God have seen, |
|
|
| And death ensue? then I shall be no more! |
|
|
| And Adam, wedded to another Eve, |
|
|
| Shall live with her enjoying, I extinct; |
|
|
| A death to think! Confirmed then I resolve, |
|
|
| Adam shall share with me in bliss or woe: |
|
|
| So dear I love him, that with him all deaths |
|
|
| I could endure, without him live no life. |
|
|
| So saying, from the tree her step she turned; |
|
|
| But first low reverence done, as to the Power |
|
|
| That dwelt within, whose presence had infused |
|
|
| Into the plant sciential sap, derived |
|
|
| From nectar, drink of Gods. Adam the while, |
|
|
| Waiting desirous her return, had wove |
|
|
| Of choicest flowers a garland, to adorn |
|
|
| Her tresses, and her rural labours crown; |
|
|
| As reapers oft are wont their harvest-queen. |
|
|
| Great joy he promised to his thoughts, and new |
|
|
| Solace in her return, so long delayed: |
|
|
| Yet oft his heart, divine of something ill, |
|
|
| Misgave him; he the faltering measure felt; |
|
|
| And forth to meet her went, the way she took |
|
|
| That morn when first they parted: by the tree |
|
|
| Of knowledge he must pass; there he her met, |
|
|
| Scarce from the tree returning; in her hand |
|
|
| A bough of fairest fruit, that downy smiled, |
|
|
| New gathered, and ambrosial smell diffused. |
|
|
| To him she hasted; in her face excuse |
|
|
| Came prologue, and apology too prompt; |
|
|
| Which, with bland words at will, she thus addressed. |
|
|
| Hast thou not wondered, Adam, at my stay? |
|
|
| Thee I have missed, and thought it long, deprived |
|
|
| Thy presence; agony of love till now |
|
|
| Not felt, nor shall be twice; for never more |
|
|
| Mean I to try, what rash untried I sought, |
|
|
| The pain of absence from thy sight. But strange |
|
|
| Hath been the cause, and wonderful to hear: |
|
|
| This tree is not, as we are told, a tree |
|
|
| Of danger tasted, nor to evil unknown |
|
|
| Opening the way, but of divine effect |
|
|
| To open eyes, and make them Gods who taste; |
|
|
| And hath been tasted such: The serpent wise, |
|
|
| Or not restrained as we, or not obeying, |
|
|
| Hath eaten of the fruit; and is become, |
|
|
| Not dead, as we are threatened, but thenceforth |
|
|
| Endued with human voice and human sense, |
|
|
| Reasoning to admiration; and with me |
|
|
| Persuasively hath so prevailed, that I |
|
|
| Have also tasted, and have also found |
|
|
| The effects to correspond; opener mine eyes, |
|
|
| Dim erst, dilated spirits, ampler heart, |
|
|
| And growing up to Godhead; which for thee |
|
|
| Chiefly I sought, without thee can despise. |
|
|
| For bliss, as thou hast part, to me is bliss; |
|
|
| Tedious, unshared with thee, and odious soon. |
|
|
| Thou therefore also taste, that equal lot |
|
|
| May join us, equal joy, as equal love; |
|
|
| Lest, thou not tasting, different degree |
|
|
| Disjoin us, and I then too late renounce |
|
|
| Deity for thee, when Fate will not permit. |
|
|
| Thus Eve with countenance blithe her story told; |
|
|
| But in her cheek distemper flushing glowed. |
|
|
| On the other side Adam, soon as he heard |
|
|
| The fatal trespass done by Eve, amazed, |
|
|
| Astonied stood and blank, while horrour chill |
|
|
| Ran through his veins, and all his joints relaxed; |
|
|
| From his slack hand the garland wreathed for Eve |
|
|
| Down dropt, and all the faded roses shed: |
|
|
| Speechless he stood and pale, till thus at length |
|
|
| First to himself he inward silence broke. |
|
|
| O fairest of Creation, last and best |
|
|
| Of all God's works, Creature in whom excelled |
|
|
| Whatever can to sight or thought be formed, |
|
|
| Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet! |
|
|
| How art thou lost! how on a sudden lost, |
|
|
| Defaced, deflowered, and now to death devote! |
|
|
| Rather, how hast thou yielded to transgress |
|
|
| The strict forbiddance, how to violate |
|
|
| The sacred fruit forbidden! Some cursed fraud |
|
|
| Of enemy hath beguiled thee, yet unknown, |
|
|
| And me with thee hath ruined; for with thee |
|
|
| Certain my resolution is to die: |
|
|
| How can I live without thee! how forego |
|
|
| Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly joined, |
|
|
| To live again in these wild woods forlorn! |
|
|
| Should God create another Eve, and I |
|
|
| Another rib afford, yet loss of thee |
|
|
| Would never from my heart: no, no!I feel |
|
|
| The link of Nature draw me: flesh of flesh, |
|
|
| Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy state |
|
|
| Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe. |
|
|
| So having said, as one from sad dismay |
|
|
| Recomforted, and after thoughts disturbed |
|
|
| Submitting to what seemed remediless, |
|
|
| Thus in calm mood his words to Eve he turned. |
|
|
| Bold deed thou hast presumed, adventurous Eve, |
|
|
| And peril great provoked, who thus hast dared, |
|
|
| Had it been only coveting to eye |
|
|
| That sacred fruit, sacred to abstinence, |
|
|
| Much more to taste it under ban to touch. |
|
|
| But past who can recall, or done undo? |
|
|
| Not God Omnipotent, nor Fate; yet so |
|
|
| Perhaps thou shalt not die, perhaps the fact |
|
|
| Is not so heinous now, foretasted fruit, |
|
|
| Profaned first by the serpent, by him first |
|
|
| Made common, and unhallowed, ere our taste; |
|
|
| Nor yet on him found deadly; yet he lives; |
|
|
| Lives, as thou saidst, and gains to live, as Man, |
|
|
| Higher degree of life; inducement strong |
|
|
| To us, as likely tasting to attain |
|
|
| Proportional ascent; which cannot be |
|
|
| But to be Gods, or Angels, demi-Gods. |
|
|
| Nor can I think that God, Creator wise, |
|
|
| Though threatening, will in earnest so destroy |
|
|
| Us his prime creatures, dignified so high, |
|
|
| Set over all his works; which in our fall, |
|
|
| For us created, needs with us must fail, |
|
|
| Dependant made; so God shall uncreate, |
|
|
| Be frustrate, do, undo, and labour lose; |
|
|
| Not well conceived of God, who, though his power |
|
|
| Creation could repeat, yet would be loth |
|
|
| Us to abolish, lest the Adversary |
|
|
| Triumph, and say; "Fickle their state whom God |
|
|
| "Most favours; who can please him long? Me first |
|
|
| "He ruined, now Mankind; whom will he next?" |
|
|
| Matter of scorn, not to be given the Foe. |
|
|
| However I with thee have fixed my lot, |
|
|
| Certain to undergo like doom: If death |
|
|
| Consort with thee, death is to me as life; |
|
|
| So forcible within my heart I feel |
|
|
| The bond of Nature draw me to my own; |
|
|
| My own in thee, for what thou art is mine; |
|
|
| Our state cannot be severed; we are one, |
|
|
| One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself. |
|
|
| So Adam; and thus Eve to him replied. |
|
|
| O glorious trial of exceeding love, |
|
|
| Illustrious evidence, example high! |
|
|
| Engaging me to emulate; but, short |
|
|
| Of thy perfection, how shall I attain, |
|
|
| Adam, from whose dear side I boast me sprung, |
|
|
| And gladly of our union hear thee speak, |
|
|
| One heart, one soul in both; whereof good proof |
|
|
| This day affords, declaring thee resolved, |
|
|
| Rather than death, or aught than death more dread, |
|
|
| Shall separate us, linked in love so dear, |
|
|
| To undergo with me one guilt, one crime, |
|
|
| If any be, of tasting this fair fruit; |
|
|
| Whose virtue for of good still good proceeds, |
|
|
| Direct, or by occasion, hath presented |
|
|
| This happy trial of thy love, which else |
|
|
| So eminently never had been known? |
|
|
| Were it I thought death menaced would ensue |
|
|
| This my attempt, I would sustain alone |
|
|
| The worst, and not persuade thee, rather die |
|
|
| Deserted, than oblige thee with a fact |
|
|
| Pernicious to thy peace; chiefly assured |
|
|
| Remarkably so late of thy so true, |
|
|
| So faithful, love unequalled: but I feel |
|
|
| Far otherwise the event; not death, but life |
|
|
| Augmented, opened eyes, new hopes, new joys, |
|
|
| Taste so divine, that what of sweet before |
|
|
| Hath touched my sense, flat seems to this, and harsh. |
|
|
| On my experience, Adam, freely taste, |
|
|
| And fear of death deliver to the winds. |
|
|
| So saying, she embraced him, and for joy |
|
|
| Tenderly wept; much won, that he his love |
|
|
| Had so ennobled, as of choice to incur |
|
|
| Divine displeasure for her sake, or death. |
|
|
| In recompence for such compliance bad |
|
|
| Such recompence best merits from the bough |
|
|
| She gave him of that fair enticing fruit |
|
|
| With liberal hand: he scrupled not to eat, |
|
|
| Against his better knowledge; not deceived, |
|
|
| But fondly overcome with female charm. |
|
|
| Earth trembled from her entrails, as again |
|
|
| In pangs; and Nature gave a second groan; |
|
|
| Sky loured; and, muttering thunder, some sad drops |
|
|
| Wept at completing of the mortal sin |
|
|
| Original: while Adam took no thought, |
|
|
| Eating his fill; nor Eve to iterate |
|
|
| Her former trespass feared, the more to sooth |
|
|
| Him with her loved society; that now, |
|
|
| As with new wine intoxicated both, |
|
|
| They swim in mirth, and fancy that they feel |
|
|
| Divinity within them breeding wings, |
|
|
| Wherewith to scorn the earth: But that false fruit |
|
|
| Far other operation first displayed, |
|
|
| Carnal desire inflaming; he on Eve |
|
|
| Began to cast lascivious eyes; she him |
|
|
| As wantonly repaid; in lust they burn: |
|
|
| Till Adam thus 'gan Eve to dalliance move. |
|
|
| Eve, now I see thou art exact of taste, |
|
|
| And elegant, of sapience no small part; |
|
|
| Since to each meaning savour we apply, |
|
|
| And palate call judicious; I the praise |
|
|
| Yield thee, so well this day thou hast purveyed. |
|
|
| Much pleasure we have lost, while we abstained |
|
|
| From this delightful fruit, nor known till now |
|
|
| True relish, tasting; if such pleasure be |
|
|
| In things to us forbidden, it might be wished, |
|
|
| For this one tree had been forbidden ten. |
|
|
| But come, so well refreshed, now let us play, |
|
|
| As meet is, after such delicious fare; |
|
|
| For never did thy beauty, since the day |
|
|
| I saw thee first and wedded thee, adorned |
|
|
| With all perfections, so inflame my sense |
|
|
| With ardour to enjoy thee, fairer now |
|
|
| Than ever; bounty of this virtuous tree! |
|
|
| So said he, and forbore not glance or toy |
|
|
| Of amorous intent; well understood |
|
|
| Of Eve, whose eye darted contagious fire. |
|
|
| Her hand he seised; and to a shady bank, |
|
|
| Thick over-head with verdant roof imbowered, |
|
|
| He led her nothing loth; flowers were the couch, |
|
|
| Pansies, and violets, and asphodel, |
|
|
| And hyacinth; Earth's freshest softest lap. |
|
|
| There they their fill of love and love's disport |
|
|
| Took largely, of their mutual guilt the seal, |
|
|
| The solace of their sin; till dewy sleep |
|
|
| Oppressed them, wearied with their amorous play, |
|
|
| Soon as the force of that fallacious fruit, |
|
|
| That with exhilarating vapour bland |
|
|
| About their spirits had played, and inmost powers |
|
|
| Made err, was now exhaled; and grosser sleep, |
|
|
| Bred of unkindly fumes, with conscious dreams |
|
|
| Incumbered, now had left them; up they rose |
|
|
| As from unrest; and, each the other viewing, |
|
|
| Soon found their eyes how opened, and their minds |
|
|
| How darkened; innocence, that as a veil |
|
|
| Had shadowed them from knowing ill, was gone; |
|
|
| Just confidence, and native righteousness, |
|
|
| And honour, from about them, naked left |
|
|
| To guilty Shame; he covered, but his robe |
|
|
| Uncovered more. So rose the Danite strong, |
|
|
| Herculean Samson, from the harlot-lap |
|
|
| Of Philistean Dalilah, and waked |
|
|
| Shorn of his strength. They destitute and bare |
|
|
| Of all their virtue: Silent, and in face |
|
|
| Confounded, long they sat, as strucken mute: |
|
|
| Till Adam, though not less than Eve abashed, |
|
|
| At length gave utterance to these words constrained. |
|
|
| O Eve, in evil hour thou didst give ear |
|
|
| To that false worm, of whomsoever taught |
|
|
| To counterfeit Man's voice; true in our fall, |
|
|
| False in our promised rising; since our eyes |
|
|
| Opened we find indeed, and find we know |
|
|
| Both good and evil; good lost, and evil got; |
|
|
| Bad fruit of knowledge, if this be to know; |
|
|
| Which leaves us naked thus, of honour void, |
|
|
| Of innocence, of faith, of purity, |
|
|
| Our wonted ornaments now soiled and stained, |
|
|
| And in our faces evident the signs |
|
|
| Of foul concupiscence; whence evil store; |
|
|
| Even shame, the last of evils; of the first |
|
|
| Be sure then.—How shall I behold the face |
|
|
| Henceforth of God or Angel, erst with joy |
|
|
| And rapture so oft beheld? Those heavenly shapes |
|
|
| Will dazzle now this earthly with their blaze |
|
|
| Insufferably bright. O! might I here |
|
|
| In solitude live savage; in some glade |
|
|
| Obscured, where highest woods, impenetrable |
|
|
| To star or sun-light, spread their umbrage broad |
|
|
| And brown as evening: Cover me, ye Pines! |
|
|
| Ye Cedars, with innumerable boughs |
|
|
| Hide me, where I may never see them more!— |
|
|
| But let us now, as in bad plight, devise |
|
|
| What best may for the present serve to hide |
|
|
| The parts of each from other, that seem most |
|
|
| To shame obnoxious, and unseemliest seen; |
|
|
| Some tree, whose broad smooth leaves together sewed, |
|
|
| And girded on our loins, may cover round |
|
|
| Those middle parts; that this new comer, Shame, |
|
|
| There sit not, and reproach us as unclean. |
|
|
| So counselled he, and both together went |
|
|
| Into the thickest wood; there soon they chose |
|
|
| The fig-tree; not that kind for fruit renowned, |
|
|
| But such as at this day, to Indians known, |
|
|
| In Malabar or Decan spreads her arms |
|
|
| Branching so broad and long, that in the ground |
|
|
| The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow |
|
|
| About the mother tree, a pillared shade |
|
|
| High over-arched, and echoing walks between: |
|
|
| There oft the Indian herdsman, shunning heat, |
|
|
| Shelters in cool, and tends his pasturing herds |
|
|
| At loop-holes cut through thickest shade: Those leaves |
|
|
| They gathered, broad as Amazonian targe; |
|
|
| And, with what skill they had, together sewed, |
|
|
| To gird their waist; vain covering, if to hide |
|
|
| Their guilt and dreaded shame! O, how unlike |
|
|
| To that first naked glory! Such of late |
|
|
| Columbus found the American, so girt |
|
|
| With feathered cincture; naked else, and wild |
|
|
| Among the trees on isles and woody shores. |
|
|
| Thus fenced, and, as they thought, their shame in part |
|
|
| Covered, but not at rest or ease of mind, |
|
|
| They sat them down to weep; nor only tears |
|
|
| Rained at their eyes, but high winds worse within |
|
|
| Began to rise, high passions, anger, hate, |
|
|
| Mistrust, suspicion, discord; and shook sore |
|
|
| Their inward state of mind, calm region once |
|
|
| And full of peace, now tost and turbulent: |
|
|
| For Understanding ruled not, and the Will |
|
|
| Heard not her lore; both in subjection now |
|
|
| To sensual Appetite, who from beneath |
|
|
| Usurping over sovran Reason claimed |
|
|
| Superiour sway: From thus distempered breast, |
|
|
| Adam, estranged in look and altered style, |
|
|
| Speech intermitted thus to Eve renewed. |
|
|
| Would thou hadst hearkened to my words, and staid |
|
|
| With me, as I besought thee, when that strange |
|
|
| Desire of wandering, this unhappy morn, |
|
|
| I know not whence possessed thee; we had then |
|
|
| Remained still happy; not, as now, despoiled |
|
|
| Of all our good; shamed, naked, miserable! |
|
|
| Let none henceforth seek needless cause to approve |
|
|
| The faith they owe; when earnestly they seek |
|
|
| Such proof, conclude, they then begin to fail. |
|
|
| To whom, soon moved with touch of blame, thus Eve. |
|
|
| What words have passed thy lips, Adam severe! |
|
|
| Imputest thou that to my default, or will |
|
|
| Of wandering, as thou callest it, which who knows |
|
|
| But might as ill have happened thou being by, |
|
|
| Or to thyself perhaps? Hadst thou been there, |
|
|
| Or here the attempt, thou couldst not have discerned |
|
|
| Fraud in the Serpent, speaking as he spake; |
|
|
| No ground of enmity between us known, |
|
|
| Why he should mean me ill, or seek to harm. |
|
|
| Was I to have never parted from thy side? |
|
|
| As good have grown there still a lifeless rib. |
|
|
| Being as I am, why didst not thou, the head, |
|
|
| Command me absolutely not to go, |
|
|
| Going into such danger, as thou saidst? |
|
|
| Too facile then, thou didst not much gainsay; |
|
|
| Nay, didst permit, approve, and fair dismiss. |
|
|
| Hadst thou been firm and fixed in thy dissent, |
|
|
| Neither had I transgressed, nor thou with me. |
|
|
| To whom, then first incensed, Adam replied. |
|
|
| Is this the love, is this the recompence |
|
|
| Of mine to thee, ingrateful Eve! expressed |
|
|
| Immutable, when thou wert lost, not I; |
|
|
| Who might have lived, and joyed immortal bliss, |
|
|
| Yet willingly chose rather death with thee? |
|
|
| And am I now upbraided as the cause |
|
|
| Of thy transgressing? Not enough severe, |
|
|
| It seems, in thy restraint: What could I more |
|
|
| I warned thee, I admonished thee, foretold |
|
|
| The danger, and the lurking enemy |
|
|
| That lay in wait; beyond this, had been force; |
|
|
| And force upon free will hath here no place. |
|
|
| But confidence then bore thee on; secure |
|
|
| Either to meet no danger, or to find |
|
|
| Matter of glorious trial; and perhaps |
|
|
| I also erred, in overmuch admiring |
|
|
| What seemed in thee so perfect, that I thought |
|
|
| No evil durst attempt thee; but I rue |
|
|
| The errour now, which is become my crime, |
|
|
| And thou the accuser. Thus it shall befall |
|
|
| Him, who, to worth in women overtrusting, |
|
|
| Lets her will rule: restraint she will not brook; |
|
|
| And, left to herself, if evil thence ensue, |
|
|
| She first his weak indulgence will accuse. |
|
|
| Thus they in mutual accusation spent |
|
|
| The fruitless hours, but neither self-condemning; |
|
|
| And of their vain contest appeared no end. |
|
|