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Had shadow'd them from knowing ill, was gone;
Just confidence, and native righteousness,
And honour, from about them, naked left
To guilty shame; he cover'd, but his robe
Uncover'd more. So rose the Danite strong,
Herculean Samson, from the harlot-lap
Of Philistean Dalilah, and wak'd
Shorn of his strength.

They destitute and bare
Of all their virtue; silent, and in face
Confounded, long they sat, as stricken mute:
Till Adam, though not less than Eve abash'd;
At length gave utterance to these words constrain'd.
« O Eve, in evil hour thou didst give ear
To that false worm, of whomsoever taught
To counterfeit man's voice; true in our fall,
False in our promis'd rising; since our eyes
Open'd we find indeed, and find we know
Both good and evil; good lost, and evil got,
Bad fruit of knowledge, if this be to know;
Which leaves us naked thus, of honour void,
Of innocence, of faith, of purity,

Our wonted ornaments now soil'd and stain'd,
And in our faces evident the signs

Of foul concupiscence; whence the evil store;
Even shame, the last of evils; of the first

Be sure then. How shall I behold the face
Henceforth of God or angel, erst with joy
And rapture so oft beheld? those heavenly shapes
Will dazzle now this earthly with their blaze
Insufferably bright. O! might I here
In solitude live savage; in some glade

Obscur'd, where highest woods, impenetrable
To star or sun-light, spread their umbrage broad
And brown as evening: cover me, ye pines!
Ye cedars, with innumerable boughs

Hide me, where I may never see them more!
But let us now, as in bad plight, devise
What best may for the present serve to hide
The parts of each from other, that seem most
To shame obnoxious, and unseemliest seen;

Some tree, whose broad smooth leaves together sew'd
And girded on our loins, may cover round
Those middle parts; that this new comer, shame,
There sit not, and reproach us as unclean. »

So counsell'd he, and both together went
Into the thickest wood; there soon they chose
The fig-tree: not that kind for fruit renown'd,
But such as at this day, to Indians known,
In Malabar or Decan spreads her arms
Branching so broad and long, that in the ground
The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow
About the mother tree, a pillar's shade
High over-arch'd, and echoing walks between :
There oft the Indian herdsman, shunning heat,
Shelters in cool, and tends his pasturing herds
At loop-holes cut through thickest shade.

Those leaves

They gather'd, broad as Amazonian targe;
And, with what skill they had, together sew'd,
To gird their waste; vain covering, if to hide
Their guilt and dreaded shame! O, how unlike
To that first naked glory! such of late
Columbus, found the American, so girt

With feather'd cincture; naked else, and wild
Among the trees on isles and woody shores.
Thus fenc'd, and, as they thought, their shame in part
Cover'd, but not at rest or ease of mind,

They sat them down to weep; nor only tears
Rain'd at their eyes, but high winds worse within
Began to rise, high passions, anger, hate,
Mistrust, suspicion, discord; and shook sore
Their inward state of mind, calm region once
And full of peace, now tost and turbulent :
For understanding rul'd not, and the will
Heard not her lore: both in subjection now
To sensual appetite, who from beneath
Usurping over sovran reason claim'd

Superior sway.

From thus distemper'd breast, Adam, estrang'd in look and alter'd style, Speech intermitted thus to Eve renew'd:

« Would thou hadst hearken'd to my words, and staid With me, as I besought thee, when that strange Desire of wandering, this unhappy morn,

I know not whence possess'd thee; we had then
Remain'd still happy; not, as now, despoil'd
Of all our good; sham'd, naked, miserable!
Let none henceforth seek needless cause to approve
The faith they owe; when earnestly they seek
Such proof, conclude, they then begin to fail. »

To whom, soon mov'd with touch of blame, thus Eve: « What words have pass'd thy lips, Adamı severe! Imput'st thou that to my default, or will

Of wandering, as thou call'st it, which who knows
But might as ill have happen'd thou being by,

Or to thyself perhaps? hadst thou been there,

Or here the attempt, thou could'st not have discern'd
Fraud in the serpent, speaking as he spake;
No ground of enmity between us known,
Why he should mean me ill, or seek to harm.
Was I to have never parted from thy side?
As good have grown there still a lifeless rib.
Being as I am, why didst not thou, the head,
Command me absolutely not to go,

Going into such danger, as thou saidst?
Too facile then, thou didst not much gainsay;
Nay, didst permit, approve, and fair dismiss.
Hadst thou been firm and fix'd in thy dissent,
Neither had I transgressed, nor thou with me. »

To whom, then first incens'd, Adam replied:
« Is this the love, is this the recompense
Of mine to thee, ungrateful Eve! express'd
Immutable, when thou wert lost, not I;
Who might have liv'd and joy'd immortal bliss,
Yet willingly chose rather death with thee?
And am I now upbraided as the cause
Of thy transgressing? not enough severe,
It seems, in thy restraint: what could I more?
I warn'd thee, I admonish'd thee, foretold
The danger, and the lurking enemy

That lay in wait; beyond this, had been force;
And force upon free will hath here no place.
But confidence then bore thee on, secure
Either to meet no danger, or to find
Matter of glorious trial; and perhaps
I also err'd, in overmuch admiring
What seem'd in thee so perfect, that I thought

No evil durst attempt thee; but I rue
That error now,
which is become my crime,
And thou the accuser. Thus it shall befal

Him, who, to worth in women overtrusting,
Lets her will rule: restraint she will not brook,
And, left to herself, if evil thence ensue,
She first his weak indulgence will accuse. »

Thus they in mutual accusation spent
The fruitless hours, but neither self-condemning;
And of their vain contest appeared no end.

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