On our belief, that all from them proceeds:
I question it; for this fair Earth I see,
Warm'd by the Sun, producing every kind;
Them, nothing: if they all things, who inclos'd
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

Or fancied so, through expectation high

Of knowledge; nor was godhead from her thought,
Greedily she engorg'd without restraint,

And knew not eating death; satiate at length,
And heighten'd 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 obscur'd, infam'd,
And thy fair fruit let hang, as to no end
Created; but henceforth my early care,

Shall tend thee, and the fertile burden ease
Of thy full branches offer'd free to all;
Till, dieted by thee, I grow mature

In heavenly breasts?—These, these, and many more Not without song, each morning, and due praise,
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:
Fix'd on the fruit she gaz'd, which to behold
Might tempt alone; and in her ears the sound
Yet rung of his persuasive words, impregn'd
With reason, to her seeming, and with truth;
Meanwhile the hour of noon drew on, and wak'd
An eager appetite, rais'd by the smell

So savory of that fruit, which with desire,
Inclinable now grown to touch or taste,
Solicited her longing eye; yet first
Pausing awhile, thus to herself she mus'd.

"Great are thy virtues, doubtless, best of fruits,
Though kept from man, and worthy to be admir'd;
Whose taste, too long forborne, at first assay
Gave elocution to the mute, and taught

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 remain'd
In ignorance; thou open'st wisdom's way,
And giv'st 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

The tongue not made for speech, to speak thy praise: Full happiness with me, or rather not,
Thy praise he also, who forbids thy use,
Conceals not from us, naming thee the tree

But keep the odds of knowledge in my power
Without copartner? so to add what wants

And render me more equal; and perhaps,
A thing not undesirable, sometime
Superior: for, inferior, 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! Confirm'd 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."

Of knowledge, knowledge both of good and evil; In female sex, the more to draw his love,
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 eat'n 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 reserv'd?

For beasts it seems: yet that one beast which first
Hath tasted envies not, but brings with joy
The good befall'n 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 pluck'd, 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 seem'd,
In fruit she never tasted, whether true

So saying, from the tree her step she turn'd;
But first low reverence done, as to the Power
That dwelt within, whose presence had infus'd
Into the plant sciential sap, deriv'd
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 labors crown;
As reapers oft are wont their harvest-queen.
Great joy he promis'd to his thoughts, and new
Solace in her return, so long delay'd:
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 smil'd,
New gather'd, and ambrosial smell diffus'd.
To him she hasted; in her face excuse
Came prologue, and apology too prompt;
Which, with bland words at will, she thus address'd
"Hast thou not wonder'd, Adam, at my stay?
Thee I have miss'd, and thought it long, depriv'd
Thy presence; agony of love till now

But fondly overcome with female charm.
Earth trembled from her entrails, as again
In pangs; and Nature gave a second groan;
Sky lour'd; 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 fear'd, the more to soothe
Him with her lov'd society; that now,
As with new wine intoxicated both,

They swim in mirth, and fancy that they feel
Divinity within them breeding wings,

To counterfeit man's voice; true in our fall,
False in our promis'd 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 honor void,
Of innocence, of faith, of purity,

Our wonted ornaments now soil'd and stain'd.
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

Wherewith to scorn the earth: but that false fruit Henceforth of God or angel, erst with joy

Far other operation first display'd,
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 savor we apply
And palate call judicious; I the praise
Yield thee, so well this day thou hast purvey'd.
Much pleasure we have lost, while we abstain'd
From this delightful fruit, nor known till now
True relish, tasting; if such pleasure be
In things to us forbidd'n, 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 ardor 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 seiz'd; and to a shady bank,
Thick over-head with verdant roof embower'd,
He led her nothing loth; flowers were the couch,
Pansies, and violets, and asphodel,
And hyacinths; 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

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
Obscur'd, where highest woods, impenetrablę
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 and long, that in the ground
The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow
About the mother tree, a pillar'd shade
High over-arch'd, 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 gather'd, broad as Amazonian targe;
And, with what skill they had, together sew'd,
To gird their waist; vain covering, if to hide

Oppress'd them, wearied with their amorous play. Their guilt and dreaded shame! O, how unlike

Soon as the force of that fallacious fruit,
That with exhilarating vapor bland

About their spirits had play'd, and inmost powers
Made err, was now exhal'd; and 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, and 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 honor, from about them, naked left
To guilty shame; he cover'd, but his robe
Uncover'd more. So rose the Danite strong,
Herculean Samson, from the harlot-lap
Of Philistéan Dalilah, and wak'd
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 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 that first naked glory! Such of late
Columbus found the American, so girt
With feather'd cincture, naked else, and wild
Among the trees on isles and woody shores.
Thus fenc'd, and, as they thought, their shame in part
Cover'd, but not at rest or ease of mind,
They sat them down to weep; nor only tears
Rain'd at their eyes, but high winds worse withir
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 rul'd not, and the Will
Heard not her lore; both in subjection now
To Sensual Appetite, who from beneath
Usurping over sovran Reason claim'd
Superior sway: from thus distemper'd breast,
Adam, estrang'd in look and alter'd style,
Speech intermitted thus to Eve renew'd.

[stard

'Would thou hadst hearkened to my words, and With me, as I besought thee, when that strange Desire of wandering, this unhappy morn,

I know not whence possess'd thee; we had ther

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 mov'd with touch of blame, thus
Eve.

"What words have pass'd thy lips, Adam severe !
Imput'st 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 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 fix'd in thy dissent,
Neither had I transgress'd, nor thou with me."
To whom, then first incens'd, Adam replied.
"Is this the love, is this the recompense
Of mine to thee, ingrateful Eve! Express'd
Immutable, when thou wert lost, not I;
Who might have liv'd, and joy'd 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 warn'd thee, I admonish'd 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 over-much 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 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 contést appear'd no end.

BOOK X.

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, re-
turning 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 also
suddenly into serpents according to his doom
given 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 con-
dition, heavily bewails, rejects the condolement
of Eve; she persists, and at length appeases him:
then, to evade the curse likely to fall on their off-
spring, 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.

MEANWHILE the heinous and despiteful act
Of Satan done in Paradise; and how
He, in the serpent, had perverted Eve,
Her husband she, to taste the fatal fruit,
Was known in Heaven; for what can 'scape the eye
Of God all-seeing, or deceive his heart
Omniscient? who, in all things wise and just,
Hinder'd not Satan to attempt the mind

Of Man, with strength entire, and free-will, arm'd;
Complete to have discover'd and repuls'd
Whatever wiles of foe or seeming friend.

For still they knew, and ought to have still re-
member'd,

The high injunction, not to taste that fruit, Whoever tempted; which they not obeying Incurr'd (what could they less?) the penalty; And, manifold in sin, deserv'd to fall. Up into Heaven from Paradise in haste The angelic guards ascend, mute, and sad, For Man; for of his state by this they knew, Much wondering how the subtle fiend had stol'n Entrance unseen. Soon as the unwelcome news. From Earth arrived at Heaven-gate, displeas'd All were who heard; dim sadness did not spare That time celestial visages, yet, mix'd With pity, violated not their bliss. About the new-arriv'd, in multitudes Man's transgression known; the guardian-angels The ethereal people ran, to hear and know forsake Paradise, and return up to Heaven to How all befell; they towards the throne supreme approve their vigilance, and are approved; God Accountable, made haste, to make appear declaring that the entrance of Satan could With righteous plea their utmost vigilance, not be by them prevented. He sends his Son And easily approv'd; when the Most High to judge the transgressors, who descends and Eternal Father, from his secret cloud gives sentence accordingly; then in pity clothes them both, and reascends. 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

THE ARGUMENT.

Amidst, in thunder utter'd thus his voice.

"Assembled angels, and ye powers return'd
From unsuccessful charge, be not dismay'd,
Nor troubled at these tidings from the Earth,
Which your sincerest care could not prevent, >

MILTON.

He came; and with him Eve, more loth, though
To offend; discountenanc'd both, and discompos'd;
Love was not in their looks, either to God,
Or to each other; but apparent guilt,
And shame, and perturbation, and despair,
Anger, and obstinacy, and hate, and guile.
Whence Adam, faltering long, thus answer'd brief.
"I heard thee in the garden, and of thy voice
Afraid, being naked, hid myself." To whom
The gracious Judge without revile replied.

"My voice thou oft hast heard, and hast not fear'd
But still rejoic'd; how is it now become
So dreadful to thee? That thou art naked, who
Hath told thee? Hast thou eaten of the tree,
To whom thus Adam sore beset replied.
Whereof I gave thee charge thou shouldst not eat?"
Before my judge; either to undergo
O Heaven! in evil strait this day I stand
Myself the total crime, or to accuse
My other self, the partner of my life;
Whose failing, while her faith to me remains,
I should conceal, and not expose to blame.
By my complaint: but strict necessity
Subdues me, and calamitous constraint;
Lest on my head both sin and punishment,
However insupportable, be all
Devolv'd; though should I hold my peace, yet thou
Wouldst easily detect what I conceale
This woman, whom thou mad'st to be my help,
And gav'st me as thy perfect gift, so good,
So fit, so acceptable, so divine,
And what she did, whatever in itself,
That from her hand I could suspect no ill,
Her doing seem'd to justify the deed;
She gave me of the tree, and I did eat."

To whom the Sovran Presence thus replied.
"Was she thy God, that her thou didst obey
Before his voice? or was she made thy guide,
Superior, or but equal, that to her

Wherein God set thee above her made of thee,
Thou didst resign thy manhood, and the place
And for thee, whose perfection far excell'd
Hers in all real dignity? Adorn'd
She was indeed, and lovely, to attract
Thy love, not thy subjection; and her gifts
Unseemly to bear rule; which was thy part
Were such, as under government well seem'd;
And person, hadst thou known thyself aright."
So having said, he thus to Eve in few.
"Say, woman, what is this which thou hast done?
To whom sad Eve, with shame nigh overwhelm'd
Confessing soon, yet not before her judge
Bold or loquacious, thus abash'd replied.
"The serpent me beguil'd, and I did eat."
Which when the Lord God heard, without delay
Serpent, though brute; unable to transfer
To judgment he proceeded on the accus'd
The guilt on him, who made him instrument
Of mischief, and polluted from the end
As vitiated in nature: more to know
Of his creation; justly then accurs'd,
Concern'd not Man, (since he no further knew,)
Nor alter'd his offence; yet God at last
To Satan first in sin his doom applied,
Though in mysterious terms, judg'd as then best-
And on the serpent thus his curse let fall.

Because thou hast done this, thou art accurs'd