But mortal doom'd. How can he exercise The doubt, since human reach no further knows ; For though the Lord of all be infinite,\ Is his wrath also? Be it, Man is not so, 795 Wrath without end on Man whom death must end? Can he make deathless death? That were to make Strange contradiction, which to God himself Impossible is held; as argument 800 Of weakness, not of pow'r. Will he draw out, In punish'd Man, to satisfy his rigour, Satisfy'd never? That were to extend His sentence beyond dust and Nature's law, 805 Not to th' extent of their own sphere. But say That death be not one stroke, as I supposed, 810 From this day onward, which I feel begun Both in me and without me, and so last To perpetuity! Ah me that fear Comes thund'ring back with dreadful revolution On my defenceless head! Both Death and I 815 Am found eternal, and incorporate both! Nor I on my part single: in me all Posterity stands cursed! Fair Patrimony That I must leave ye, Sons! O were I able 820 Me, now your curse! Ah, why should all mankind With me! How can they then acquitted stand 826 And reasonings, tho' through mazes, lead me still 830 But to my own conviction. First and last On me, me only, as the source and spring Of all corruption, all the blame lights due: 805. Just is proposed instead of dust, in this line. 806. An incessant affectat of school learning may be re marked in every part of this passage. 816. Rom. vii. 20. 825. Rom. xiv. 4. 835 So might the wrath. Fond wish! couldst thou support 846 845 And horrors hast thou driven ine! out of which The day of his offence. Why comes not Death, 850 855 O woods, O fountains, hillocs, dales, and bow'rs, 860 With other echo, late I taught your shades To answer, and resound far other song! Whom thus afflicted, when sad Eve beheld, Desolate where she sat, approaching nigh, Soft words to his fierce passion she assay'd: But her with stern regard he thus repell'd: 865 870 Out of my sight, thou Serpent! that name best Befits thee with him leagued, thyself as false And hateful! nothing wants, but that thy shape Like his, and colour serpentine, may shew Thy inward fraud, to warn all creatures from thee Henceforth, lest that too heav'nly form, pretended To hellish falsehood, snare them. But for thee I had persisted happy', had not thy pride And wand'ring vanity, when least was safe, 872. Pretended; in the Latin sense, held before. 875 Rejected my forewarning, and disdain'd Though by the Devil himself, him overweening Of nature, and not fill the world at once 880 885 890 895 Mankind? This mischief had not then befall'n, 900 As some misfortune brings him, or mistake; To human life, and household-peace confound. 905 Not so repulsed, with tears that ceased not flowing, And tresses all disorder'd, at his feet Fell humble, and embracing them, besought 911 Forsake me not thus, Adam! Witness, Heav'n, I beg, and clasp thy knees. Bereave me not, 91 Whereon I live, thy gentle looks, thy aid, My only strength and stay. Forlorn of thee, Whither shall I betake me? where subsist? While yet we live, scarce one short hour perhaps, Between us two let there be peace; both joining, As join'd in injuries, one enmity Against a foe by doom express assign'd us, That cruel Serpent. On me exercise not More miserable. Both have sinn'd; but thou She ended weeping; and her lowly plight, 920 925 930 935 940 His counsel, whom she had displeased, his aid; 945 And thus with peaceful words upraised her soon: So now of what thou know'st not, who desir❜st 950 His full wrath, whose thou feel'st as yet least part, Would speed before thee, and be louder heard, 055 Thy frailty and infirmer sex forgiven, But rise, let us no more contend, nor blame 940. It is said that Milton had a personal feeling in writing this passage, and described his meeting and reconciliation with his wife who had been for some time separated from him. Each other, blamed enough elsewhere, but strive To whom thus Eve, recovering heart, reply'd: How little weight my words with thee can find, Of new acceptance, hopeful to regain Thy love, the sole contentment of my heart Living or dying, from thee I will not hide 960 965 970 What thoughts in my unquiet breast are risen, 975 Tending to some relief of our extremes, Or end, though sharp and sad, yet tolerable, If care of our descent perplex us most, Which must be born to certain woe, devour'd 980 By Death at last; and miserable it is To be to others cause of misery, Our own begotten, and of our loins to bring 985 Childless thou art, childless remain; so Death 990 From what we fear for both let us make short; 1000 Let us seek Death, or he not found, supply |