_Lucif._ 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 human reason raised, And voice, with whose first accents thou art praised. _Eve._ What art thou, or from whence? For on this ground, Beside my lord's, ne'er heard I human sound. Art thou some other Adam, formed from earth, And comest to claim an equal share, by birth, In this fair field? Or sprung of heavenly race? _Lucif._ 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? _Lucif._ Who would not tell what thou vouchsaf'st to hear? Sawest 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. _Lucif._ 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 the immortal meat, But, on a sudden, turned to what I am, God-like, and, next to thee, I fair became; Thought, spake, 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. _Lucif._ 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. _Lucif._ 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? _Lucif._ 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 wise, 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.