→yet is it much admir'd

Of rareft men, and thines among them bright, Like glift'ring ftars thro' gloomy fhades of night.

When the Soul's eye beholds God's countenance;
As when St. Paul on his dear Master's wings
Was rapt alive up to eternal things,

And he, that whilom, for the chofen flock,
Made walls of waters, waters of a rock.

- Heaven's great Architect

Gloriously compass'd with the bleffed legions,
That reign above the azure fpangled regions.

Take all the reft, I bid thee; but I vow
By th' un-nam'd name, whereto all knees do bow,
And by the keen darts of my kindled ire,
More fiercely burning than confuming fire,

That, of the Fruit of Knowledge if thou feed, Death, dreadful Death, fhall plague thee and thy feed.

Or caft me headlong from fome mountain steep Down to the whirling bottom of the deep.

And, yet not treading Sin's falfe mazy measures, Sails on fmooth furges of a fea of pleasures.

By

By fome clear river's lily-paved fide,

Whose fand's pure gold, whose pebbles pretious

gems,

And liquid filver all the curling ftreams ;

Then up and down a foreft thick he paceth;
Which, felfly op'ning in his presence, 'baseth
Her trembling treffes' never-fading spring,
In humble homage to her mighty King.

But feeft thou not, my Mufe, thou tread'ft the fame

Too curious path thou doft in others blame?
And ftriv'ft in vain to paint this work of choice;
The which no human spirit, hand, nor voice,
Can once conceive, lefs pourtray, leaft express,
All overwhelm'd in gulphs so bottomless?

If the fly malice of the ferpent hated,
Caufing their fall, had not defil'd their kin,
And unborn feed, with leprofy of fin.

So the world's foul fhould in our foul inspire
Th' eternal force of an eternal fire.

Man's proud apostacy ;·

M

PART

PART THE SECOND;

THE IMPOSTURE;

O WHO fhall lend me light and nimble wingsThat in a moment, boldly-daring, I

From Heaven to Hell, from Hell to Heaven may

fly?—

What spell fhall charm the attentive Reader's fense?

What fount fhall fill my voice with eloquence?

Ah! thou, my God, ev'n thou, my foul re

fining

In holy Faith's pure furnace clearly shining, Shalt make my hap far to furmount my hope, Inftruct my fpirit, and give my tongue free scope: Thou bounteous in my bold attempts fhalt grace

me,

And in the rank of hölieft poets place me;

And frankly grant, that, foaring through the sky, Upborne on Eagle's pennons, I may fly.

While Adam bathes in these felicities,

Hell's Prince, fly parent of revolt and lies,
Feels a peftiferous bufy fwarming neft

Of never-dying dragons in his breast ;——---
While, above all, HATE, PRIDE, and ENVIOUS

SPITE,

With ceaseless tortures vex him day and night.
The hate he bears to God, who hath him driven
Juftly for ever from the glittering Heaven,
To dwell in darkness of a fulphry cloud :

:-

The proud defire to have in his fubjection
Mankind enchain'd in gyves of fin's infection:
The envious heart-break to behold yet shine
In Adam's face God's image all divine,
Which he had loft:

These barb'rous tyrants of his treach'rous will
Spur on his course, his rage redoubling ftill.

The dragon, then, man's fortress to surprise,
Follows fome Captain's martial policies;
Who, ere too near an adverse place he pitch,
The fituation marks, and founds the ditch;
With his eye's level the steep wall he metes,
Surveys the flank, his camp in order fets;
And then approaching batters fierce the fide,
Which Art and Nature leaft have fortified:
So this old foldier, having marked rife
The firft-born pair's yet danger-dreadless life,
Mounting

M 2

Mounting his cannons, cunningly affaults
The part he finds in evident defaults,
Namely, poor woman, wav'ring, weak, unwife,
Light, credulous,-

"Eve, fecond honour of this universe! Is 't true, I pray, a jealous God perverse Strictly forbids to you and all

your race All the fair fruits these filver brooks embrace,

To you bequeathed, and by you poffeft,

Day after day, by your own labour dreft ?"

With breath of these sweet words the wily fnake

A poison'd air inspired, as he spake,

In Eve's frail breaft; who thus replies:-" O

know

(Whoe'er thou art, but thy kind care doth shew
A gentle friend,) that all the fruits and flowers
This garden yields are in our hands and powers,
Except alone that goodly tree divine,
Which in the midft of this green ground doth

fhine

The all-good God (alas! I wot not why)
Forbad us touch that tree, on pain to die."
-She ceas'd; already brooding in her heart
A growing wish, that shall her weal, fubvert.

As a falfe lover, that thick snares hath laid T'entrap the honour of a fair young maid,