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His bursting passion into plaints thus pour'd:

« O earth, how like to heaven, if not preferr'd More justly, seat worthier of gods, as built With second thoughts, reforming what was old! For what God, after better, worse would build ? Terrestrial heaven, danc'd round by other heavens That shine, yet bear their bright officious lamps, Light above light, for thee alone, as seems, In thee concentring all their precious beams Of sacred influence! As God in heaven

Is center, yet extends to all; so thou,

Centring, receiv'st from all those orbs : in thee,
Not in themselves, all their known virtue appears,
Productive in herb, plant, and nobler birth
Of creatures animate with gradual life

Of growth, sense, reason, all summ'd up in man.
With what delight could I have walk'd the round,
If I could joy in aught! sweet interchange
Of hill and valley, rivers, woods, and plains,

Now land, now sea, and shores with forest crown'd,
Rocks, dens, and caves! But I in none of these
Find place or refuge; and the more I see
Pleasures about me, so much more I feel
Torment within me, as from the hateful siege
Of contraries: all good to me becomes
Bane, and in heaven much worse would be
But neither here seek I, no, nor in heaven

my state.

To dwell, unless by mastering heaven's Supreme; Nor hope to be myself less miserable

By what I seek, but others to make such

As I, though thereby worse to me redound :

For only in destroying I find ease

To my relentless thoughts; and, him destroy'd,
Or won to what may work bis utter loss,

From whom all this was made, all this will soon
Follow, as to him link'd in weal or woe;
In woe then; that destruction wide may range :
To me shall be the glory sole among

The infernal powers, in one day to have marr'd
What he, Almighty styl'd, six nights and days
Continued making.

And who knows how long
Before had been contriving; though perhaps
Not longer than since I, in one night, freed
From servitude inglorious well nigh half
The angelic name, and thinner left the throng
Of his adorers. He, to be aveng'd,

And to repair his numbers thus impair'd ;
Whether such virtue spent of old now fail'd
More angels to create, if they at least
Are his created; or to spite us more,
Determined to advance into our room,

A creature form'd of earth; and him endow,
Exalted from so base original,

With heavenly spoils; our spoils. What he decreed,

He effected man he made, and for him built
Magnificent this world, and earth his seat,
Him lord pronounc'd; and, O indignity!
Subjected to his service angel-wings,
And flaming ministers to watch and tend

:

Their earthly charge of these the vigilance
I dread and, to elude, thus wrapt in mist
Of midnight vapour glide obscure, and pry
In every bush and brake, where hap may find

The serpent sleeping; in whose mazy folds
To hide me, and the dark intent I bring.

« O foul descent! that I, who erst contended With gods to sit the highest, am now constrain'd Into a beast; and, mix'd with bestial slime,

This essence to incarnate and imbrute,
That to the height of deity aspir'd!

But what will not ambition and revenge
Descend to? Who aspires, must down as low
As high he soar'd; obnoxious, first or last,

To basest things. Revenge, at first though sweet,
Bitter ere long, back on itself recoils :

Let it; I reck not, so it light well aim'd,
Since higher I fall short, on him who next
Provokes my envy, this new favourite

Of heaven, this man of clay, son of despite,
Whom, us the more to spite, his Maker rais'd
From dust spite then with spite is best repaid.

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So saying, through each thicket dank or dry, Like a black mist low-creeping, he held on His midnight search, where soonest he might find The serpent him fast sleeping soon he found

In labyrinth of many a round self-roll'd,

His head the midst, well stor'd with subtle wiles
Not yet in horrid shade or dismal den,
Nor nocent yet, but, on the grassy herb,
Fearless unfear'd he slept : in at his mouth
The devil enter'd; and his brutal sense,
In heart or head, possessing, soon inspir'd
With act intelligential; but his sleep

Disturb'd not, waiting close the approach of morn.
Now, when as sacred light began to dawn

In Eden on the humid flowers, that breath'd

Their morning incense, when all things, that breathe, From the earth's great altar send up silent praise

To the Creator, and his nostrils fill

With grateful smell, forth came the human pair,
And join'd their vocal worship to the quire
Of creatures wanting voice; that done, partake
The season, prime for sweetest scents and airs;
Then commune, how that day they best may ply
Their growing work; for much their work outgrew
The hands' dispatch of two gardening so wide;
And Eve first to her husband thus began:

Adam, well may we labour still to dress
This garden, still to tend plant, herb, and flower,
Our pleasant task enjoin'd; but, till more hands
Aid us, the work under our labour grows,
Luxurious by restraint; what we by day
Lop overgrown, or prune, or prop, or bind,
One night or two with wanton growth derides,
Tending to wild. Thou therefore now advise,
Or hear what to my mind first thoughts present:
Let us divide our labours; thou, where choice
Leads thee, or where most needs, whether to wind
The woodbine round this arbour, or direct
The clasping ivy there to climb: while I,
In yonder spring of roses intermix'd
With myrtle, find what to redress till noon :
For, while so near each other thus all day
Our task we choose, what wonder if so near
Looks intervene and smiles, or object new
Casual discourse draw on; which intermits
Our day's work, brought to little, though begun

Early, and the hour of supper comes unearn'd? »

To whom mild answer Adam thus return'd: « Sole Eve, associate sole, to me beyond Compare above all living creatures dear!

Well hast thou motion'd, well thy thoughts employ'd,
How we might best fulfil the work which here
God hath assign'd us; nor of me shalt pass
Unprais'd for nothing lovelier can be found
In woman, than to study household good,
And good works in her husband to promote.
Yet not so strictly hath our Lord impos'd
Labour, as to debar us when we need
Refreshment, whether food, or talk between.
(Food of the mind) or this sweet intercourse
Of looks and siniles; for smiles from reason flow,
To brute denied, and are of love the food;

Love, not the lowest end of human life.

For not to irksome toil, but to delight,

He made us, and delight to reason join'd.

These paths and bowers doubt not but our joint hands
Will keep from wilderness with ease, as wide
As we need walk, till younger hands ere long
Assist us: but, if much converse perhaps
Thee satiate, to short absence I could yield:
For solitude sometimes is best society,

And short retirement urges sweet return.
But other doubt possesses me, lest harm
Befall thee, sever'd from me; for thou know'st
What hath been warn'd us, what malicious foe
Envying our happiness, and of his own
Despairing, seeks to work us woe and shame
By sly assault, and somewhere nigh at hand

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