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 They gather'd, broad as Amazonian targe, [leaves 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.
Thus fenced, and, as they thought, their shame in Cover'd, but not at rest or ease of mind, [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, hate, 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.
Man's transgression known, the guardian Angels forsake Paradise, and return up to Heaven to approve their vigilance, and are approved; God declaring that the entrance of Satan could not be by them prevented. He sends his Son to judge the transgressors, who descends and gives sentence accordingly; then in pity clothes them both, and re-ascends. Sin and Death sitting till then at the gates of Hell, by wondrous sympathy, feeling the success of Satan in this new world, and the sin by Man there committed, resolve to sit no longer confined in Hell, but to follow Satan their sire up to the place of Man. To make the way easier from Hell to this world, to and fro, they pave a broad highway or bridge over Chaos, according to the track that Satan first made; then, preparing for earth, they meet him, proud of his success, returning to Hell; their mutual gratulation. Satan arrives at Pandemonium; in full assembly relates, with boasting, his success against Man; instead of applause is entertained with a general hiss by all his audience, transformed with himself suddenly into serpents, according to his doom in Paradise; then, deluded with a show of the forbidden tree springing up before them, they, greedily reaching to take of the fruit, chew dust and bitter ashes. The proceedings of Sin and Death. God foretells the final victory of his Son over them, and the renewing of all things; but, for the present, commands his Angels to make several alterations in the heavens and elements. Adam, more and more perceiving his fallen condition, heavily bewails; rejects the condolement of Eve; she persists, and at length appeases him; then, to evade the curse likely to fall on their offspring, proposes to Adam violent ways, which he approves not, but conceiving better hope, puts her in mind of the late promise made them, that her seed should be revenged on the Serpent, and exhorts her, with him, to seek peace of the offended Deity by repentance and supplication.
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