THE State of Innocence, AND FALL of MAN: AN OPERA.  
Written in Heroic Verse, And Dedicated to Her Royal Highness, THE DUCHESS.  
By John Dryden, Servant to His Majesty.  
— Utinam modo dicere possem  
Carmina digna Deâ: certè est Dea Carmine digna,  Ovid. Metam. 
LONDON: Printed by T. N. for Henry Herringman, at the Anchor in the Lower Walk of the New Exchange. 1677.   

TO HER Royal Highness, THE DUCHESS.  
MADAM,  
AMBITION is so far from being a Vice in Poets, that 'tis almost impossible for them to succeed without it. Imagination must be raised, by a desire of Fame, to a desire of Pleasing: And they whom in all Ages Poets have endeavoured most to please, have been the Beautiful and the Great. Beauty is their Deity to which they Sacrifice, and Greatness is their Guardian-Angel which protects them. Both these are so eminently joined in the Person of Your Royal Highness, that it were not easy for any, but a Poet, to determine which of them outshines the other. But I confess, MADAM, I am already biased in my choice: I can easily resign to others the Praise of Your Illustrious Family, and that Glory which You derive from a long-continued Race of Princes, famous for their Actions both in Peace and War: I can give up to the Historians of Your Country, the Names of so many Generals and Heroes which crowd their Annals; and to our own, the hopes of those which You are to produce for the British Chronicle. I can yield, without envy, to the Nation of Poets, the Family of Este to which Ariosto and Tasso have owed their Patronage; and to which the World has owed their Poems: But I could not without extreme reluctance resign the Theme of Your Beauty to another Hand. Give me leave, MADAM, to acquaint the World that I am Jealous of this Subject; and let it be no dishonour to You, that after having raised the Admiration of Mankind, You have inspired one Man to give it voice. But with whatsoever Vanity this new Honour of being Your Poet has filled my mind, I confess myself too weak for the Inspiration; the Priest was always unequal to the Oracle: The God within him was too mighty for his Breast: He laboured with the Sacred Revelation, and there was more of the Mystery left behind than Divinity itself could enable him to express. I can but discover a part of Your Excellencies to the World; and that too according to the measure of my own weakness. Like those who have surveyed the Moon by Glasses, I can only tell of a new and shining World above us, but not relate the Riches and Glories of the Place. 'Tis therefore that I have already waved the Subject of Your Greatness, to resign myself to the Contemplation of what is more peculiarly Yours. Greatness is indeed communicated to some few of both Sexes; but Beauty is confined to a more narrow compass: 'Tis only in Your Sex, 'tis not shared by many, and its Supreme Perfection is in You alone. And here, MADAM, I am proud that I cannot flatter: You have reconciled the differing Judgements of Mankind: for all Men are equal in their Judgement of what is eminently best. The Prize of Beauty was disputed only till You were seen; but now all Pretenders have withdrawn their Claims: There is no Competition but for the second place. Even the fairest of our Island (which is famed for Beauties) not daring to commit their Cause against You, to the Suffrage of those who most partially adore them. Fortune has, indeed, but rendered Justice to so much Excellence, in setting it so high to public view: or rather Providence has done Justice to itself, in placing the most perfect Workmanship of Heaven, where it may be admired by all Beholders. Had the Sun and Stars been seated lower, their Glory had not been communicated to all at once; and the Creator had wanted so much of His Praise, as He had made Your condition more obscure. But He has placed You so near a Crown, that You add a Lustre to it by Your Beauty. You are joined to a Prince who only could deserve You: whose Conduct, Courage, and Success in War, whose Fidelity to His Royal Brother, whose Love for His Country, whose Constancy to His Friends, whose Bounty to His Servants, whose Justice to Merit, whose Inviolable Truth, and whose Magnanimity in all His Actions, seem to have been rewarded by Heaven by the gift of You. You are never seen but You are blessed: and I am sure You bless all those who see You. We think not the Day is long enough when we behold You: And You are so much the business of our Souls, that while You are in sight, we can neither look nor think on any else. There are no Eyes for other Beauties: You only are present, and the rest of Your Sex are but the unregarded parts that fill Your Triumph. Our sight is so intent on the Object of its Admiration, that our Tongues have not leisure even to praise you: for Language seems too low a thing to express your Excellence; and our Souls are speaking so much within, that they despise all foreign conversation. Every man, even the dullest, is thinking more than the most Eloquent can teach him how to utter. Thus MADAM, in the midst of Crowds you Reign in Solitude; and are adored with the deepest Veneration, that of Silence. 'Tis true, you are above all mortal wishes: no man desires impossibilities, because they are beyond the reach of Nature: To hope to be a God, is folly exalted into madness: but by the Laws of our Creation we are obliged to Adore him; and are permitted to love him too, at Humane distance. 'Tis the nature of Perfection to be attractive; but the Excellency of the object refines the nature of the love. It strikes an impression of awful reverence; 'tis indeed that Love which is more properly a Zeal than Passion. 'Tis the rapture which Anchorites find in Prayer, when a Beam of the Divinity shines upon them: that which makes them despise all worldly objects, and yet 'tis all but contemplation. They are seldom visited from above; but a single vision so transports them, that it makes up the happiness of their lives. Mortality cannot bear it often: it finds them in the eagerness and height of their Devotion, they are speechless for the time that it continues, and prostrate and dead when it departs. That ecstasy had need be strong, which without any end, but that of Admiration, has power enough to destroy all other Passions. You render Mankind insensible to other Beauties: and have destroyed the Empire of Love in a Court which was the seat of his Dominion. You have subverted (may I dare to accuse you of it) even our Fundamental Laws; and Reign absolute over the hearts of a stubborn and Freeborn people tenacious almost to madness of their Liberty. The brightest and most victorious of our Ladies make daily complaints of revolted Subjects: if they may be said to be revolted, whose servitude is not accepted: for your Royal Highness is too Great, and too Just a Monarch, either to want or to receive the Homage of Rebellious Fugitives. Yet if some few among the multitude, continue steadfast to their first pretensions, 'tis an Obedience so lukewarm and languishing, that it merits not the name of Passion: their addresses are so faint, and their vows so hollow to their Sovereigns, that they seem only to maintain their Faith; out of a sense of Honour: they are ashamed to defist, and yet grow careless to obtain. Like despairing Combatants they strive against you as if they had beheld unveiled, the Magical Shield of your Ariosto, which dazzled the Beholders with too much brightness: they can no longer hold up their Arms, they have read their destiny in your Eyes. 
Splende lo Scudo a guisa di Piropo;  
E Luce altra non é tanto lucente:  
Cader in terra a lo splendour fu d'vopo,  
Con gli occhi abbacinati, esenza mente.   
And yet, Madam, if I could find in myself the power to leave this argument of your incomparable Beauty, I might turn to one which would equally oppress me with its greatness. For your Conjugal Virtues have deserved to be set as an example, to a less-degenerate, less-tainted Age. They approach so near to Singularity in Ours,, that I can scarcely make a Panegyric to your Royal Highness, without a satire on many others: but your Person is a Paradise, and your Soul a Cherubin within to guard it. If the excellence of the outside invite the Beholders, the Majesty of your Mind deters them from too bold approaches; and turns their Admiration into Religion. Moral perfections are raised higher by you in the softer Sex: as if Men were of too course a mould for Heaven to work on, and that the Image of Divinity could not be cast to likeness in so harsh a Metal. Your Person is so admirable, that it can scarce receive addition, when it shall be glorified: and your Soul, which shines through it, finds it of a substance so near her own, that she will be pleased to pass an Age within it, and to be confined to such a Palace.  
I know not how I am hurried back to my former Theme: I ought, and purposed to have celebrated those endowments and qualities of your Mind, which were sufficient, even without the Graces of your Person, to render you, as you are, the Ornament of the Court, and the object of Wonder to three Kingdoms: but all my praises are but as a Bulrush cast upon a stream, if they sink not, 'tis because they are born up by the strength of the Current, which supports their lightness; but they are carried round again, and return on the Eddy where they first began. I can proceed no farther than your Beauty: and even on that too; I have said so little confidering the greatness of the Subject; that, like him, who would lodge a Bowl upon a Precipice, either my praise falls back, by the weakness of the delivery, or stays not on the top, but rowls over, and is lost on the other side. I intended this a Dedication, but how can I consider what belongs to myself, when I have been so long contemplating on you! Be pleased then, Madam, to receive this Poem, without Intituling so much Excellency as yours, to the faults and imperfections of so mean a Writer: And instead of being favourable to the Piece, which merits nothing, forgive the presumption of the Author; who is, with all possible veneration,  
Your ROYAL Highness's Most Obedient, Most Humble, Most Devoted Servant, JOHN DRYDEN.   

To Mr. DRYDEN, on his POEM of PARADISE.  
FOrgive me, awful Poet, if a Muse,  
Whom artless Nature did for plainness choose,  
In loose attire presents her humble thought,  
Of this best POEM, that you ever wrought.  
This fairest labour of your teeming brain  
I would embrace, but not with flattery stain;  
Something I would to your vast Virtue raise,  
But scorn to dawb it with a fulsome praise;  
That would but blot the Work I would commend,  
And show a Court-Admirer, not a Friend.  
To the dead Bard, your fame a little owes,  
For Milton did the Wealthy Mine disclose,  
And rudely cast what you could well dispose:  
He roughly drew, on an old fashioned ground,  
A Chaos, for no perfect World was found,  
Till through the heap, your mighty Genius shined;  
His was the Golden Ore which you refined.  
He first beheld the beauteous rustic Maid,  
And to a place of strength the prize conveyed;  
You took her thence: to Court this Virgin brought  
Dressed her with gems, new weaved her hard spun thought  
And softest language, sweetest manners taught.  
Till from a Comet she a star did rise,  
Not to affright, but please our wondering eyes.  
Betwixt ye both is framed a nobler piece,  
Than ere was drawn in Italy or Greece.  
Thou from his source of thoughts even Souls dost bring  
As smiling gods, from sullen Saturn spring.  
When nights dull Mask the face of Heaven does wear,  
'Tis doubtful light, but here and there a Star,  
Which serves the dreadful shadows to display,  
That vanish at the rising of the day;  
But then bright robes the Meadows all adorn,  
And the World looks as it were newly born.  
So when your Sense his mystic reason cleared,  
The melancholy Scene all gay appeared;  
New light leapt up, and a new glory smiled,  
And all throughout was mighty, all was mild.  
Before this Palace which thy wit did build  
Which various fancy did so gaudy gilled  
And judgement has with solid riches filled.  
My humbler Muse begs she may sentry stand,  
Amongst the rest that guard this Eden Land.  
But there's no need, for even thy foes conspire  
Thy praise, and hating thee, thy Work admire.  
On then O mightiest of the inspired men,  
Monarch of Verse; new Themes employ thy Pen.  
The troubles of Majestic CHARLES set down,  
Not David vanquished more to reach a Crown,  
Praise him, as Cow did that Hebrew King,  
Thy Theams as great, do thou as greatly sing.  
Then thou mayst boldly to his favour rise  
Look down and the base serpent's hiss despise,  
From thundering envy safe in Laurel sit,  
While clamorous Critics their vile heads submit  
Condemned for Treason at the bar of Wit..  NAT. LEE.  

The Author's Apology for Heroic Poetry; and Poetic Licence.  
TO satisfy the Curiosity of those who will give themselves the trouble of reading the ensuing POEM, I think myself obliged to render them a Reason, why I publish an OPERA which was never acted. In the first place I shall not be ashamed to own, that my chiefest Motive, was the Ambition which I acknowledged in the Epistle. I was desirous to lay at the feet of so Beautiful and Excellent a Princess, a Work which I confess was unworthy her, but which I hope she will have the goodness to forgive. I was also induced to it in my own defence: many hundred Copies of it being dispersed, abroad without my knowledge or consent: so that every one gathering new faults, it became at length a Libel against me; and I saw, with some disdain, more nonsense than either I, or as bad a Poet, could have crammed into it, at a Month's warning, in which time 'twas wholly Written, and not since Revised. After this, I cannot without injury to the deceased Author of Paradise Lost, but acknowledge that this POEM has received its entire Foundation, part of the Design, and many of the Ornaments, from him. What I have borrowed, will be so easily discerned from my mean Productions, that I shall not need to point the Reader to the places: And, truly, I should be sorry, for my own sake, that any one should take the pains to compare them together: The Original being undoubtedly, one of the greatest, most noble, and most sublime POEMS, which either this Age or Nation has produced. And though I could not refuse the partiality of my Friend, who is pleased to commend me in his Verses, I hope they will rather be esteemed the effect of his love to me, than of his deliberate and sober judgement. His Genius is able to make beautiful what he pleases: Yet, as he has been too favourable to me, I doubt not but he will hear of his kindness from many of our Contemporaries. For, we are fallen into an Age of Illiterate, Censorious, and Detracting people, who thus qualified, set up for Critics.  
In the first place I must take leave to tell them, that they wholly mistake the Nature of Criticism, who think its business is principally to find fault. Criticism, as it was first instituted by Aristotle, was meant a Standard of judging well. The chiefest part of which is to observe those Excellencies which should delight a reasonable Reader. If the Design, the Conduct, the Thoughts, and the Expressions of a POEM, be generally such as proceed from a true Genius of Poetry, the Critic ought to pass his judgement in favour of the Author. 'Tis malicious and unmanly to snarl at the little lapses of a Pen, from which Virgil himself stands not exempted. Horace acknowledges that honest Homer nods sometimes: He is not equally awake in every Line: But he leaves it also as a standing Measure for our judgements, 
— Non, Ubi plura nitent in Carmine, paucis  
Offendi maculis, quas aut incuria fudit  
Aut humana parùm cavit Natura.—   
And Longinus, who was undoubtedly, after Aristotle, the greatest Critic amongst the Greeks, in his twenty seventh Chapter 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, has judiciously preferred the sublime Genius that sometimes errs, to the middling or indifferent one which makes few faults, but seldom or never rises to any Excellence. He compares the first to a Man of large possessions, who has not leisure to consider of every slight expense, will not debase himself to the management of every trifle: particular sums are not laid out or spared to the greatest advantage in his Oeconomy: but are sometimes suffered to run to waste, while he is only careful of the Main. On the other side, he likens the Mediocrity of Wit, to one of a mean fortune, who manages his store with extreme frugality, or rather parsimony: but who with fear of running into profuseness, never arrives to the magnificence of living. This kind of Genius writes, indeed correctly. A wary man he is in Grammar; very nice as to Solaecism or Barbarism, judges to a hair of little decencies, knows better than any Man what is not to be written: and never hazards himself so far as to fall: but plods on deliberately, and, as a grave Man ought, is sure to put his staff before him; in short, he sets his heart upon it; and with wonderful care makes his business sure: that is, in plain English, neither to be blamed, nor praised.— I could, says my Author, find out some blemishes in Homer: and am perhaps, as naturally inclined to be disgusted at a fault as another Man: But, after all, to speak impartially, his failings are such, as are only marks of humane frailty: they are little Mistakes, or rather Negligences, which have escaped his pen in the fervour of his writing; the sublimity of his spirit carries it with me against his carelessness: And though Apollonius his Argonauts, and Theocritus, his Eidullia, are more free from Errors, there is not any Man of so false a judgement, who would choose rather to have been Apollonius or Theocritus, than Homer.  
'Tis worth our consideration, a little to examine how much these Hypercritiques of English Poetry, differ from the opinion of the Greek and Latin Judges of Antiquity: from the Italians and French who have succeeded them; and, indeed, from the general taste and approbation of all Ages. Heroic Poetry, which they contemn, has ever been esteemed, and ever will be, the greatest work of humane Nature: In that rank has Aristotle placed it, and Longinus is so full of the like expressions, that he abundantly confirms the other's Testimony. Horace as plainly delivers his opinion, and particularly praises Homer in these Verses. 
Trojani Belli Scriptorem, Maxim Lolli,  
Dum tu declamas Romae, praeneste relegi:  
Qui quid sit pulchrum, quid turpe, quid utile, quid non,  
Plenius ac melius Chrysippo & Crantore dicit.   
And in another place modestly excluding himself, from the number of Poets, because he only writ Odes and Satyrs, he tells you a Poet is such an one, 
— Cui mens Divinior, atque os  
Magna Sonaturum.   
Quotations are superfluous in an established truth: othern I'll I could reckon up amongst the Moderns, all the Italian Commentators on Aristotle's Book of Poetry; and amongst the French, the greatest of this Age, Boileau and Rapine: the latter of which is alone sufficient, were all other Critics lost, to teach anew the rules of writing. Any Man who will seriously consider the nature of an Epique Poem, how it agrees with that of Poetry in general, which is to instruct and to delight; what actions it describes, and what persons they are chiefly whom it insorms, will find it a work which indeed is full of difficulty in the attempt, but admirable when 'tis well performed. I write not this with the least intention to undervalue the other parts of Poetry: for Comedy is both excellently instructive, and extremely pleasant: Satire lashes Vice into Reformation, and humour represents folly, so as to render it ridiculous. Many of our present Writers are eminent in both these kinds; and particularly the Author of the Plain Dealer, whom I am proud to call my Friend, has obliged all honest and virtuous Men, by one of the most bold, most general, and most useful Satyrs which has ever been presented on the English Theatre. I do not dispute the preference of Tragedy; let every Man enjoy his taste: but 'tis unjust, that they who have not the least notion of Heroic writing, should therefore condemn the pleasure which others receive from it, because they cannot comprehend it. Let them please their appetites in eating what they like: but let them not force their dish on all the Table. They who would combat general Authority, with particular Opinion, must first establish themselves a reputation of understanding better, than other men. Are all the flights of Heroic Poetry, to be concluded bombast, unnatural, and mere madness, because they are not affected with their Excellencies? 'Tis just as reasonable as to conclude there is no day, because a blind Man cannot distinguish of Light and Colours? aught they not rather, in modesty, to doubt of their own judgements, when they think this or that expression in Homer, Virgil, Tasso, or Milton's Paradise, to be too far strained, than positively to conclude, that 'tis all fustian, and mere nonsense? 'Tis true, there are limits to be set betwixt the boldness and rashness of a Poet; but he must understand those limits who pretends to judge, as well as he who undertakes to write: and he who has no liking to the whole, aught in reason to be excluded from censuring of the parts. He must be a Lawyer before he mounts the Tribunal: and the Judicature of one Court too, does not qualify a man to preside in another. He may be an excellent Pleader in the Chancery, who is not fit to rule the Common Pleas. But I will presume for once to tell them, that the boldest strokes of Poetry, when they are managed Artfully, are those which most delight the Reader.  
Virgil and Horace, the severest Writers of the severest Age, have made frequent use of the hardest Metaphors, and of the strongest Hyperboles: And in this case the best Authority is the best Argument. For generally to have pleased, and through all ages, must bear the force of Universal Tradition. And if you would appeal from thence to right Reason, you will gain no more by it in effect, than First, to set up your Reason against those Authors; and Secondly, against all those who have admired them. You must prove why that ought not to have pleased, which has pleased the most Learned, and the most Judicious: and to be thought knowing, you must first put the fool upon all Mankind. If you can enter more deeply, than they have done, into the Causes and Ressorts of that which moves pleasure in a Reader, the Field is open, you may be heard: but those Springs of humane Nature are not so easily discovered by ever superficial Judge: It requires Philosophy as well as Poetry, to sound the depth of all the Passions; what they are in themselves, and how they are to be provoked: and in this Science the best Poets have excelled. Aristotle raised the Fabric of his Poetry, from observation of those things, in which Euripides, Sophocles, and AEschylus pleased: He considered how they raised the Passions, and thence has drawn rules for our Imitation. From hence have sprung the Tropes and Figures, for which they wanted a name, who first practised them, and succeeded in them, Thus I grant you, that the knowledge of Nature was the Original Rule; and that all Poets ought to study her; as well as Aristotle and Horace her Interpreters. But then this also undeniably follows, that those things which delight all Ages, must have been an imitation of Nature; which is all I contend. Therefore is Rhetoric made an Art: therefore the Names of so many Tropes and Figures were invented: because it was observed they had such and such an effect upon the Audience. Therefore Catachreses and Hyperboles have found their place amongst them; not that they were to be avoided, but to be used judiciously, and placed in Poetry, as heightenings and shadows are in Painting, to make the Figure bolder, and cause it to stand off to sight.  

Nec retia Cervis  
Ulla, dolum meditantur;  says Virgil in his Eclogues: and speaking of Leander in his Georgiques', 
Caecâ nocte natat serus freta, quem super, ingens  
Porta tonat Coeli; & scopulis illisa reclamant  
AEquora:   
In both of these you see he fears not to give Voice and Thought to things inanimate.  
Will you arraign your Master Horace, for his hardness of Expression, when he describes the death of Cleopatra? and says she did Asperos tractare serpents, ut atrum corpore combiberet venenum? because the Body in that action, performs what is proper to the mouth?  
As for Hyperboles, I will neither quote Lucan, nor Statius, Men of an unbounded imagination, but who often wanted the Poise of Judgement. The Divine Virgil was not liable to that exception; and yet he describes Polyphemus thus: 
— Graditurque per aequor  
Jam medium; nec dum fluctus latera ardua tingit.   
In imitation of this place, our Admirable Cowley thus paints Goliath. 
The Valley, now, this Monster seemed to fill;  
And we, methought, looked up to him from our Hill.   
Where the two words seemed, and methought, have mollified the Figure: and yet if they had not been there, the fright of the Israelites might have excused their belief of the Giants Stature.  
In the 8th of the AEneids, Virgil paints the swiftness of Camilla thus: 
Illa vel intactae segetis per summa volaret  
Gramina, nec teneras cursu laesisset aristas;  
Vel Mare per medium, fluctu suspensa tumenti,  
Ferret iter, celeres nec tingeret aequore plantas.   
You are not obliged, as in History, to a literal belief of what the Poet says; but you are pleased with the Image, without being cozened by the Fiction.  
Yet even in History, Longinus quotes Herodotus on this occasion of Hyperboles. The lacedaemonians, says he, at the straits of Thermopylae, defended themselves to the last extremity: and when their Arms failed them, fought it out with their Nails and Teeth: till at length, (the Persians shooting continually upon them) they lay buried under the Arrows of their enemies. It is not reasonable, (continues the Critic) to believe that Men could defend themselves with their Nails and Teeth from an armed multitude: nor that they lay buried under a pile of Darts and Arrows; and yet there wants not probability for the Figure: because the Hyperbole seems not to have been made for the sake of the description; but rather to have been produced from the occasion.  
'Tis true, the boldness of the Figures are to be hidden, sometimes by the address of the Poet; that they may work their effect upon the Mind, without discovering the Art which caused it. And therefore they are principally to be used in passion; when we speak more warmly, and with more precipitation than at other times: for then, Si vis me flere dolendum est primùm ipsi tibi; the Poet must put on the Passion he endeavours to represent: A man in such an occasion is not cool enough, either to reason rightly, or to talk calmly. Aggravations are then in their proper places, Interogations, Exclamations, Hyperbata, or a disordered connection of discourse, are graceful there, because they are Natural. The sum of all depends on what before I hinted, that this boldness of expression is not to be blamed; if if be managed by the coolness and discretion, which is necessary to a Poet.  
Yet before I leave this subject, I cannot but take notice how disingenuous our Adversaries appear: All that is dull, insipid, languishing and without sinews in a Poem, they call an imitation of Nature: they only offend our most equitable Judges, who think beyond them; and lively Images and Elocution, are never to be forgiven.  
What Fustian, as they call it, have I heard these Gentlemen find out in Mr. Cowley's Odes? I acknowledge myself unworthy to defend so excellent an Author; neither have I room to do it here: only in general I will say, that nothing can appear more beautiful to me, than the strength of those Images which they condemn.  
Imaging is, in itself, the very height and life of Poetry. 'Tis, as Loginus describes it, a Discourse, which, by a kind of Enthusiasm, or extraordinary emotion of the Soul, makes it seem to us, that we behold those things which the Poet paints, so as to be pleased with them, and to admire them.  
If Poetry be imitation, that part of it must needs be best, which describes most lively our Actions and Passions; our Virtues and our Vices; our Follies and our Humours: for neither is Comedy without its part of Imaging: and they who do it best, are certainly the most excellent in their kind. This is too plainly proved to be denied: but how are Poetical Fictions, how are Hippocentaures and Chimaeras, or how are Angels and immaterial Substances to be Imaged? which some of them are things quite out of Nature: others, such whereof we can have no notion? this is the last refuge of our Adversaries; and more than any of them have yet had the wit to object against us. The answer is easy to the first part of it. The fiction of some Being's which are not in Nature, (second Notions as the Logicians call them) has been founded on the conjunction of two Natures, which have a real separate Being. So Hippocentaures were imagined, by joining the Natures of a Man and Horse together; as Lucretius tells us, who has used this word of Image oftener than any of the Poets. 
Nam certé ex vivo, Centauri non fit Imago,  
Nulla fuit quoniam talis natura animai:  
Verùm ubi equiatque hominis, casu, convenit imago,  
Haerescit facilè extemplò, etc.   
The same reason may also be alleged for Chimeras and the rest. And Poets may be allowed the like liberty, for describing things which really exist not, if they are founded on popular belief: of this nature are Fairies, Pigmies, and the extraordinary effects of Magic: for 'tis still an imitation, though of other men's fancies: and thus are Shakespeare's Tempest, his Midsummer night's Dream, and Ben. Johnson's Masque of Witches to be defended. For Immaterial Substances we are authorised by Scripture in their description: and herein the Text accommodates itself to vulgar apprehension, in giving Angels the likeness of beautiful young men. Thus, after the Pagan Divinity, has Homer drawn his Gods with humane Faces: and thus we have notions of things above us, by describing them like other beings more within our knowledge.  
I wish I could produce any one example of excellent imaging in all this Poem: perhaps I cannot: but that which comes nearest it, is in these four lines, which have been sufficiently canvased by my well-natured Censors. 
Seraph and Cherub, careless of their charge,  
And wanton, in full ease now live at large:  
Unguarded leave the passes of the Sky;  
And all dissolved in Hallelujahs lie.   
I have heard (says one of them) of Anchove's dissolved in Sauce; but never of an Angel in Hallelujahs. A mighty Wittycism, (if you will pardon a new word!) but there is some difference between a Laugher and a Critic. He might have Burlesqued Virgil too, from whom I took the Image. Invadunt urbem, somno vinoque sepultam. A Cities being buried is just as proper an occasion, us an Angels being dissolved in Ease, and Songs of Triumph. Mr. Cowley lies as open too in many places:  
Where there vast Courts the Mother Waters keep, etc. for if the mass of Waters be the Mothers, than their Daughters, the little streams, are bound in all good manners, to make Curtsy to them, and ask them Blessing. How easy 'tis to turn into ridicule, the best descriptions, when once a man is in the humour of laughing, till he wheezes at his own dull jest! but an Image which is strongly and beautifully set before the eyes of the Reader, will still be Poetry, when the merry fit is over: and last when the other is forgotten.  
I promised to say somewhat of Poetic Licence, but have in part anticipated my discourse already. Poetic Licence I take to be the Liberty, which Poets have assumed to themselves in all ages, of speaking things in Verse, which are beyond the severity of Prose. 'Tis that particular character, which distinguishes and sets the bounds betwixt Oratio soluta, and Poetry. This, as to what regards the thought, or imagination of a Poet, consists in Fiction: but then those thoughts must be expressed; and here arise two other branches of it: for if this Licence be included in a single word, it admits of Tropes: if in a Sentence or Proposition, of Figures: bath which are of a much larger extent, and more forcibly to be used in Verse than Prose. This is that Birthright which is derived to us from our great Forefathers, even from Homer down to Ben. and they who would deny it to us, have, in plain terms, the Fox's quarrel to the Grapes; they cannot reach it.  
How far these Liberties are to be extended, I will not presume to determine here, since Horace does not. But it is certain that they are to be varied, according to the Language and Age in which an Author writes. That which would be allowed to a Grecian Poet, Martial tells you, would not be suffered in a Roman. And 'tis evident that the English, does more nearly follow the strictness of the latter, than the freedoms of the former. Connection of Epithets, or the conjunction of two words in one, are frequent and elegant in the Greek, which yet Sir Philip Sidney, and the Translator of Du Bartas, have unluckily attempted in the English; though this I confess, is not so proper an Instance of Poetic Licence, as it is of variety of Idiom in Languages.  
Horace a little explains himself on this subject of Licentia Poetica; in these Verses, 
— Pictoribus atque Poetis  
Quidlibet audendi, semper fuit aequa potestas:  
Sed non, ut placidis coeant immitia, non ut  
Serpents avibus geminentur, Tygribus Haedi.   
He would have a Poem of a piece: not to begin with one thing and end with another: he restrains it so far, that Thoughts of an unlike Nature, ought not to be joined together: That were indeed to make a Chaos. He taxed not Homer, nor the Divine Virgil, for interessing their gods in the Wars of Troy and Italy; neither had he now lived, would he have taxed Milton, as our false Critics have presumed to do, for his choice of a supernatural Argument: but he would have blamed my Author, who was a Christian, had he introduced into his Poem Heathen Deities, as Tasso is condemned by, Rapine on the like occasion: and as Camoens, the Author of the Lusiads, aught to be censured by all his Readers, when he brings in Bacchus and Christ into the same Adventure of his Fable. From that which has been said, it may be collected, that the definition of Wit (which has been so often attempted, and ever unsuccessfully by many Poets,) is only this: That it is a propriety of Thoughts and Words; or in other terms, Thought and Words, elegantly adapted to the Subject. If our Critics will join issue on this Definition, that we may convenire in aliquo tertio; if they will take it as a granted Principle, 'twill be easy to put an end to this dispute: No man will disagree from another's judgement, concerning the dignity of Style, in Heroic Poetry: but all reasonable Men will conclude it necessary, that sublime Subjects ought to be adorned with the sublimest, and (consequently often) with the most figurative expressions. In the mean time I will not run into their fault of imposing my opinions on other men, any more than I would my Writings on their taste: I have only laid down, and that superficially enough, my present thoughts; and shall be glad to be taught better, by those who pretend to reform our Poetry.   

The State of Innocence, and Fall of Man. An OPERA.  The first Scene represents a Chaos, or a confused Mass of Matter; the Stage is almost wholly dark: A symphony of Warlike Music is heard for some time; then from the Heavens, (which are opened) fall the rebellious Angels wheeling in the Air, and seeming transfixed with Thunderbolts: The bottom of the Stage being opened, receives the Angels, who fall out of sight. Tunes of Victory are played, and an Hymn sung; Angels discovered above, brandishing their Swords: The Music ceasing, and the Heavens being closed, the Scene shifts, and on a sudden represents Hell: Part of the Scene is a Lake of Brimstone or rolling Fire; the Earth of a burnt colour: The fallen Angels appear on the Lake, lying prostrate; a Tune of Horror and Lamentation is heard. 

Act I.  

Scene 1.  Lucifer raising himself on the Lake. Lucifer. 
IS this the Seat our Conqueror has given?  
And this the Climate we must change for Heaven?  
These Regions and this Realm my Wars have got;  
This Mournful Empire is the Loser's Lot:  
In Liquid Burnings or on Dry to dwell,  
Is all the sad Variety of Hell.  
But see, the Victor has recalled, from far,  
Th' Avenging Storms, his Ministers of War:  
His Shafts are spent, and his tired Thunders sleep;  
Nor longer bellow through the Boundless Deep.  
Best take th' occasion, and these Waves forsake,  
While time is given. Ho, Asmoday, awake,  
If thou art he: but Ah! how changed from him,  
Companion of my Arms! how wan! how dim!  
How faded all thy Glories are! I see  
Myself too well, and my own change, in thee.  Asmoday. 
Prince of the Thrones, who, in the Fields of Light,  
Leddest forth th' embattled Seraphim to fight,  
Who shook the Power of Heavens Eternal State,  
Had broke it too, if not upheld by Fate;  
But now those hopes are fled: thus low we lie,  
Shut from his day, and that contended Sky,  
And lost, as far as Heavenly Forms can die;  
Yet, not all perished: we defy him still,  
And yet wage War, with our unconquered Will.  Lucif. 
Strength may return.  Asm. 
Already of thy Virtue I partake,  
Erected by thy Voice.  Lucif. 
— See on the Lake  
Our Troops like scattered Leaves in Autumn, lie:  
First let us raise ourselves, and seek the dry,  
Perhaps more easy dwelling.  Asm. 
— From the Beach,  
Thy well-known Voice the sleeping Gods will reach,  
And wake th' Immortal Sense with Thunder's noise  
Had quelled, and Lightning, deep had driven within 'em.  Lucif. 
With Wings expanded wide, ourselves we'll rear,  
And fly incumbent on the dusky Air:  
Hell thy new Lord receive.  
Heaven cannot envy me an Empire here.  [Both fly to dry Land.] Asm. 
Thus far we have prevailed; if that be gain  
Which is but change of place, not change of pain.  
Now fummon we the rest.  Lueif. 
Dominions, Powers, ye Chiefs of heaven's bright Host,  
(Of Heaven, once yours; but now, in Battle, lost)  
Wake from your slumber: Are your Beds of Down?  
Sleep you so easy there? or fear the frown  
Of him who threw you thence, and joys to see  
Your abject state confess his Victory?  
Rise, rise, ere from his Battlements he view  
Your prostrate postures, and his Bolts renew,  
To strike you deeper down.  Asm. 
— They wake, they hear,  
Shake off their slumber first, and next their fear;  
And only for th' appointed Signal stay.  Lucif. 
Rise from the Flood, and hither wing your way.  Moloch from the Lake. 
Thine to command; our part 'tis to obey.  [The rest of the Devils rise up and fly to the Land.] Lucif. 
So, now we are ourselves again, an Host  
Fit to tempt Fate, once more, for what we lost.  
T' overleap th' Etherial Fence, or if so high  
We cannot climb, to undermine his Sky,  
And blow him up, who justly Rules us now,  
Because more strong: should he be forced to bow,  
The right were ours again: 'Tis just to win  
The highest place; t' attempt, and fail, is sin.  Mol. 
Changed as we are, we 're yet from Homage free;  
We have, by Hell, at least, gained liberty:  
That's worth our fall; thus low tho' we are driven,  
Better to Rule in Hell, than serve in Heaven.  Lucif. 
There spoke the better half of Lucifer!  Asm. 
'Tis fit in frequent Senate we confer,  
And then determine how to steer our course;  
To wage new War by Fraud, or open Force.  
The Dooms now past; Submission were in vain.  Mol. 
And, were it not, such baseness I disdain.  
I would not stoop, to purchase all above;  
And should contemn a Power whom Prayer could move,  
As one unworthy to have conquered me.  Beelzebub. 
Moloch, in that, all are resolved like thee.  
The means are unproposed; but 'tis not fit  
Our dark Divan in public view should sit:  
Or what we plot against the Thunderer,  
Th' Ignoble Crowd of Vulgar Devils hear.  Lucif. 
A Golden Palace let be raised on high;  
To imitate? No, to outshine the Sky!  
All Mines are ours, and Gold above the rest:  
Let this be done; and quick as 'twas expressed.  [A Palace rises, where sit, as in Council, Lucifer, Asmoday, Moloch, Belial, Beelzebub and Satan.] 
Most high and mighty Lords, who better fell  
From Heaven, to rise States-General of Hell,  
Nor yet repent, though ruined and undone,  
Our upper Provinces already won,  
(Such pride there is in Souls created free,  
Such hate of Universal Monarchy;)  
Speak, (for we therefore meet)—  
If Peace you choose, your Suffrages declare;  
Or means propound, to carry on the War.  Mol. 
My sentence is for War; that open too:  
Unskilled in Stratagems; plain Force I know:  
Treaties are vain to Losers; nor would we,  
Should Heaven grant Peace, submit to Sovereignty.  
We can no caution give we will adore;  
And He above is warned to trust no more.  
What then remains but Battle?  Satan. 
I agree,  
With this brave Vote; and if in Hell there be  
Ten more such Spirits, Heaven is our own again:  
We venture nothing, and may all obtain.  
Yet who can hope but well, since even Success  
Makes Foes secure, and makes our danger less.  
Seraph. and Cherub. careless of their charge,  
And wanton, in full ease-now live at large,  
Ungarded leave the passes of the Sky,  
And all dissolved, in Hallelujahs lie.  Mol. 
Grant that our hazardous attempt prove vain;  
We feel the worst; secured from greater pain:  
Perhaps we may provoke the Conquering Foe  
To make us nothing; yet, even then, we know  
That not to be, is not to be in woe.  Belial. 
That knowledge which, as Spirits, we obtain,  
Is to be valued in the midst of pain:  
Annihilation were to lose Heaven more:  
We are not quite exiled where thought can soar.  
Then cease from Arms;—  
Tempt him not farther to pursue his blow;  
And be content to bear those pains we know.  
If what we had we could not keep, much less  
Can we regain what those above possess.  Beelzebub. 
Heaven sleeps not; from one wink a breach would be  
In the full Circle of Eternity.  
Long pains, with use of bearing, are half eased;  
Heaven unprovoked, at length may be appeased.  
By War, we cannot scape our wretched lot;  
And may, perhaps, not warring, be forgot.  Asm. 
Could we repent, or did not Heaven well know  
Rebellion once forgiven, would greater grow:  
I should, with Belial, choose ignoble ease;  
But neither will the Conqueror give Peace,  
Nor yet so lost in this low state we are,  
As to despair of a well-managed War.  
Nor need we tempt those heights which Angels keep,  
Who fear no force, or ambush from the Deep.  
What if we find some easier Enterprise?  
There is a place, if ancient Prophecies  
And Fame in Heaven not err, the blessed abode  
Of some new Race, called Man, a Demy-God,  
Whom, near this time, th' Almighty must create;  
He swore it, shook the heavens', and made it Fate.  Lucif. 
I heard it; through all Heaven the rumour ran,  
And much the talk of this intended Man:  
Of form Divine; but less in excellence  
Than we; endued with Reason lodged in Sense:  
The Soul pure Fire, like ours, of equal force;  
But, pent in Flesh, must issue by discourse:  
We see what is; to Man Truth must be brought  
By Sense, and drawn by a long Chain of thought:  
By that faint light, to will and understand;  
For made less knowing, he's at more command.  Asm. 
Though Heaven be shut, that World if it be made  
As nearest Heaven, lies open to invade:  
Man therefore must be known, his Strength, his State.  
And by what Tenure he holds all of Fate.  
Him let us then seduce or overthrow:  
The first is easiest; and makes Heaven his Foe.  
Advise, if this attempt be worth our care.  Belial. 
Great is th' advantage, great the hazards are.  
Some one (but who that task dares undertake?)  
Of this new Creature must discovery make.  
Hell's Brazen Gates he first must break, then far  
Must wander through old Night, and through the War  
Of antique Chaos; and, when these are past,  
Meet heaven's Outguards who scout upon the waste:  
At every Station must be bid to stand,  
And forced to answer every strict demand.  Mol. 
This Glorious Enterprise—  [Rising up.] Lucif. 
— Rash Angel, stay;  [Rising, and laying his Sceptre on Moloch his head.] 
That Palm is mine, which none shall take away.  
Hot Braves, like thee, may fight; but know not well  
To manage this, the last great Stake of Hell.  
Why am I ranked in State above the rest,  
If while I stand of Sovereign Power possessed,  
Another dares, in danger, farther go?  
King's are not made for ease, and Pageant-show.  
Who would be Conqueror, must venture all:  
He merits not to rise, who dares not fall.  Asm. 
The praise, and danger, then, be all your own.  Lucif. 
On this Foundation I erect my Throne:  
Through Brazen Gates, vast Chaos, and old Night,  
I'll force my way; and upwards steer my flight:  
Discover this new World, and newer Man;  
Make him my Foot-step to mount Heaven again:  
Then, in the clemency of upward Air,  
We'll scour our spots, and the dire Thunder's scar,  
With all the remnants of th' unlucky War,  
And once again grow bright, and once again grow fair.  Asm. 
Mean time the Youth of Hell strict guard may keep,  
And set their Sentries to the utmost deep,  
That no Etherial Parafite may come  
To spy our ills, and tell glad tales at home.  Lucif. 
Before yon Brimstone-Lake thrice ebb and flow,  
(Alas, that we must measure Time by woe!)  
I shall return: (my mind presages well)  
And outward lead the Colonies of Hell.  
Your care I much approve; what time remains,  
With Sports and Music, in the Vales and Fields,  
And whate'er Joy so sad a Climate yields,  
Seek to forget, at least divert your pains.  Betwixt the first Act and the second, while the Chiefs sit in the Palace, may be expressed the Sports of the Devils; as Flights and Dancing in Grotesque Figures: and a Song expressing the change of their condition; what they enjoyed before; and how they fell bravely in Battle, having deserved Victory by their Valour; and what they would have done if they had Conquered.   

Act II.  

Scene 1. A Champaign Country.  Adam, as newly created, laid on a Bed of Moss and Flowers, by a Rock. [Rising.] Adam. 
WHat am I? or from whence? For that I am  
I know, because I think; but whence I came,  
Or how this Frame of mine began to be,  
What other Being can disclose to me?  
I move, I see; I speak, discourse, and know,  
Though now I am, I was not always so.  
Then that from which I was, must be before:  
Whom, as my Spring of Being, I adore.  
How full of Ornament is all I view  
In all its parts! and seems as beautiful as new:  
O goodly ordered Work! O Power Divine,  
Of thee I am; and what I am is thine!  Raphael descends to Adam in a Cloud. Raphael. 
First of Mankind, made o'er the World to Reign,  
Whose Fruitful Loins an Unborn Kind contain,  
Well hast thou reasoned; of himself is none  
But that Eternal Infinite, and One,  
Who never did begin, who ne'er can end;  
On Him all Being's, as their Source, depend.  
We first, who of his Image most partake,  
Whom He all Spirit, Immortal, Pure, did make.  
Man next; whose Race exalted, must supply  
The place of those who, falling, lost the Sky.  Adam. 
Bright Minister of Heaven, sent here below  
To me, who but begin to think and know,  
If such could fall from bliss, who knew and saw  
By near admission, their Creator's Law,  
What hopes have I, from Heaven remote so far,  
To keep those Laws, unknowing when I err?  Raphael. 
Right Reason's Law to every humane heart  
Th'Eternal, as his Image, will impart:  
This teaches to adore Heaven's Majesty:  
In prayer and praise, does all devotion lie:  
So doing, thou and all thy race are blessed.  Adam. 
Of every creeping thing, of Bird, and Beast,  
I see the kinds: in pairs distinct they go;  
The Males their loves, their lover's Females know.  
Thou namedst a race which must proceed from me,  
Yet my whole Species in myself I see:  
A barren sex, and single, of no use;  
But full of forms which I can ne'er produce.  Raphael. 
Think not the power, who made thee thus, can find  
No way like theirs to propagate thy kind.  
Mean time, live happy, in thyself alone;  
Like him who, single, fills th'Etherial Throne.  
To study Nature will thy time employ:  
Knowledge and Innocence, are perfect Joy.  Adam. 
If solitude were best, th'allwise above  
Had made no Creature for himself to love.  
I add not to the power he had before;  
Yet to make me, extends his goodness more.  
He would not be alone, who all things can;  
But peopled Heaven with Angels, Earth with Man.  Raphael. 
As Man and Angels to the Deity,  
So all inferior creatures are to thee.  
heaven's greatness no society can bear;  
Servants he made, and those thou want'st not here.  Adam. 
Why did he Reason in my Soul implant,  
And speech, th'effect of reason; to the mute  
My speech is lost; my reason, to the Brute.  
Love, and society, more blessings bring  
To them, the slaves, than power to me their King.  Raphael. 
Thus far, to try thee; but, to Heaven, 'twas known  
It was not best for man to be alone;  
An equal, yet thy subject, is designed.  
For thy soft hours, and to unbend thy mind.  
Thy stronger soul shall her weak reason sway;  
And thou, through love, her beauty shalt obey:  
Thou shalt secure her helpless sex from harms;  
And she thy cares shall sweeten, with her charms.  Adam. 
What more can Heaven bestow, or man require?  Raphael. 
Yes; he can give, beyond thy own desire.  
A mansion is provided thee, more fair  
Than this; and worthy heaven's peculiar care:  
Not framed of common Earth, nor fruits, nor flowers,  
Of vulgar growth; but like Celestial Bowers:  
The soil luxuriant, and the fruit divine,  
Where golden Apples, on green branches shine,  
And purple grapes dissolve into immortal wine.  
For noon day's heat, are closer Arbours made;  
And for fresh evening Ayr, the op'ner glade.  
Ascend: and, as we go,  
More wonders thou shalt know.  Adam. 
And, as we go, let Earth and Heaven above  
Sound our great Maker's power and greater love.  They ascend to soft Music and a Song is sung. The Scene changes; and represents above, a Sun, gloriously rising, and moving orbicularly: at a distance, below, is the Moon; the part next the Sun enlightened, the other dark. A black cloud comes whirling from the adverse part of the Heavens, bearing Lucifer in it; at his nearer approach, the body of the Sun is darkened. Lucifer 
Am I become so monstrous? so disfigured,  
That nature cannot suffer my approach,  
Or look me in the face? but stands aghast;  
And that fair light which gilds this new made Orb,  
Shorn of his beams, shrinks in, Accurst ambition!  
And thou, black Empire of the nether World,  
How dearly have I bought you! But, 'tis past:  
I have already gone too far to stop,  
And must push on my dire revenge, in ruin  
Of this gay frame, and Man, my upstart rival;  
In scorn of me created. Down, my pride,  
And all my swelling thoughts; I must forget,  
A while, I am a Devil; and put on  
A smooth, submissive face; else I, in vain  
Have passed through Night and Chaos to discover  
Those envied skies again, which I have lost.  
But stay; far off; I see a Chariot driven,  
Flaming with beams, and in it Uriel,  
One of the seven; (I know his hated face)  
Who stands in presence of th'Eternal Throne.  
And seems the Regent of that glorious light.  From that part of the Heavens, where the Sun appears, a Chariot is discovered, drawn with white horses; and in it Uriel the Regent of the Sun. The Chariot moves swiftly, towards Lucifer; and at Uriel's approach, the Sun recover's his light. Uriel. 
Spirit, who art thou? and from whence arrived?  
(For I remember not thy face, in Heaven)  
Or by command, or hither led by choice?  
Or wanderest thou within this lucid Orb,  
And strayed from those fair fields of light above,  
Amidst this new creation want'st a guide,  
To reconduct thy steps?  Lucifer. 
— Bright Uriel,  
Chief of the seven, thou flaming Minister,  
Who guard'st this new created Orb of light,  
(The world's eye that, and thou the eye of it)  
Thy favour, and high Office, make thee known:  
An humble Cherub I, and of less note,  
Yet, bold, by thy permission, hither come,  
On high discoveries bent.  Uriel. 
— Speak thy design.  Lucifer 
Urged by renown of what I heard above  
Divulged by Angels nearest heaven's high King,  
Concerning this new World, I came to view  
(If worthy such a favour) and admire  
This last effect of our great Maker's power:  
Thence, to my wondering fellows I shall turn,  
Full fraught with joyful tidings of these works,  
New matter of his Praise, and of our Songs.  Uriel. 
Thy business is not what deserves my blame,  
Nor thou, thyself, unwelcome; see, fair Spirit,  
Below yon Sphere, (of matter not unlike it,)  
There hangs the ball of Earth and Water mixed,  
Self-centered, and unmoved.  Lucifer. 
— But where dwells Man?  Uriel. 
On yonder Mount; thou seest it fenced with Rocks,  
And round th' ascent a Theatre of Trees,  
A sylvane Scene, which rising by degrees,  
Leads up the eye below, nor gluts the sight  
With one full prospect, but invites by many,  
To view, at last the whole: there his abode,  
Thither direct thy flight.  Lucifer. 
— O blessed be thou  
Who, to my low converse, hast lent thy Ear,  
And favoured my request: hail, and farewell.  [Flies downward out of sight. Uriel. 
Not unobserved thou goest, who e'er thou art;  
Whether some Spirit, on Holy purpose bent,  
Or some fallen Angel from below broke loose,  
Who com'st with envious eyes, and cursed intent,  
To view this World, and its created Lord:  
Here will I watch, and, white my Orb rolls on,  
Pursue from hence, thy much suspected flight;  
And, if disguised, pierce through with beams of light.  [The Chariot drives forward out of sight.  

The Scene Paradise.  Trees cut out on each side, with several Fruits upon them: a Fountain in the midst: at the far end, the Prospect terminates in Walks. Adam. 
If this be dreaming, let me never wake;  
But still the joys of that sweet sleep partake.  
Methought— but why do I my bliss delay  
By thinking what I thought? Fair, Vision stay;  
My better half, thou softer part of me,  
To whom I yield my boasted Sovereignty,  
I seek myself, and find not, wanting thee.  Exit. Enter Eve. Eve. 
Tell me ye Hills and Dales, and thou fair Sun,  
Who shinest above, what am I? whence begun?  
Like myself, I see nothing: from each Tree  
The feathered kind peep down, to look on me;  
And Beasts, with upcast eyes, forsake their shade,  
And gaze, as if I were to be obeyed.  
Sure I am somewhat which they wish to be,  
And cannot: I myself am proud of me.  Looks into a Fountain. 
What's here? another Firmament below,  
Spread wide, and other trees that downward grow?  
And now a Face peeps up, and now draws near,  
With smiling looks, as pleased to see me here.  
As I advance, so that advances too,  
And seems to imitate what e'er I do:  
When I begin to speak, the lips it moves;  
Streams drown the voice, or it would say it loves.  
Yet when I would embrace, it will not stay:  Stoops down to embrace. 
Lost e'er 'tis held; when nearest, far away.  
Ah, fair, yet false; ah Being, formed to cheat,  
By seeming kindness, mixed with deep deceit.  Enter Adam. Adam. 
O Virgin, Heaven begot, and born of Man,  
Thou fairest of thy great Creator's Works;  
Thee, Goddess, thee th'Eternal did ordain  
His softer Substitute on Earth to Reign:  
And, wheresoe'er thy happy footsteps tread,  
Nature, in triumph, after thee is led.  
Angels, with pleasure, view thy matchless Grace,  
And love their Maker's Image in thy Face.  Eve. 
O, only like myself, (for nothing here  
So graceful, so majestic does appear:)  
Art thou the Form my longing eyes did see,  
Loosed from thy Fountain, and come out to me?  
Yet, sure thou art not, nor thy Face, the same;  
Nor thy Limbs moulded in so soft a frame:  
Thou look'st more sternly, dost more strongly move;  
And more of awe thou bear'st, and less of love.  
Yet pleased I hear thee, and above the rest;  
I, next myself, admire and love thee best.  Adam. 
Made to command, thus freely I obey,  
And at thy feet the whole Creation lay.  
Pity that love thy beauty does beget:  
What more I shall desire, I know not yet.  
First let us locked in close embraces be;  
Thence I, perhaps, may teach myself, and thee.  Eve. 
Somewhat forbids me, which I cannot name;  
For ignorant of guilt, I fear not shame:  
But some restraining thought, I know not why,  
Tells me, you long should beg, I long deny.  Adam, 
In vain! my right to thee is sealed above;  
Look round and see where thou canst place thy Love:  
All creatures else are much unworthy thee;  
They matched, and thou alone art left for me.  
If not to love, we both were made in vain:  
I my new Empire would resign again,  
And change, with my dumb slaves, my nobler mind;  
Who, void of reason, more of pleasure find.  
Methinks, for me they beg, each, silently,  
Demands thy Grace, and seems to watch thy Eye.  Eve. 
I well foresee, when e'er thy suit I grant,  
That I my much-loved Sovereignty shall want:  
Or like myself, some other may, be made;  
And her-new Beauty may thy heart invade.  Adam. 
Could Heaven some greater Masterpiece devise,  
Set out with all the glories of the Skies:  
That beauty yet in vain he should decree,  
Unless he made another heart for me.  Eve. 
With how much ease I, whom I love, believe!  
Giving myself, my want of worth I grieve.  
Here, my inviolable Faith I plight,  
So, thou be my defence, I, thy delight.  Exeunt he leading her.   

Act III.  

Scene 1. Paradise.  Lucifer. 
FAir place; yet what is this to Heaven, where I  
Sat next, so almost equalled the most high,  
I doubted, measuring both, who was more strong;  
Then, willing to forget time since so long,  
Scarce thought I was created: vain desire  
Of Empire, in my thoughts still shot me higher,  
To mount above his sacred Head: ah why,  
When he so kind, was so ungrateful I?  
He bounteously bestowed unenvied good  
On me: in arbitrary Grace I stood:  
T'acknowledge this, was all he did exact;  
Small Tribute, where the Will to pay was act.  
I mourn it now, unable to repent,  
As he, who knows my hatred to relent,  
Jealous of power once questioned: hope, farewell;  
And with hope, fear; no depth below my Hell  
Can be prepared: then, ill be thou my good;  
And vast destruction, be my envy's food.  
Thus I, with Heaven, divided Empire gain;  
Seducing Man, I make his project vain.  
And, in one hour, destroy his six days pain.  
They come again; I must retire.  Enter Adam and Eve. Adam. 
Thus shall we live in perfect bliss, and see,  
Deathless ourselves, our numerous progeny.  
Thou young and beauteous, my desires to bless;  
I, still desiring, what I still possess.  Eve. 
Heaven, from whence Love (our greatest Blessing came)  
Can give no more, but still to be the same.  
Thou more of pleasure may'st with me partake;  
I, more of pride, because thy bliss I make.  Adam. 
When to my Arms thou brought'st thy Virgin Love,  
Fair Angels, sung our Bridal Hymn above:  
Th' Eternal, nodding, shook the Firmament,  
And conscious Nature gave her glad consent.  
Roses unbid, and every fragrant Flower,  
Flew from their stalks, to strew thy Nuptial Bower:  
The furred and feathered kind, the triumph did pursue,  
And Fishes leapt above the streams, the passing Pomp to view.  Eve. 
When your kind Eyes looked languishing on mine,  
And wreathing Arms did soft embraces join,  
A doubtful trembling seized me first all o'er;  
Then, wishes; and a warmth, unknown before:  
What followed, was all ecstasy and trance;  
Immortal pleasures round my swimming eyes did dance,  
And speechless joys, in whose sweet tumult tossed,  
I thought my Breath, and my new Being lost.  Lucif. 
O Death to hear! and a worse Hell on Earth:  [Aside. 
What mad profufion on this clod-born Birth:  
Abyss of joys, as if Heaven meant to show  
What, in base matters; such a hand could do:  
Or was his Virtue spent, and he no more  
With Angels could supyly th' exhausted store  
Of which I swept the Sky?  
And wanting Subjects to his haughty Will,  
On this mean Work, employed his trifling skill.  Eve. 
Blessed in ourselves, all pleasures else abound;  
Without our care, behold th' unlaboured Ground,  
Bounteous of Fruit, above our shady Bowers  
The creeping Jess'min thrusts her fragrant Flowers;  
Thy Myrtle, Orange, and the blushing Rose,  
With bending heaps so nigh their blooms disclose,  
Each seems to smell the flavour which the other blows:  
By these the Peach, the Guava, and the Pine,  
And creeping 'twixt 'em all, the mant'ling Vine,  
Does round their trunks, her purple clusters twine.  Adam. 
All these are ours, all nature's excellence  
Whose taste or smell can bless the feasted sense.  
One only fruit, in the mid garden placed,  
(The tree of knowledge,) is denys our taste;  
(Our proof of duty to our Maker's will.)  
Of disobedience, death's the threatened ill.  Eve. 
Death is some harm, which, though we know not yet  
Since threatened, we must needs imagine great:  
And sure he merits it, who disobeys  
That one command, and one of so much ease.  Lucifer. 
Must they then die, if they attempt to know  
He sees they would rebel, and keeps them low.  
On this foundation I their ruin lay.  
Hope to know more shall tempt to disobey  
I fell by this, and, since their strength is less,  
Why should not equal means give like success?  Adam. 
Come, my fair love, our morning's task we lose;  
Some labour even the easiest life would choose:  
Ours is not great; the dangling boughs to crop,  
Whose too luxuriant growth our Alleys stop,  
And choke the paths: this our delight requires,  
And Heaven no more of daily work desires  Eve. 
With thee to live, is Paradise alone:  
Without the pleasure of thy sight, is none.  
I fear small progress will be made this day;  
So much our kisses will our task delay.  Exeunt. Lucifer. 
Why have not I like these, a body too,  
Formed for the same delights which they pursue?  
I could (so variously my passions move)  
Enjoy and blast her, in the act of love.  
Unwillingly I hate such excellence;  
She wronged me not; but I revenge th'offence  
Through her, on Heaven whose thunder took away  
My birth-right-skyes! live happy whilst you may,  
Blessed pair, you're not aloud another day!  Exit. Gabriel and Ithuriel descend, carried on bright Clouds; and flying 'cross each other, then light on the ground. Gabriel. 
Ithuriel, since we two Commission'd are  
From Heaven the Guardians of this new-made pair,  
Each mind his charge, for, see, the night draws on,  
And rising mists pursue the setting Sun.  Ithuriel. 
Blessed is our lot to serve; our task we know:  
To watch, lest any, from th'Abyss below,  
Broke loose, disturb their sleep with dreams; or worse,  
Assault their beings with superior force.  Uriel flies down from the Sun. Uriel. 
Gabriel, if now the watch be set, prepare  
With strictest guard, to show thy utmost care.  
This morning came a spirit, fair he seemed,  
Whom, by his face, I some young Cherub deemed,  
Of Man he much inquired and where his place,  
With shows of zeal to praise his maker's grace;  
But I, with watchful eyes, observed his flight,  
And saw him on you steepy Mount alight,  
There, as he thought unseen, he laid aside  
His borrowed mask, and reaslumed his pride:  
I marked his looks, averse to Heaven and good;  
Dusky he grew, and long revolving stood  
On some deep, dark design; thence shot with haste,  
And o'er the mounds of Paradise he passed:  
By his proud port, he seemed the Prince of hell;  
And here he lurcks, in shades, till night: search well  
Each grove and thicket, pry in every shape,  
Left, hid in some, th'arch hypocrite escape.  Gabriel. 
If any spirit come t'invade, or scout  
From hell, what earthy fence can keep him out?  
But rest secure of this, he shall be found,  
And taken, or proscribed this happy ground.  Ithuriel. 
Thou to the East, I westward walk the round;  
And meet we in the midst  (Uri.) 
Heaven your design.  
Succeed, your charge requires you, and me mine.  Uriel flies forward out of sight: the two Angels Exeunt severally. A night-piece of a pleasant Bower: Adam and Eve asleep in it. Enter Lucifer. Lucifer. 
So, now they lie, secure in love, and steep  
Their sated senses in full draughts of sleep.  
By what sure means can I their bliss invade?  
By violence? No; for they're immortal made.  
Their Reason sleeps; but Mimic fancy wakes.  
supplies her parts, and wild Ideas takes  
From words and things, ill sorted, and misjoyned;  
The Anarchy of thought and Chaos of the mind:  
Hence dreams confused and various may arise;  
These will I set before the Woman's eyes;  
The weaker she, and made my easier prey;  
Vain shows, and Pomp, the softer sex betray.  Lucifer sits down by Eve, and seems to whisper in her ear. A Vision, where a Tree rises loaden with Fruit; four Spirits rise with it, and draw a canopy out of the tree, other Spirits dance about the Tree in deformed shapes, after the Dance an Angel enters, with a Woman, habited like Eve. Angel, singing. 

Look up, look up, and see  
What Heaven prepares for thee;  
Look up, and this fair fruit behold,  
Ruddy it smiles, and rich with streaks of gold.   

The loaded branches downward bend,  
Willing they stoop, and thy fair hand attend  
Fair Mother of Mankind, make haste  
And bless, and bless thy senses with the taste.   Woman. 
No; 'tis forbidden, I  
In tasting it shall die.  Angel. 
Say who enjoined this harsh command.  Woman. 
'Twas Heaven; and who can Heaven withstand?  Angel. 
Why was it made so fair, why placed in sight?  
Heaven is too good to envy man's delight.  
See, we before thy face will try,  
What thou so fear'st and will not die.  The Angel takes the fruit and gives to the Spirits, who danced, they immediately put off their deformed shapes, and appear Angels. Angels singing. 
Behold what a change on a sudden is here!  
How glorious in beauty how bright they appear!  
From spirits deformed they are Deities made  
Their pinions at pleasure, the clouds can invade,  [The Angel gives to the Woman who eats. 
Till equal in honour they rise  
With him who commands in the skies:  
Then taste without fear, and be happy and wise.  Woman. 
Ah, now I believe; such a pleasure I find  
As enlightens my eyes, and enlivens my mind.  [The spirits who are turned Angels fly up, when they have tasted. 
I only repent  
I deferred my content.  Angel. 
Now wiser experience has taught you to prove  
What a folly it is,  
Out of fear to shun bliss.  
To the joy that's forbidden we eagerly move;  
It inhances the price, and increases the love  Chorus of both. 
To the joy, etc.  Two Angels descend, they take the Woman each by the hand, and fly up with her out of sight. The Angel who sung, and the Spirits who held the Canopy at the same instant, sink down with the Tree. Enter Gabriel and Ithuriel to Lucifer who remains. Gabriel. 
What art thou? speak thy name, and thy intent.  
Why here alone? and on what errand sent?  
Not from above: no, thy wan looks betray  
Diminished light, and eyes unused to day.  Lucifer. 
Not to know me, argues thyself unknown:  
Time was when, shining next th'Imperial throne,  
I sat in awful state; while such as thou  
Did, in th'ignoble crowed at distance bow.  Gabriel. 
Think'st thou, vain spirit, thy glories are the same?  
And seest not sin obscures thy Godlike frame?  
I know thee now, by thy ungrateful Pride;  
That shows me what thy faded looks did hide.  
Traitor to him who made, and set thee high;  
And fool, that power which formed thee to defy.  Lucifer. 
Go, slaves, return, and fawn in Heaven again;  
Seek thanks from him whose quarrel you maintain.  
Vile wretches! of your servitude to boast:  
You basely keep the place I bravely lost.  Ithuriel. 
Freedom is choice of what we will and do:  
Then blame not servants who are freely so.  
'Tis base, not to acknowledge what we owe.  Lucifer. 
Thanks, how e'er due, proclaim subjection yet:  
I fought for power to quit th'upbraided debt.  
Who e'er expects our thanks himself repaies;  
And seems but little, who can want our praise.  Gabriel. 
What in us duty, shows not want in him:  
Blessed in himself alone—  
To whom no praise we, by good deeds, can add;  
Nor can his glory suffer from our bad.  
Made for his use; yet he has formed us so  
We, unconstrained, what he commands us do.  
So praise we him and serve him freely best:  
Thus thou, by choice, art fallen, and we are blessed.  Ithuriel. 
This, lest thou think thy plea unanswered, good;  
Our question thou evad'st, how didst thou dare  
To break Hell bounds, and near this humane pair  
In nightly ambush lie?  Lucifer. 
Lives there who would not seek to force his way  
From pain, to ease; from darkness, to the day?  
Should I, who found the means to scape, not dare  
To change my sulphu'rous smoke, for upper Air?  
When I, in fight, sustained your Thunderer,  
And Heaven on me, alone spent half his war,  
Think'st thou those wounds were light? should I not seek  
The clemency of some more temperate Clime  
To purge my gloom; and by the Sun refined,  
Bask in his beams, and bleach me in the wind?  Gabriel. 
If pain to shun, be all thy business here,  
Methinks, thy fellows the same course should steer.  
Is their pain less who yet behind thee stay?  
Or thou less hardy to endure than they?  Lucifer. 
Nor one, nor t'other; but as leaders ought,  
I ventured first alone; first danger sought;  
And first explored this new created frame,  
Which filled our dusky Regions with its fame:  
In hopes my fainting Troops to settle here,  
And to defend, against your Thunderer,  
This spot of earth; or nearer Heaven repair,  
And forage to his gates from Middle Ayr.  Ithuriel. 
Fool, to believe thou any part eanst gain  
From him, who couldst not thy first ground maintain.  Gabriel. 
But whether that design, or one as vain,  
T'attempt the lives of these, first drew thee here;  
Avoid the place; and never more appear  
Upon this Hallowed earth else prove our might.  Lucifer. 
Not that I fear, do I decline the fight:  
You I disdain; let me with him contend  
On whom your limitary power's depend.  
More honour from the sender than the sent:  
Till then, I have accomplished my intent;  
And leave this place, which but augments my pain  
Gazing to wish, yet hopeless to obtain.  [Exit. [They following him.   

Act IU.  

Scene 1. Paradise.  Adam and Eve. Adam. 
STrange was your dream, and full of sad portent;  
Avert it, Heaven, (if it from Heaven were sent:)  
Let on thy foes the dire presages fall;  
To us be good and easy, when we call.  Eve. 
Behold, from far a breaking Cloud appears,  
Which, in it, many winged wariours bears.  
Their glory shoots upon my aching sense;  
Thou stronger may'st endure the flood of light,  
And while in shades I cheer my fainting sight  
Encounter the descending excellence.  [Exit. The Cloud descends with six Angels in it; and when it's near the ground, breaks; and on each side, discovers six more: they descend out of the Cloud. Raphael and Gabriel discourse with Adam, the rest stand at distance. Raphael. 
First of mankind, that we, from Heaven are sent  
Is from heaven's care thy ruin to prevent.  
th'Apostate Angel has, by night, been here,  
And whispered through thy sleeping consorts ear  
Delusive dreams, thus warned by us, beware;  
And guide her frailty, by thy timely care.  Gabriel. 
These, as thy guards from outward harms, are sent:  
Ills, from within, thy reason must prevent.  Adam. 
Natives of Heaven, who, in compassion deign  
To want that place where joys immortal reign,  
In care of me; what praises can I pay  
Defended in obedience; taught t'obey?  Raphael. 
Praise him alone who, Godlike, formed thee free,  
With will unbounded, as a Deity;  
Who gave thee reason, as thy Aid, to choose  
Apparent good, and evil to refuse.  
Obedience is that good; This Heaven exacts  
And Heaven, all just, from man requires not acts  
Which man wants power to do: power then is given  
Of doing good; but not compelled by Heaven.  Gabriel. 
Made good; that thou dost to thy Maker owe:  
But to thyself, if thou continu'st so.  Adam. 
Freedom of will, of all good things is best;  
But can it be by finite man possessed?  
I know not how Heaven can communicate  
What equal man to his Creator's state.  Raphael. 
Heaven cannot give his boundless power away;  
But boundless liberty of choice he may.  
So Orbs, from the first mover, motion take;  
Yet each their proper revolutions make.  Adam. 
Grant Heaven could once have given us liberty;  
Are we not bounded, now, by firm decree,  
Since what so ere is preordained, must be?  
Else Heaven, for man, events might preordain,  
And man's free will might make those orders vain.  Gabriel. 
Th'Eternal, when he did the world create,  
All other agents did necessitate:  
So, what he ordered, they by nature do;  
Thus light things mount, and heavy downward go.  
Man only boasts an arbitrary state.  Adam. 
Yet causes their effects necessitate  
In willing agents: where is freedom then?  
Or who can break the chain which limits men  
To act what is unchangeably forecast.  
Since the first cause gives motion to the last?  Raphael. 
Heaven by foreknowing what will surely be,  
Does only, first, effects in causes see;  
And finds, but does not make necessity.  
Creation, is of power and will th'effect,  
Foreknowledge only of his Intellect;  
His prescience makes not, but supposes things;  
Infers necessity to be; not brings.  
Thus thou art not constrained to good or ill;  
Causes which work th'effect, force not the will.  Adam. 
The force unseen, and distant I confess;  
But the long chain makes not the bondage less.  
Even Man himself may to himself seem free,  
And think that choice which is necessity.  Gabriel. 
And who but man should judge of man's free state?  Adam. 
I find that I can choose to love, or hate;  
Obey, or disobey; do good, or ill:  
Yet such a choice is but consent; not will.  
I can but choose what he has first designed,  
For he before that choice, my will confined.  Gabriel. 
Such impious fancies, where they entrance gain,  
Make Heaven, all pure, thy crimes to preordain.  Adam. 
Far, far from me be banished such a thought:  
I argue only to be better taught.  
Can there be freedom, when what now seems free  
Was founded on some first necessity?  
For what ere cause can move the will t'elect  
Must be sufficient to produce th'effect:  
And what's sufficient must effectual be;  
Then how is man, thus forced by causes free?  Raphael. 
Sufficient causes, only work th'effect  
When necessary agents they respect.  
Such is not man; who, though the cause suffice,  
Yet often he his free assent denies.  Adam. 
What causes not, is not sufficient still.  Gabriel. 
Sufficient in itself; not in thy will.  Raphael. 
When we see causes joined t'effects at last,  
The chain but shows necessity that's past.  
That what's done, is: (ridiculous proof of fate!)  
Tell me which part it does necessitate?  
I'll choose the other; there I'll link th'effect.  
O chain, which fools, to catch themselves, project!  Adam. 
Though no constraint from Heaven, or causes, be;  
Heaven may prevent that ill he does foresee:  
And, not preventing, though he does not cause,  
He seems to will that man should break his laws.  Gabriel. 
Heaven may permit, but not to ill consent;  
For hindering ill, he would all choice prevent.  
'Twere to unmake, to take away thy will.  Aaam. 
Better constrained to good, than free to ill.  Raphael. 
But what reward or punishment could be  
If man to neither good nor ill were free?  
Th'Eternal justice could decree no pain  
To him whose sins itself did first ordain;  
And good compelled, could no reward exact:  
His power would shine in goodness, not thy act.  
Our task is done: obey; and, in that choice,  
Thou shalt be blessed, and Angels shall rejoice.  [Raphael and Gabriel fly up in the Cloud: the other Angels go off. Adam. 
Hard state of life! since Heaven fore-knows my will,  
Why am I not tied up from doing ill?  
Why am I trusted with myself at large,  
When he's more able to sustain the charge?  
Since Angels fell, whose strength was more than mine,  
'Twould show more grace my frailty to confine.  
Foreknowing the success, to leave me free,  
Excuses him, and yet supports not me.  [To him, Eve. Eve. 
Behold my heart's dear Lord, how high the Sun  
Is mounted, yet our labour not begun.  
The ground, unbid, gives more than we can ask;  
But work is pleasure when we choose our task.  
Nature, not bounteous now, but lavish grows;  
Our paths with flowers, she prodigally strews;  
With pain we lift up our entangled feet,  
While 'cross our walks the shooting branches meet.  Adam. 
Well has thy care advised; 'tis fit we hast;  
nature's too kind, and follows us too fast;  
Leaves us no room her treasures to possess,  
But mocks our industry with her excess;  
And wildly wanton wears by night away  
The sign of all our labours done by day.  Eve. 
Since, then, the work's so great, the hands so few,  
This day let each a several task pursue.  
By thee, my hands to labour will not move,  
But round thy neck, employ themselves in love.  
When thou wouldst work, one tender touch, one smile  
(How can I hold?) will all thy task beguile.  Adam. 
So hard we are not to our labour tied  
That smiles, and soft endearments, are denied.  
Smiles, not allowed to Beasts, from reason move,  
And are the privilege of humane love:  
And if, sometimes, each others eyes we meet,  
Those little vacancies, from toil, are sweet.  
But you, by absence, would refresh your joys,  
Because perhaps my conversation cloys.  
Yet this, would prudence grant, I could permit.  Eve. 
What reason makes my small request unfit?  Adam. 
The fallen Archangel, envious of our state,  
Pursues our Being's with immortal hate.  
And hopeless to prevail by open force,  
Seeks hid advantage to betray us worse:  
Which when asunder, will not prove so hard;  
For both together are each other's guard.  Eve. 
Since he, by foree, is hopeless to prevail  
He can by fraud alone our minds assail:  
And to believe his wiles my truth can move  
Is to misdoubt my reason or my love.  Adam. 
Call it my care, and not mistrust of thee;  
Yet thou art weak, and full of Art is he;  
Else how could he that Host seduce to sin  
Whose fall has left the Heavenly nation thin?  Eve. 
I grant him armed with subtlety, and hate;  
But why should we suspect our happy state?  
Is our perfection of so frail a make;  
As every plot can undermine or shake?  
Think better both of Heaven, thyself, and me:  
Who always fears, at ease can never be.  
Poor state of bliss, where so much care is shown  
As not to dare to trust ourselves alone!  Adam. 
Such is our state, as not exempt from fall;  
Yet firm, if reason to our aid we call:  
And that, in both, is stronger than in one;  
I would not; why wouldst thou, then, be alone?  Eve. 
Because thus warned, I know myself secure,  
And long my little trial to endure:  
T'approve my faith; thy needless fears remove;  
Gain thy esteem, and so deserve thy love.  
If all this shake not thy obdurate will,  
Know that, even present, I am absent still:  
And then what pleasure hop'st thou in my stay  
When I'm constrained, and wish myself away.  Adam. 
Constraint does ill with love and beauty suit;  
I would persuade; but not be absolute.  
Better be much remiss than too severe;  
If pleased in absence, thou wilt still be here:  
Go; in thy native innocence proceed,  
And summon all thy reason at thy need.  Eve. 
My Soul, my eyes delight; in this I find  
Thou lov'st; because to love is to be kind.  [Embracing him. 
Seeking my trial, I am still on guard:  
Trials less fought, would find us less prepared.  
Our foe's too proud the weaker to assail;  
Or doubles his dishonour if he fail.  Exit. Adam. 
In love, what use of prudence can there be?  
More perfect I, and yet more powerful she.  
Blame me not, Heaven if thou love's power hadst tried,  
What could be so unjust to be denied?  
One look of hers my resolution breaks;  
Reason itself turns folly when she speaks:  
And awed by her whom it was made to sway,  
Flatters her power, and does its own betray.  Exit. The middle part of the Garden is represented, where four Rivers meet: on the right side of the Scene, is placed the Tree of life, on the left, the Tree of Knowledge. Enter Lucifer. Lucifer. 
Methinks the beauties of this place should mourn;  
Th'immortal fruits, and Flowers at my return  
Should hang their withered heads; for sure my breath  
Is now more poisonous, and has gathered death  
Enough, to blast the whole Creation's frame:  
Swollen with despite, with sorrow, and with shame,  
Thrice have I beat the wing, and rid with night  
About the world, behind the globe of light,  
To shun the watch of Heaven; such care I use:  
(What pains will malice, raised like mine, refuse  
Not the most abject form of Brutes to take.)  
Hid in the spiry volumes of the snake,  
I lurked within the covert of a Brake;  
Not yet descried. But, see, the woman here  
Alone! beyond my hopes! no guardian near.  
Good Omen that: I must retire unseen,  
And, with my borrowed shape, the work begin.  [Retires. Enter Eve. Eve. 
Thus far, at least, with leave; nor can it be  
A sin to look on this Celestial tree:  
I would not more; to touch a crime may prove:  
Touching is a remoter taste in love.  
Death may be there, or poison in the smell,  
(If death in any thing so fair can dwell:)  
But Heaven forbids: I could be satisfied  
Were every tree but this, but this denied.  A Serpent enters on the Stage, and makes directly to the Tree of Knowledge, on which winding himself, he plucks an apple; then descends and carries it away. 
Strange sight! did then our great Creator grant  
That privilege, which we their Master's want,  
To these inferior beings? or was it chance?  
And was he blessed with bolder ignorance?  
I saw his curling crest the trunk enfold:  
The ruddy fruit, distinguished o'er with gold,  
And smiling in its native wealth, was torn  
From the rich bough, and then in triumph born:  
The venturous victor marched unpunished hence,  
And seemed to boast his fortunate offence.  To her Lucifer in a humane shape. Lucifer. 
Hail, Sovereign of this Orb! formed to possess  
The world, and, with one look, all nature bless.  
Nature is thine; thou, Empress, dost bestow  
On fruits, to blossom; and on flowers, to blow.  
They happy, yet insensible to boast  
Their bliss: more happy they who know thee most.  
Then happiest I, to humane reason raised,  
And voice, with whose first accents thou art praised.  Eve. 
What art thou, or from whence? for on this ground,  
Beside my Lords, ne'er heard I humane sound.  
Art thou some other Adam, formed from Earth,  
And com'st to claim an equal share, by birth,  
In this fair field? or sprung of Heavenly race?  Lucifer. 
An humble native of this happy place,  
Thy vassal born, and late of lowest kind,  
Whom Heaven neglecting made, and scarce designed  
But threw me in, for number to the rest,  
Below the mounting bird, and grazing beast;  
By chance not prudence, now superior grown.  Eve. 
To make thee such, what miracle was shown:  Lucifer. 
Who would not tell what thou vouchsaf'st to hear:  
sawst thou not late a speckled serpent rear  
His gilded spires to climb on yon'fair tree?  
Before this happy minute I was he.  Eve. 
Thou speak'st of wonders: make thy story plain.  Lucifer. 
Not wishing then, and thoughtless to obtain,  
So great a bliss; but, led by sense of good,  
Inborn to all, I sought my needful food:  
Then, on that Heavenly tree, my sight I cast;  
The colour urged my eye, the scent my taste.  
Not to detain thee long; I took, did eat:  
Scarce had my palate touched th'immortal meat,  
But on a sudden, turned to what I am:  
Godlike, and, next to thee, I fair became:  
Thought, spoke, and reasoned; and, by reason found  
Thee, Nature's Queen, with all her graces crowned.  Eve. 
Happy thy lot; but far unlike is mine:  
Forbid to eat, not daring to repine.  
'Twas heaven's command; and should we disobey,  
What raised thy Being, ours must take away.  Lucifer. 
Sure you mistake the precept, or the tree:  
Heaven cannot envious of his blessings be.  
Some chance-born plant he might forbid your use,  
As wild, or guilty of a deadly juice:  
Not this, whose colour, scent divine, and taste,  
Proclaim the thoughtful Maker not in haste.  Eve. 
By all these signs, too well I know the fruit,  
And dread a power severe, and absolute.  Lucifer. 
Severe, indeed; even to injustice hard;  
If death, for knowing more, be your reward:  
Knowledge of good, is good; and therefore fit;  
And to know ill, is good; for shunning it.  Eve. 
What, but our good, could he design in this,  
Who gave us all, and placed in perfect bliss?  Lucifer. 
Excuse my zeal, fair Sovereign in your cause,  
Which dares to tax his arbitrary laws.  
'tis all his aim to keep you blindly low,  
That servile fear from ignorance may flow:  
We scorn to worship whom too well we know.  
He knows that eating you shall godlike be;  
As wife, as fit to be adored, as he.  
For his own interest he this Law has given;  
Such Beauty may raise factions in his Heaven.  
By awing you, he does possession keep,  
And is too wise to hazard partnership.  Eve. 
Alas who dares dispute with him that right?  
The power which formed us must be infinite.  Lucifer. 
Who told you how your form was first designed?  
The Sun and Earth, produce of every kind;  
Grass, Flowers, and Fruits; nay, living creatures too:  
Their mould was base; 'twas more refined in you:  
Where vital heat, in purer Organs wrought,  
Produced a nobler kind raised up to thought;  
And that perhaps, might his beginning be:  
Something was first; I question if 'twere he.  
But grant him first, yet still suppose him good,  
Not envying those he made, immortal food.  Eve. 
But death, our disobedience must pursue.  Lucifer. 
Behold, in me, what shall arrive to you.  
I tasted; yet I live: nay, more; have got  
A state more perfect than my native lot.  
Nor fear this petty fault his wrath should raise:  
Heaven rather will your dauntless virtue praise,  
That sought, through threatened death, immortal good:  
Gods are immortal only by their food.  
Taste and remove  
What difference does 'twixt them and you remain:  
As I gained reason, you shall Godhead gain.  Eve, aside. 
He eats, and lives, in knowledge greater grown:  
Was death invented then for us alone?  
Is intellectual food to man denied  
Which Brutes have, with so much advantage tried?  
Nor only tried themselves, but frankly, more,  
To me have offered their unenvied store?  Lucifer. 
Be bold, and all your needless doubts remove:  
View well this Tree, (the Queen of all the grove,)  
How vast her bowl, how wide her arms are spread,  
How high above the rest she shoots her head,  
Placed in the midst; would Heaven his works disgrace,  
By planting poison in the happiest place?  
Hast; you lose time and Godhead by delay.  Plucking the Fruit. Eve looking about her. 
'tis done; I'll venture all and disobey.  
Perhaps, far hid in Heaven, he does not spy,  
And none of all his Hymning guards are nigh.  
To my dear lord, the lovely fruit I'll bear;  
He to partake my bliss, my crime shall share.  [Exit hastily. Lucifer. 
She flew, and thanked me not, for haste: 'twas hard  
With no return such counsel to reward.  
My work is done, or much the greater part;  
She's now the tempter, to ensnare his heart.  
He, whose firm faith no reason could remove,  
Will melt before that soft seducer, love.  [Exit.   

Act. V.  

Scene. I. Paradise.  Eve, with a bough in her hand. Eve. 
MEthinks, I tread more lightly on the ground;  
My nimble feet, from unhurt flowers rebound:  
I walk in Air, and scorn this Earthly seat;  
Heaven is my palace; this my base retreat.  
Take me not Heaven, too soon; 'twill be unkind  
To leave the partner of my bed behind.  
I love the wretch; but stay, shall I afford  
Him part? already he's too much my Lord.  
'Tis in my power to be a Sovereign now;  
And, knowing more, to make his manhood bow.  
Empire is sweet; but how if Heaven has spied?  
If I should die, and he above provide  
Some other Eve, and place her in my stead?  
Shall she possess his love, when I am dead?  
No; he shall eat, and die with me, or live:  
Our equal crimes shall equal fortune give.  Enter Adam. Adam. 
What Joy, without your sight, has earth in store!  
While you were absent, Eden was no more.  
Winds murmured, through the leaves, your long delay;  
And fountains, o'er their pebbles, chid your stay.  
But with your presence cheered, they cease to mourn,  
And walks wear fresher green, at your return.  Eve. 
Henceforth you never shall have cause to chide;  
No future absence shall our joys divide:  
'Twas a short death my love ne'er tried before,  
And therefore strange; but yet the cause was more.  Adam. 
My trembling heart forbodes some ill; I fear  
To ask that cause which I desire to hear.  
What means that lovely fruit? what means (alas!)  
That blood, which flushes guilty in your face?  
Speak— do not— yet, at last, I must be told.  Eve. 
Have courage then: 'tis manly to be bold.  
This fruit— why dost thou shake? no death is nigh:  
'Tis what I tasted first; yet do not die.  Adam. 
Is it— (I dare not ask it all at first;  
Doubt is some ease to those who fear the worst:)  
Say, 'tis not.  Eve. 
— 'Tis not what thou needest to fear:  
What danger does in this fair fruit appear?  
We have been cozened; and had still been so,  
Had I not ventured boldly first to know.  
Yet, not I first; I almost blush to say  
The serpent eating taught me first the way.  
The serpent tasted, and the godlike fruit  
Gave the dumb voice; gave reason, to the Brute.  Adam. 
O fairest of all creatures, last, and best,  
Of what Heaven made, how art thou dispossessed  
Of all thy native Glories! fallen! Decayed!  
(Pity so rare a frame so frail was made)  
Now cause of thy own ruin; and with thine,  
(Ah, who can live without thee!) cause of mine.  Eve. 
Reserve thy pity, till I want it more:  
I know myself much happier than before;  
More wise, more perfect, all I wish to be,  
Were I but sure Alas! of pleasing thee,  Adam. 
You've shown how much you my content design:  
Yet ah! would heaven's displeasure pass like mine.  
Must I without you, then, in wild woods dwell?  
Think, and but think of what I loved so well  
Condemned to live with subjects ever mute;  
A savage Prince, unpleased though absolute.  Eve. 
Please then yourself with me, and freely taste,  
Lest I, without you, should to Godhead hast:  
Lest differing in degree, you claim too late  
Unequal love, when 'tis denied by fate.  Adam. 
Cheat not yourself, with dreams of Deity;  
Too well, but yet too late, your crime I see:  
Nor think the fruit your knowledge does improve;  
But you have beauty still, and I have love.  
Not cozened, I; with choice, my life resign:  
Imprudence was your salt, but love is mine,  [Takes the Fruit and eats it. Eve embracing him. 
O wondrous power of matchless love expressed:  
Why was this trial thine, of loving best?  
I envy thee that lot; and could it be,  
Would venture something more than death, for thee.  
Not that I fear, that death th'event can prove;  
W''re both immortal, while so well we love.  Adam. 
What e'er shall be the event, the lot is cast:  
Where appetites are given, what sin to taste?  
Or if a sin, 'tis but by precept such;  
Th'offence so small, the punishment's too much,  
To seek so soon his new made world's decay:  
Nor we, nor that, were fashioned for a day.  Eve. 
Give to the winds thy fear of death, or ill;  
And think us made but for each others will.  Adam. 
I will, at least, defer that anxious thought,  
And death, by fear, shall not be nigher brought:  
If he will come, let us to joys make haste;  
Then let him seize us when our pleasure's past.  
We'll take up all before; and death shall find  
We have drained life, and lefta void behind.  [Exeunt. Enter Lucifer. Lucifer. 
'Tis done,  
Sick nature, at that instant, trembled round;  
And Mother Earth, sighed, as she felt the wound,  
Of how short durance was this new-made state!  
How far more mighty than heavens' love, Hell's hate!  
His project ruined, and his King of clay:  
He formed, an Empire for his foe to sway.  
Heaven let him rule, which by his arms he got;  
I'm pleased to have obtained the second lot.  
This Earth is mine; whose Lord I made my thrall;  
Annexing to my Crown, his conquered Ball  
Loosed from the lakes, my Legions I will lead,  
And, o'er the darkened Air, black Banners spread:  
Contagious damps, from hence, shall mount above,  
And force him to his inmost heaven's remove.  A Clap of thunder is heard. 
He hears already, and I boast too soon;  
I dread that Engine which secured his Throne.  
I'll dive below his wrath, into the deep,  
And waste that Empire, which I cannot keep.  [Sinkes down. Raphael and Gabriel descend. Raphael. 
As much of grief as happiness admits  
In Heaven, on each Celestial forehead sits:  
Kindness for man, and pity for his fate,  
May mixed with bliss, and yet not violate.  
Their Heavenly harps a lower strain began;  
And in soft Music, mourned the fall of man.  Gabriel. 
I saw th'Angelic guards, from earth ascend,  
(Grieved they must now no longer man attend:)  
The beams about their Temples dimly shone;  
One would have thought the crime had been their own.  
Th'Etherial people flocked for news in haste,  
Whom they, with down cast looks, and scarce saluting past:  
While each did, in his pensive breast, prepare  
A sad account of their successess care.  Raphael. 
Th'Eternal yet, in Majesty severe,  
And strictest justice, did mild pity bear:  
Their deaths deferred; and banishment, (their doom)  
In penitence foreseen, leaves mercy room.  Gabriel. 
That message is thy charge: mine, leads me hence;  
Placed at the garden's gate, for its defence,  
Lest, man, returning, the blessed place pollute,  
And scape from death, by life's immortal fruit.  Another Clap of Thunder. [Exeunt, severally. Enter Adam and Eve, affrighted. Adam. 
In what dark cavern shall I hide my head?  
Where seek retreat, now innocence is fled?  
Safe in that guard, I durst even Hell defy;  
Without it, tremble now, when Heaven is nigh.  Eve. 
What shall we do? or where direct our flight  
Eastward as far as I could cast my sight,  
From opening Heavens, I saw descending light.  
It's glittering through the Trees, I still behold;  
The Cedar tops seem all to burn with gold.  Adam. 
Some shape divine, whose beams I cannot bear!  
Would I were hid, where light could not appear.  
Deep into some thick covert would I run,  
Impenetrable to the Stars, or Sun,  
And fenced from day, by night's eternal screen;  
Unknown to Heaven, and to myself unseen.  Eve. 
In vain: what hope to shun his piercing sight  
Who, from dark Chaos, struck the sparks of light?  Adam. 
These should have been your thoughts when parting hence,  
You trusted to your guideless innocence.  
See now th'effects of your own wilful mind:  
Guilt walks before us; Death pursues behind.  
So fatal 'twas to seek temptations out:  
Most confidence has still most cause to doubt.  Eve. 
Such might have been thy hap, alone assailed;  
And so, together, might we both have failed.  
Cursed vassalage of all my future kind:  
First Idolised, till loves hot fire be o'er,  
Then slaves to those who courted us before.  Adam. 
I counselled you to stay; your pride refused:  
By your own lawless will you stand accused.  Eve. 
Have you that privilege of only wise,  
And would you yield to her you so despise?  
You should have shown th'Authority you boast,  
And, Soveraign-like, my headlong will have crossed:  
Counsel was not enough to sway my heart;  
An absolute restraint had been your part.  Adam. 
Even such returns do they deserve to find,  
When force is lawful, who are fondly kind.  
Unlike my love; for when thy guilt I knew.  
I shared the curse which did that crime pursue.  
Hard fate of love! which rigour did forbear,  
And now 'tis taxed, because 'twas not severe.  Eve. 
You have, yourself, your kindness overpaid:  
He ceases to oblige, who can upbraid.  Adam. 
On womens' virtue, who too much rely,  
To boundless will, give boundless liberty.  
Restraint you will not brook; but think it hard  
Your prudence is not trusted as your guard:  
And, to yourselves so left, if ill ensues,  
You first our weak indulgence will accuse.  
Cursed be that hour—  
When, sated with my single happiness,  
I chose a partner, to control my bliss,  
Who wants that reason which her will should sway,  
And knows but just enough to disobey.  Eve. 
Better with Brutes my humble lot had gone;  
Of reason void, accountable for none:  
Th'unhappiest of creation is a wife,  
Made lowest, in the highest rank of life:  
Her fellow's slave; to know and not to choose:  
Cursed with that reason she must never use.  Adam, 
Add, that she's proud, fantastic, apt to change;  
Restless at home; and ever prone to range:  
With shows delighted, and so vain is she,  
She'll meet the Devil; rather than not see.  
Our wise Creator, for his Quires divine,  
Peopled his Heaun with Souls all masculine.  
Ah: why must man from woman take his birth?  
Why was this sin of nature made on earth?  
This fair defect; this helpless aid called wife;  
The bending crutch of a decrepit life.  
Posterity no pairs, from you shall find,  
But such, as by mistake of love are joined:  
The worthiest men, their wishes ne'er shall gain;  
But see the slaves, they scorn, their loves obtain.  
Blind appetite shall your wild fancies rule;  
False to desert, and faithful to a fool.  [Turns in anger from her, and is going off. Eve kneeling. 
Unkind! wilt thou forsake me, in distress,  
For that which now is passed me to redress?  
I have misdone; and I endure the smart:  
Loath to acknowledge; but more loath to part.  
The blame be mine; you warned, and I refused:  
What would you more? I have myself accused.  
Was plighted faith so weakly sealed above  
That, for one error, I must lose your love?  
Had you so erred, I should have been more kind,  
Than to add pain to an afflicted mind.  Adam. 
You're grown much humbler; than you were before:  
I pardon you; but see my face no more.  Eve. 
Vain pardon, which includes a greater ill:  
Be still displeased; but let me see you still.  
Without your much-loved sight, I cannot live:  
You more than kill me if you so forgive.  
The Beasts, since we are fallen, their Lords despise;  
And, passing, look at me, with glaring eyes:  
Must I then wander helpless, and alone?  
You'll pity me, too late, when I am gone.  Adam. 
Your penitence does my compassion move;  
As you deserve it, I may give my love.  Eve, 
On me, alone, let heaven's displeasure fall:  
You merit none, and I deserve it all.  Adam. 
You all heaven's wrath! how could you bear a part,  
Who bore not mine, but with a bleeding heart?  
I was too stubborn, thus to make you sue:  
Forgive me; I am more in fault, than you.  
Return to me, and to my love return;  
And, both offending, for each other mourn.  Enter Raphael. Raphael. 
Of sin to warn thee, I before was sent;  
For sin, I now pronounce thy punishment:  
Yet that much lighter than thy crimes require;  
Th'all-good does not his creatures death desire:  
Justice must punish the rebellious deed:  
Yet punish so, as pity shall exceed.  Adam. 
I neither can dispute his will, nor dare:  
Death will dismiss me from my future care,  
And lay me softly in my native dust,  
To pay the forfeit of ill-managed trust.  Eve. 
Why seek you death? consider ere you speak:  
The laws were hard; the power to keep 'em, weak.  
Did we solicit Heaven to mould our clay?  
From darkness, to produce us to the day?  
Did we solicit Heaven to mould our clay,  
From darkness, to produce us to the day?  
Did we concur to life, or choose to be,  
Was it our will which formed or was it he?  
Since 'twas his choice, not ours, which placed us here;  
The laws we did not choose, why should we bear?  Adam. 
Seek not, in vain, our maker to accuse:  
Terms were proposed; power left us to refuse.  
The good we have enjoyed from heaven's free will;  
And shall we murmur to endure the ill?  
Should we a rebel-son's excuse receive,  
Because he was begot without his leave?  
heaven's right, in us, is more: first formed to serve;  
The good, we merit not; the ill, deserve.  Raphael. 
Death is deferred, and penitence has room  
To mitigate, if not reverse the doom:  
But, for your crime, th'Eternal does ordain  
In Eden, you no longer shall remain.  
Hence, to the lower world, you are exiled:  
This place, with crimes, shall be no more defiled.  Eve. 
Must we this blissful Paradise forego?  Raphael. 
Your lot must be where Thorns and Thistles grow,  
Unbid, as Balm and Spices did at first;  
For man, the earth, of which he was is cursed.  To Adam. 
By thy own toil procured, thou food shalt eat;  
And know no plenty, but from painful sweat.  
She, by a curse, of future wives abhorred,  
Shall pay obedience to her lawful Lord:  
And he shall rule, and she in thraldom live;  
Defiring more of love than man can give.  Adam. 
Heaven is all mercy; labour I would choose;  
And could sustain this Paradise to lose:  
The bliss; but not the place: here could I say  
heaven's winged messenger did pass the day;  
Under this Pine the glorious Angel stayed:  
Then, show my wondering progeny the shade.  
In woods and lawns, where ere thou didst appear,  
Each place some Monument of thee should bear.  
ay, with green turfs, would grateful Altars raise,  
And Heaven, with Gums and offered Incense praise.  Raphael. 
Where e'er thou art; he is; th'Eternal mind  
Acts through all places; is to none confined:  
Fills Ocean, Earth, and Air, and all above,  
And through the Universal Mass does move.  
Thou canst be no where distant: yet this place  
Had been thy Kingly seat, and here thy race,  
From all the ends of peopled-Earth, had come  
To reverence thee, and see their native home.  
Immortal, then; now sickness, care, and age,  
And war, and luxury's more direful rage,  
Thy crimes have brought, to shorten mortal breath,  
With all the numerous family of Death.  Eve. 
My spirits faint, while I these ills foreknow:  
And find myself the sad occasion too.  
But what is death?  Raphael. 
In vision, thou shalt see his grisly face,  
The King of Terrors, raging in thy race.  
That, while in future fate thou sharest thy part,  
A kind remorse, for sin, may seize thy heart.  The Scene shifts, and discovers deaths of several sorts. Abattle at land, and a Naval fight. Adam. 
O wretched offspring! O unhappy state  
Of all mankind, by me betrayed to fate!  
Born, through my crime, to be offenders first;  
And, for those sins they could not shun, accursed.  Eve. 
Why is life forced on man; who might he choose,  
Would not accept, what he, with pain, must lose?  
Unknowing, he receives it, and, when known,  
He thinks it his, and values it, 'tis gone.  Raphael. 
Behold of every age; ripe manhood see,  
Decrepit years, and helpless infancy:  
Those who, by lingering sickness, lose their breath;  
And those who, by despair, suborn their death:  
See yon'mad fools who, for some trivial Right,  
F ' or love, or for mistaken honour fight:  
See those, more mad, who throw their lives away  
In needless wars; the Stakes which Monarchs lay,  
When for each others Provinces they play.  
Then as if earth too narrow were for fate,  
On open Seas their quarrels they debate;  
In hollow wood they floating Armies bear;  
And force imprisoned winds to bring 'em near.  Eve. 
Who would the miseries of man foreknow?  
Not knowing; we but share our part of woe:  
Now, we the fate of future Ages bear;  
And, ere their birth, behold our dead appear.  Adam. 
The deaths, thou showest, are forced and full of strife;  
Cast headlong from the precipice of life.  
Is there no smooth descent? no painless way  
Of kindly mixing with our native clay?  Raphael. 
There is; but rarely shall that path be trod  
Which, without horror, leads to death's abode.  
Some few, by temperance taught, approaching slow,  
To distant fate, by easy journeys, go:  
Gently they lay 'em down, as evening sheep  
On their own woolly fleeces, softly sleep.  Adam. 
So noiseless would I live, such death to find,  
Like timely fruit, not shaken by the wind,  
But ripely dropping from the sapless bough  
And, dying, nothing to myself would owe.  Eve. 
Thus, daily changing, with a duller taste  
Of lessening joys, I, by degrees, would waste:  
Still quitting ground, by unperceived, decay,  
And steal my self from life, and melt away.  Raphael. 
Death you have seen: now see your race revive,  
How happy they in deathless pleasures live.  
Far more than I can show, or you can see,  
Shall crown the blessed with immortality.  Here a Heaven descends, full of Angels and blessed Spirits, with soft Music, a Song and Chorus. Adam. 
O goodness infinite! whose Heavenly will  
Can so much good produce, from so much ill!  
Happy their state!  
Pure, and unchanged, and needing no defence,  
From sins, as did my frailer Innocence.  
Their joy sincere, and with no sorrow mixed:  
Eternity stands permanent, and fixed,  
And wheels no longer on the Poles of time:  
Secure from fate, and more secure from crime.  Eve. 
Ravished, with Joy, I can but half repent  
The sin which Heaven makes happy in th'event,  Raphael. 
Thus armed, meet firmly your approaching ill:  
For, see, the guards, from yon far eastern hill,  
Already move, nor longer stay afford;  
High, in the Air, they wave the flaming sword,  
Your signal to depart: Now, down amain  
They drive, and glide, like meteors through the plain.  Adam. 
Then farewell all; I will indulgent be  
To my own ease, and not look back to see.  
When what we love we ne'er must meet again,  
To lose the thought, is to remove the pain.  Eve. 
Farewell, you happy shades!  
Where Angels first should practise Hymns, and string.  
Their tuneful Harps, when they to Heaven would sing.  
Farewell, you flowers, whose buds, with early care,  
I watched, and to the cheerful sun did rear:  
Who now shall bind your stems? or, when you fall,  
With fountain streams, your fainting souls recall?  
A long farewell to thee, my nuptial bower,  
Adorned with every fair and flagrant flower.  
And last, farewell, farewell my place of birth;  
I go to wander in the lower earth,  
As distant as I can; for, disposest,  
Farthest from what I once enjoyed, is best.  Raphael. 
The rising winds urge the tempestuous Air;  
And on their wings, deformed Winter bear:  
The beasts already feel the change; and hence,  
They fly, to deeper coverts, for defence:  
The feebler herd, before the stronger run;  
For now the war of nature is begun:  
But, part you hence in peace, and having mourned your sin,  
For outward Eden lost, find Paradise within.  Exeunt.    
FINIS.