In things to us forbidden, it might be wish'd,
For this one tree had been forbidden ten.
But come, so well refresh'd, 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, adorn'd
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 seized, and to a shady bank,
Thick overhead with verdant roof imbow'rd,
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
Oppress'd them, wearied with their amorous play.
Soon as the force of that fallacious fruit,
That, with exhilarating vapour bland,
About their spirits had play'd, & inmost powers
Made err, was now exhal'd; & grosser sleep,
Bred of unkindly fumes, with conscious dreams
Encumber'd, now had left them; up they rose,
As from unrest, and, each the other viewing,
Soon found their eyes how open'd, & their minds
How darken'd; innocence, that, as a veil,
Had shadow'd them from knowing ill, was gone,
Just confidence, and native righteousness,
And honour, from about them, naked left
To guilty shame; ne cover'd; but his robe
Uncover'd more. So rose the Danite strong,
Herculean Samson, from the harlot-lap
Of Philistean Delilah, and waked
Shorn of his strength; they destitute & bare
Of all their virtue. Silent, and in face
Confounded, long they sat, as strucken mute;
Till Adam, though not less than Eve abash'd,
At length gave utterance to these words constrain'd.
"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
Open'd 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 & 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 sew'd,
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 counsell'd he and both together went Into the thickest wood; there soon they chose The fig-tree, not that kind for fruit renown'd, But such as, at this day to Indians known In Malabar or Decan, spreads her arms, Branching so broad & long, that in the ground The bended twigs take root, & daughters grow About the mother tree, a pillar'd shade, High over-arch'd, & echoing walks between; There oft the Indian herdsman, shunning heat, Shelters in cool, & tends his pasturing herds
At loopholes, cut through thickest shade. Those leaves 1110
They gather'd, broad as Amazonian targe,
And with what skill they had, together sew'd,
To gird their waist; vain covering, if to hide
Their guilt & dreaded shame; O how unlike
To that first naked glory! Such of late
Columbus found the American, so girt
With feather'd cincture, naked else, & wild,
Among the trees, on isles & woody shores.
Cover'd, but not at rest or ease of mind,
Thus fenced, and, as they thought, their shaine in part
They sat them down to weep; nor only tears
Rain'd at their eyes, but high winds worse within
Began to rise, high passions, anger, haté,
Mistrust, suspicion, discord, and shook sore
Their inward state of mind; calm region once,
And full of peace, now toss'd 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 sovereign reason, claimed
Superior sway; from thus distemper'd breast,
Adam, estranged in look and alter'd style,
Speech intermitted thus to Eve renew'd.
"Would thou hadst hearken'd to my words, & stay'd
With me, as I besought thee, when that strange
Desire of wandering, this unhappy morn,
I know not whence possess'd thee; we had then
Remain'd still happy, not as now, despoil'd
Of all our good, sham'd, 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 call'st it, which who knows
But might as ill have happen'd thou being by,
Or to thyself, perhaps? Hadst thou been there,
Or here the attempt, thou couldst not have discern'd
Fraud in the serpent, speaking as he spake;
No ground of enmity between us known,
Why should he 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 fix'd in thy dissent,
Neither had I transgress'd, nor thou with me.'
To whom, then first incensed, Adam replied.
"Is this the love, is this the recompense
Of mine to thee, ungrateful Eve, express'd
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 err'd, in overmuch admiring
What seem'd in thee so perfect, that I thought
No evil durst attempt thee; but I rue
That error now, which is become my crime,
And thou the accuser. Thus it shall befal
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 appear'd no end.
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