Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay
To mold me Man, did I folicit thee
From darkness to promote me, or here place
In this delicious garden? as my will
Concur'd not to my be'ing, it were but right
And equal to reduce me to my duft,
Defirous to refign and render back
All I receiv'd, unable to perform
Thy terms too hard, by which I was to hold
The good I fought not. To the lofs of that,
Sufficient penalty, why haft thou added
The fenfe of endlefs woes? inexplicable
Thy juftice feems; yet to fay truth, too late
I thus conteft; then should have been refus'd
Thofe terms whatever, when they were propos'd:
Thou didst accept them: wilt thou' enjoy the good,
Then cavil the conditions? and though God
Made thee without thy leave, what if thy fon 760 Prove difobedient, and reprov'd, retort,
Wherefore didft thou beget me? I fought it not:
Wouldst thou admit for his contempt of thee
That proud excufe? yet him not thy election,
But natural neceffity begot.
God made thee' of choice his own, and of his own
To ferve him; thy reward was of his grace,
Thy punishment then justly' is at his will.
Be' it fo, for I fubmit; his doom is fair,
That duft I am, and fhall to dust return :
O welcome hour whenever! why delays
His hand to execute what his decree
Fix'd on this day? why do I overlive,
Why am I mock'd with death, and lengthen'd out
To deathlefs pain? how gladly would I meet
Mortality my fentence, and be earth
Infenfible, how glad would lay me down
As in my mother's lap? there I should reft
And fleep fecure; his dreadful voice no more
Would thunder in my ears, no fear of worse
To me and to my offspring would torment me
With cruel expectation. Yet one doubt
Purfues me ftill, left all I cannot die,
Left that pure breath of life, the spi'rit of Man
Which God infpir'd, cannot together perish
With this corporeal clod; then in the grave,
Or in fome other dismal place, who knows
But I fhall die a living death? O thought
Horrid, if true! yet why? it was but breath
Of life that finn'd; what dies but what had life
And fin the body properly hath neither.
All of me then fhall die: let this appeafe
The doubt, fince human reach no further knows.
For though the Lord of all be infinite,
Is his wrath alfo ? be it, Man is not fo,
But mortal doom'd. How can he exercise
Wrath without end on Man whom death must end?
Can he make deathlefs death? that were to make
Strange contradiction, which to God himself
Impoffible is held, as argument
Of weakness, not of pow'r. Will he draw out,
For anger's fake, finite to infinite
In punish'd Man, to fatisfy his rigor
Satisfy'd never? that were to extend
His fentence beyond duft and nature's law,
By which all caufes elfe according still
To the reception of their matter act,
Not to th' extent of their own fphere. But fay
That death be not one ftroke, as I fuppos'd,
Bereaving fenfe, but endless mifery
From this day onward, which I feel begun
Both in me, and without me, and fo last
To perpetuity; Ay me, that fear
Comes thund'ring back with dreadful revolution
defenfelefs head; both Death and I
Are found eternal, and incorporate both,
Nor I on my part fingle, in me all
Pofterity stands curs'd: Fair patrimony
That I must leave ye, Sons; O were I able
To wafte it all myself, and leave ye none !
So difinherited how would you blefs
Me now your curfe! Ah, why should all mankind
For one man's fault thus guiltlefs be condemn'd,
If guiltless? But from me what can proceed,
But all corrupt, both mind and will deprav'd
Not to do only, but to will the fame
With me? how can they then acquitted stand
In fight of God? Him after all disputes
Forc'd I abfolve: all my evasions vain,
And reasonings, though through mazes, lead me still
But to my own conviction: first and last
On me, me only, as the fource and spring
Of all corruption, all the blame lights due;
So might the wrath. Fond with! couldst thou fupport
That burden heavier than the earth to bear,
835
Than all the world much heavier, though divided
With that bad Woman? Thus what thou defir'st
And what thou fear'ft, alike destroys all hope
Of refuge, and concludes thee miferable
Beyond all paft example and futúre,
To Satan only like both crime and doom.
O Confcience, into what abyss of fears
And horrors haft thou driv'n me; out of which
I find no way, from deep to deeper plung'd!
Thus Adam to himself lamented loud
Through the ftill night, not now, as ere Man fell, Wholesome and cool, and mild, but with black air Accompanied, with damps and dreadful gloom, Which to his evil confcience reprefented
All things with double terror: on the ground
Outftretch'd he lay, on the cold ground, and oft
Curs'd his creation, death as oft accus'd
Of tardy execution, fince denounc'd
The day of his offenfe. Why comes not death,
Said he, with one thrice acceptable stroke
To end me? fhall truth fail to keep her word,
Juftice divine not haften to be just ?
But death comes not at call, justice divine
Mends not her flowest pace for prayers or cries.
O woods, O fountains, hillocs, dales and bowers, 860 With other echo late I taught your shades
To answer, and refound far other fong.
Whom thus afflicted when fad Eve beheld,
Defolate where the fat, approaching nigh,
Soft words to his fierce paffion fhe affay'd:
But her with ftern regard he thus repell'd.
Out of my fight, thou Serpent; that name beft
Befits thee with him leagu'd, thyself as false
And hateful; nothing wants, but that thy shape,
Like his, and color ferpentine, may show
870
Thy inward fraud, to warn all creatures from thee
Henceforth; left that too heav'nly form, pretended
To hellish falfhood, fnare them. But for thee
I had perfifted happy', had not thy pride
And wand'ring vanity, when leaft was safe,
Rejected my forewarning, and difdain'd
Not to be trusted, longing to be seen
Though by the Dev'il himself, him overweening
To over-reach, but with the ferpent meeting
Fool'd and beguil'd, by him thou, I by thee,
To trust thee from my fide, imagin'd wife,
Conftant, mature, proof against all affaults,
And understood not all was but a show
Rather than folid virtue', all but a rib
Crooked by nature, bent, as now appears,
More to the part finifter, from me drawn,
Well if thrown out, as fupernumerary
To my juft number found. O why did God,
Creator wife, that peopled higheft Heaven
With Spirits mafculine, create at last
This novelty on earth, this fair defect
Of nature, and not fill the world at once
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