With narrow fearch, and with inspection deep Confider'd every creature, which of all
Most opportune might serve his wiles, and found 85 The Serpent fubtlest beast of all the field.
Him after long debate, irrefolute
Of thoughts revolv'd, his final fentence chofe Fit veffel, fitteft imp of fraud, in whom
To enter, and his dark suggestions hide From sharpeft fight: for in the wily snake, Whatever fleights none would fufpicious mark, As from his wit and native fubtlety
Proceeding, which in other beafts obferv'd Doubt might beget of diabolic power Active within beyond the sense of brute. Thus he refolv'd, but first from inward grief.
His bursting paffion into plaints thus pour'd. O Earth, how like to Heav'n, if not preferr'd More juftly, feat worthier of Gods, as built With fecond thoughts, reforming what was old! For what God after better worfe would build? Terreftrial Heav'n, danc'd round by other Heavens That shine, yet bear their bright officious lamps, Light above light, for thee alone, as feems, In thee concentring all their precious beams Of facred influence! As God in Heaven Is center, yet extends to all, fo thou
Centring receiv'ft from all those orbs; in thee, Not in themselves, all their known virtue' appears 110 Productive in herb, plant, and nobler birth
Of creatures animate with gradual life
Of growth, fenfe, reafon, all fumm'd up in Man. With what delight could I have walk'd thee round, If I could joy in ought, fweet interchange Of hill, and valley, rivers, woods, and plains, Now land, now fea, and fhores with forest crown'd, Rocks, dens, and caves! but I in none of these Find place or refuge; and the more I fee Pleafures about me, fo much more I feel Torment within me', as from the hateful fiege Of contraries; all good to me becomes Bane, and in Heav'n much worfe would be But neither here feek I, no nor in Heaven To dwell, unless by maft'ring Heav'n's Supreme; 125 Nor hope to be myself lefs miferable
By what I feek, but others to make fuch 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 his utter lofs, For whom all this was made, all this will foon Follow, as to him link'd in weal or woe; In woe then; that destruction wide may range: To me fhall be the glory fole among
Th' infernal Pow'rs, in one day to have marr'd What he Almighty stil'd, fix nights and days Continued making, and who knows how long Before had been contriving, though perhaps Not longer than fince I in one night freed From fervitude inglorious well nigh half Th' 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 fpite us more, Determin'd to advance into our room
A creature form'd of earth, and him endow, Exalted from fo base original,
With heav'nly spoils, our spoils: What he decreed
He' effected; Man he made, and for him built
Magnificent this world, and earth his feat,
Him lord pronounc'd, and, O indignity! Subjected to his fervice 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 vapor glide obfcure, and pry In every bush and brake, where hap may The serpent sleeping, in whose mazy folds To hide me, and the dark intent I bring. O foul defcent! that I who erft contended
With Gods to fit the high'eft, am now constrain'd
Into a beast, and mix'd with bestial flime,
To bafeft 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 fhort, on him who next Provokes my envy, this new favorite Of Heav'n, this man of clay, fon of despite, Whom us the more to spite his Maker rais'd From duft: spite then with spite is best repaid.
So faying, through each thicket dank or dry, Like a black mift low creeping, he held on His midnight search, where foonest 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 fubtle wiles: in horrid fhade or dismal den,
Not yet Nor nocent yet, but on the graffy herb Fearless unfear'd he slept : in at his mouth The Devil enter'd, and his brutal sense, In heart or head, poffeffing foon inspir'd With act intelligential; but his sleep
Disturb'd not, waiting close th' approach of morn. Now when as facred light began to dawn In Eden on the humid flow'rs, that breath'd
Their morning incense, when all things that breathe, From th' earth's great altar fend up filent praise To the Creator, and his noftrils 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 gard'ning so wide. And Eve first to her husband thus began.
Adam, well may we labor still to dress
This garden, still to tend plant, herb, and flower, Our pleasant task injoin'd, but till more hands Aid us, the work under our labor 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 bear what to my mind first thoughts prefent; Let us divide our labors, thou where choice Leads thee, or where moft needs, whether to wind 215 The woodbine round this arbor, or direct The clasping ivy where to climb, while I In yonder spring of roses intermix'd With myrtle, find what to redress till noon : For while fo near each other thus all day Our task we choofe, what wonder if fo near Looks intervene and fmiles, or object new Cafual difcourfe draw on, which intermits
Our day's work brought to little, though begun Early, and th' hour of supper comes unearn’d.
To whom mild answer Adam thus return'd.
Sole Eve, affociate fole, to me beyond
Compare above all living creatures dear,
Well haft thou motion'd, well thy thoughts employ'd
How we might beft fulfil the work which here God hath affign'd us, nor of me fhalt pafs Unprais'd for nothing lovelier can be found
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