Commends thee more, while it infers the good

By thee communicated, and our want:

For good unknown sure is not had; or, had

And yet unknown, is as not had at all.

In plain then, what forbids he but to know,

Forbids us good, forbids us to be wise?

Such prohibitions bind not. But, if death

Bind us with after-bands, what profits then

Our inward freedom? In the day we eat

Of this fair fruit, our doom is, we shall die!

How dies the Serpent? he hath eaten and lives,

And knows, and speaks, and reasons, and discerns,

Irrational till then. For us alone

Was death invented? or to us denied

This intellectual food, for beasts reserved?

For beasts it seems: yet that one beast which first

Hath tasted envies not, but brings with joy

The good befallen him, author unsuspect,

Friendly to man, far from deceit or guile.

What fear I then? rather, what know to fear

Under this ignorance of good and evil,

Of God or death, of law or penalty?

Here grows the cure of all, this fruit divine,

Fair to the eye, inviting to the taste,

Of virtue to make wise: What hinders then

To reach, and feed at once both body and mind?”

So saying, her rash hand in evil hour

Forth reaching to the fruit, she plucked, she eat!

Earth felt the wound; and Nature from her seat,

Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe,

That all was lost. Back to the thicket slunk

The guilty Serpent; and well might; for Eve,

Intent now wholly on her taste, nought else

Regarded; such delight till then, as seemed,

In fruit she never tasted, whether true

Or fancied so, through expectation high

Of knowledge; not was Godhead from her thought.

Greedily she ingorged without restraint,

And knew not eating death: Satiate at length,

And hightened as with wine, jocund and boon,

Thus to herself she pleasingly began.

“O sovran, virtuous, precious of all trees

In Paradise! of operation blest

To sapience, hitherto obscured, infamed.

And thy fair fruit let hang, as to no end

Created; but henceforth my early care,

Not without song, each morning, and due praise,

Shall tend thee, and the fertile burden ease

Of thy full branches offered free to all;

Till, dieted by thee, I grow mature

In knowledge, as the Gods, who all things know;

Though others envy what they cannot give:

For, had the gift been theirs, it had not here

Thus grown. Experience, next, to thee I owe,

Best guide; not following thee, I had remained

In ignorance; thou openest wisdom’s way,

And givest access, though secret she retire.

And I perhaps am secret: Heaven is high,

High, and remote to see from thence distinct

Each thing on Earth; and other care perhaps

May have diverted from continual watch

Our great Forbidder, safe with all his spies

About him. But to Adam in what sort

Shall I appear? shall I to him make known