Not diffident of thee do I diffuade
Thy abfence from my fight, but to avoid
Th' attempt itself, intended by our foe.
For he who tempts, though' in vain, at least afperfes
The tempted with dishonor foul, fuppos'd
Not incorruptible of faith, not proof
Against temptation: thou thyself with fcorn
And anger wouldst resent the offer'd wrong,
Though ineffectual found: mifdeem not then,
If fuch affront I labor to avert
From thee alone, which on us both at once
The enemy, though bold, will hardly dare,
Or daring, first on me th' afsault shall light.
Nor thou his malice and false guile contemn;
Subtle he needs must be, who could feduce
Angels; nor think fuperfluous others aid.
I from the influence of thy looks receive
Access in every virtue, in thy fight
More wife, more watchful, ftronger, if need were
Of outward ftrength; while fhame, thou looking on, Shame to be overcome or over-reach'd
Would utmost vigor raise, and rais'd unite.
Why shouldft not thou like sense within thee feel 315 When I am present, and thy trial choose
best witness of thy virtue try'd?
So fpake domestic Adam in his care
And matrimonial love; but Eve, who thought
Lefs attributed to her faith fincere,
Thus her reply with accent fweet renew'd.
If this be our condition, thus to dwell
In narrow circuit straiten'd by a foe,
Subtle or violent, we not indued
Single with like defense, wherever met,
How are we happy, ftill in fear of harm?
But harm precedes not fin: only our foe
Tempting affronts us with his foul esteem
Of our integrity: his foul efteem
Sticks no difhonor on our front, but turns
Foul on himself; then wherefore fhunn'd or fear'd
By us? who rather double honor gain
From his furmife prov'd false, find peace within,
Favor from Heav'n, our witnefs from th' event.
And what is faith, love, virtue unaffay'd
Alone, without exterior help fustain’d ?
Let us not then fufpect our happy ftate
Left fo imperfect by the Maker wife,
As not fecure to fingle or combin'd.
Frail is our happiness, if this be fo,
And Eden were no Eden thus expos'd.
To whom thus Adam fervently reply'd.
O Woman, best are all things as the will
Of God ordain'd them; his creating hand
Nothing imperfect or deficient left
Of all that he created, much less Man,
Or ought that might his happy state secure,
Secure from outward force; within himself
The danger lies, yet lies within his power:
Against his will he can receive no harm.
But God left free the will, for what obeys
Reason, is free, and reason he made right,
But bid her well be ware, and still erect,
Left by fome fair appearing good surpris'd
She dictate falfe, and mifinform the will
To do what God exprefly hath forbid.
Not then mistrust, but tender love injoins,
That I fhould mind thee oft, and mind thou me
Firm we fubfift, yet poffible to fwerve,
Since reason not impoffibly may meet
Some specious object by the foe fuborn'd,
And fall into deception unaware,
Not keeping strictest watch, as she was warn'd.
Seek not temptation then, which to avoid
Were better, and most likely if from me
Thou fever not: trial will come unfought.
Wouldst thou approve thy constancy, approve
First thy obedience; th' other who can know,
Not seeing thee attempted, who attest ?
But if thou think trial unfought may find
Us both fecurer than thus warn'd thou feem'ft,
Go; for thy stay, not free, absents thee more;
Go in thy native innocence, rely
On what thou haft of virtue, fummon all,
For God tow'ards thee hath done his part, do thine.
So fpake the patriarch of mankind; but Eve
Perfifted, yet fubmifs, though laft, reply'd.
With thy permiffion then, and thus forewarn'd
Chiefly by what thy own laft reasoning words
Touch'd only, that our trial, when leaft fought, 380
May find us both perhaps far lefs prepar'd,
The willinger I go, nor much expect
A foe fo proud will first the weaker seek;
So bent, the more shall shame him his repulfe.
Thus faying, from her husband's hand her hand 385 Soft she withdrew, and like a Wood-Nymph light, Oread or Dryad, or of Delia's train,
Betook her to the groves, but Delia's felf
In gait furpass'd, and Goddess-like deport,
Though not as she with bow and quiver arm'd,
But with fuch gard'ning tools as art yet rude,
Guiltless of fire, had form'd, or Angels brought.
To Pales, or Pomona, thus adorn'd,
Likeft fhe feem'd, Pomona when she fled
Vertumnus, or to Ceres in her prime,
Yet virgin of Proferpina from Jove.
Her long with ardent look his eye pursued
Delighted, but defiring more her stay.
Oft he to her his charge of quick return
Repeated, the to him as oft engag'd
To be return'd by noon amid the bower,
And all things in best order to invite
Noontide repaft, or afternoon's repose.
O much deceiv'd, much failing, hapless Eve,
Of thy prefum'd return! event perverse!
Thou never from that hour in Paradife
Found'st either fwcet repast, or found repose;
Such ambush hid among sweet flow'rs and shades
Waited with hellifh rancor imminent
To intercept thy way, or fend thee back
Defpoil'd of innocence, of faith, of bliss.
For now, and fince first break of dawn the Fiend,
Mere ferpent in appearance, forth was come,
And on his quest, where likelieft he might find
The only two of mankind, but in them
The whole included race, his purpos'd prey.
In bow'r and field he fought, where any
Of grove or garden-plot more pleasant lay,
Their tendence or plantation for delight :
By fountain or by shady rivulet
He fought them both, but wish'd his hap might find
Eve separate, he wifh'd, but not with hope
Of what fo feldom chanc'd, when to his wifh,
Beyond his hope, Eve feparate he fpies,
Veil'd in a cloud of fragrance, where she stood,
Half spy'd, fo thick the roses blushing round
About her glow'd, oft ftooping to fupport
Each flow'r of flender ftalk, whofe head though gay
Carnation, purple', azure, or fpeck'd with gold,
Hung drooping unfuftain'd; them she upftays
Gently with myrtle band, mindless the while
Herfelf, though fairest unfupported flower,
From her best prop fo far, and storm so nigh.
Nearer he drew, and many a walk travérs'd
Of statelieft covert, cedar, pine, or palm,
Then voluble and bold, now hid, now feen
Among thick-woven arborets and flowers
Imborder'd on each bank, the hand of Eve:
Spot more delicious than those gardens feign'd
Or of reviv'd Adonis, or renown'd
Alcinous, hoft of old Laertes' fon,
Or that, not myftic, where the fapient king
VOL. II.
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