The Serpent: him fast sleeping soon he foundIn Labyrinth of many a round self-rowl'd,His head the midst, well stor'd with suttle wiles:Not yet in horrid Shade or dismal Den,Not nocent yet, but on the grassie HerbeFearless unfeard he slept: in at his MouthThe Devil enterd, and his brutal sense,In heart or head, possessing soon inspir'd
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With act intelligential; but his sleepDisturbd not, waiting close th' approach of Morn.Now whenas sacred Light began to dawneIn Eden on the humid Flours, that breathdThir morning Incense, when all things that breath,From th' Earths great Altar send up silent praiseTo the Creator, and his Nostrils fillWith gratefull Smell, forth came the human pairAnd joynd thir vocal Worship to the QuireOf Creatures wanting voice, that done, partake
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The season, prime for sweetest Sents and Aires:Then commune how that day they best may plyThir growing work: for much thir work outgrewThe hands dispatch of two Gardning so wide.And Eve first to her Husband thus began.Adam, well may we labour still to dressThis Garden, still to tend Plant, Herb and Flour.Our pleasant task enjoyn'd, but till more handsAid us, the work under our labour grows,Luxurious by restraint; what we by day
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Lop overgrown, or prune, or prop, or bind,One night or two with wanton growth deridesTending to wilde. Thou therefore now adviseOr hear what to my mind first thoughts present,Let us divide our labours, thou where choiceLeads thee, or where most needs, whether to windThe Woodbine round this Arbour, or directThe clasping Ivie where to climb, while IIn yonder Spring of Roses intermixtWith Myrtle, find what to redress till Noon:
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For while so near each other thus all dayOur task we choose, what wonder if no nearLooks intervene and smiles, or object newCasual discourse draw on, which intermitsOur dayes work brought to little, though begunEarly, and th' hour of Supper comes unearn'd.To whom mild answer Adam thus return'd.Sole Eve, Associate sole, to me beyondCompare above all living Creatures deare,Well hast thou motion'd, wel thy thoughts imployd
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How we might best fulfill the work which hereGod hath assign'd us, nor of me shalt passUnprais'd: for nothing lovelier can be foundIn woman, then to studie houshold good,And good workes in her Husband to promote.Yet not so strictly hath our Lord impos'dLabour, as to debarr us when we needRefreshment, whether food, or talk between,Food of the mind, or this sweet intercourseOf looks and smiles, for smiles from Reason flow,
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To brute deni'd, and are of Love the food,Love not the lowest end of human life.For not to irksom toile, but to delightHe made us, and delight to Reason joyn'd.These paths and Bowers doubt not but our joyntWill keep from Wilderness with ease, as wideAs we need walk, till younger hands ere long