(Mends not her slowest pace for prayers or cries. O woods, O fountains, hillocks, dales, and bowers! 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 assayed; But her, with stern regard, he thus repelled :—
"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 show
Thy inward fraud, to warn all creatures from thee Henceforth, lest that too heavenly form, pretended To hellish falsehood, snare them. But for thee I had persisted happy, had not thy pride And wandering vanity, when least was safe, Rejected my forewarning, and disdained Not to be trusted--longing to be seen, Though by the Devil himself; him overweening To overreach; but, with the Serpent meeting, Fooled and beguiled; by him thou, I by thee, To trust thee from my side, imagined wise, Constant, mature, proof against all assaults, And understood not all was but a show, Rather than solid virtue, all but a rib Crooked by nature-bent, as now appears, More to the part sinister-from me drawn ; Well if thrown out, as supernumerary
Creator wise, that peopled highest Heaven
To my just number found! Oh, why did God,
With Spirits masculine, create at last This novelty on Earth, this fair defect Of Nature, and not fill the World at once With men as Angels, without feminine; Or find some other way to generate
Mankind? This mischief had not then befallen, And more that shall befall-innumerable Disturbances on Earth through female snares, And strait conjunction with this sex. For either He never shall find out fit mate, but such As some misfortune brings him, or mistake; Or whom he wishes most shall seldom gain, Through her perverseness, but shall see her gained By a far worse, or, if she love, withheld By parents; or his happiest choice too late Shall meet, already linked and wedlock-bound
To a fell adversary, his hate or shame: Which infinite calamity shall cause
To human life, and household peace confound." He added not, and from her turned; but Eve, Not so repulsed, with tears that ceased not flowing, And tresses all disordered, at his feet Fell humble, and, embracing them, besought His peace, and thus proceeded in her plaint :- "Forsake me not thus, Adam! witness Heaven What love sincere and reverence in my heart I bear thee, and unweeting have offended, Unhappily deceived! Thy suppliant
I beg, and clasp thy knees; bereave me not Whereon I live, thy gentle looks, thy aid, Thy counsel in this uttermost distress,
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 joined in injuries, one enmity
Against a foe by doom express assigned us, That cruel Serpent. On me exercise not Thy hatred for this misery befallen— On me already lost, me than thyself
More miserable. Both have sinned; but thou Against God only; I against God and thee, And to the place of judgment will return, There with my cries importune Heaven, that all The sentence, from thy head removed, may light On me, sole cause to thee of all this woe, Me, me only, just object of His ire."
She ended, weeping; and her lowly plight, Immovable till peace obtained from fault Acknowledged and deplored, in Adam wrought Commiseration. Soon his heart relented Towards her, his life so late, and sole delight, Now at his feet submissive in distress- Creature so fair his reconcilement seeking,
His counsel whom she had displeased, his aid. As one disarmed, his anger all he lost,
And thus with peaceful words upraised her soon:—
Unwary, and too desirous, as before
So now, of what thou know'st not, who desir'st
The punishment all on thyself! Alas!
Bear thine own first, ill able to sustain
His full wrath whose thou feel'st as yet least part, And my displeasure bear'st so ill. If prayers
To me committed, and by me exposed.
Could alter high decrees, I to that place Would speed before thee, and be louder heard, That on my head all might be visited, Thy frailty and infirmer sex forgiven,
But rise; let us no more contend, nor blame
Each other, blamed enough elsewhere, but strive In offices of love how we may lighten Each other's burden in our share of woe; Since this day's death denounced, if aught I see, Will prove no sudden, but a slow-paced evil, A long day's dying, to augment our pain, And to our seed (O hapless seed!) derived."
To whom thus Eve, recovering heart, replied :— "Adam, by sad experiment I know
How little weight my words with thee can find, Found so erroneous, thence by just event Found so unfortunate. Nevertheless, Restored by thee, vile as I am, to place Of new acceptance, hopeful to regain
Thy love, the sole contentment of my heart, Living or dying from thee I will not hide What thoughts in my unquiet breast are risen, Tending to some relief of our extremes,
Or end, though sharp and sad, yet tolerable, As in our evils, and of easier choice. If care of our descent perplex us most,
Which must be born to certain woe, devoured By Death at last (and miserable it is To be to others cause of misery,
Our own begotten, and of our loins to bring Into this cursed world a woeful race, That, after wretched life, must be at last Food for so foul a monster), in thy power It lies, yet ere conception, to prevent The race unblest, to being yet unbegot. Childless thou art; childless remain. Shall be deceived his glut, and with us two Be forced to satisfy his ravenous maw. But, if thou judge it hard and difficult, Conversing, looking, loving, to abstain From love's due rites, nuptial embraces sweet, And with desire to languish without hope Before the present object languishing With like desire-which would be misery
And torment less than none of what we dread- Then, both our selves and seed at once to free
From what we fear for both, let us make short; Let us seek Death, or, he not found, supply With our own hands his office on ourselves. Why stand we longer shivering under fears That show no end but death, and have the power, Of many ways to die the shortest choosing, Destruction with destruction to destroy?"
She ended here, or vehement despair
Broke off the rest; so much of death her thoughts Had entertained as dyed her cheeks with pale. But Adam, with such counsel nothing swayed, To better hopes his more attentive mind Labouring had raised, and thus to Eve replied:- "Eve, thy contempt of life and pleasure seems To argue in thee something more sublime And excellent than what thy mind contemns: But self-destruction therefore sought refutes That excellence thought in thee, and implies Not thy contempt, but anguish and regret For loss of life and pleasure overloved. Or, if thou covet death, as utmost end Of misery, so thinking to evade
The penalty pronounced, doubt not but God Hath wiselier armed his vengeful ire than so
To be forestalled. Much more I fear lest death So snatched will not exempt us from the pain We are by doom to pay; rather such acts Of contumacy will provoke the Highest To make death in us live.
Some safer resolution-which methinks I have in view, calling to mind with heed Part of our sentence, that thy seed shall bruise The Serpent's head. Piteous amends! unless Be meant whom I conjecture, our grand foe, Satan, who in the Serpent hath contrived Against us this deceit. To crush his head Would be revenge indeed-which will be lost
By death brought on ourselves, or childless days Resolved as thou proposest; so our foe
Shall scape his punishment ordained, and we Instead shall double ours upon our heads. No more be mentioned, then, of violence Against ourselves, and wilful barrenness That cuts us off from hope, and savours only Rancour and pride, impatience and despite, Reluctance against God and his just yoke
Laid on our necks. Remember with what mild
And gracious temper he both heard and judged, Without wrath or reviling. We expected Immediate dissolution, which we thought
Was meant by death that day; when, lo! to thee Pains only in child-bearing were foretold, And bringing forth, soon recompensed with joy, Fruit of thy womb. On me the curse aslope
Glanced on the ground. With labour I must earn My bread; what harm? Idleness had been worse; My labour will sustain me; and, lest cold Or heat should injure us, his timely care Hath, unbesought, provided, and his hands Clothed us unworthy, pitying while he judged. How much more, if we pray him, will his ear Be open, and his heart to pity incline, And teach us further by what means to shun The inclement seasons, rain, ice, hail, and snow! Which now the sky, with various face, begins To show us in this mountain, while the winds Blow moist and keen, shattering the graceful locks Of these fair spreading trees; which bids us seek Some better shroud, some better warmth to cherish Our limbs benumbed-ere this diurnal star Leave cold the night, how we his gathered beams Reflected may with matter sere foment,
Or by collision of two bodies grind
The air attrite to fire; as late the clouds,
Justling, or pushed with winds, rude in their shock,
Kindles the gummy bark of fir or pine,
And sends a comfortable heat from far,
Tine the slant lightning, whose thwart flame, driven down,
Which might supply the Sun. Such fire to use, And what may else be remedy or cure
To evils which our own misdeeds have wrought, He will instruct us praying, and of grace Beseeching him; so as we need not fear To pass commodiously this life, sustained By him with many comforts, till we end In dust, our final rest and native home. What better can we do than, to the place Repairing where he judged us, prostrate fall Before him reverent, and there confess Humbly our faults, and pardon beg, with tears Watering the ground, and with our sighs the air Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign Of sorrow unfeigned and humiliation meek? Undoubtedly he will relent, and turn
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