But if thou think, trial unsought may findeUs both securer then thus warnd thou seemst,Go; for thy stay, not free, absents thee more;Go in thy native innocence, relieOn what thou hast of vertue, summon all,For God towards thee hath done his part, do thine.So spake the Patriarch of Mankinde, but EvePersisted, yet submiss, though last, repli'd.With thy permission then, and thus forewarndChiefly by what thy own last reasoning words
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Touchd onely, that our trial, when least sought,May finde us both perhaps farr less prepar'd,The willinger I goe, nor much expectA Foe so proud will first the weaker seek;So bent, the more shall shame him his repulse.Thus saying, from her Husbands hand her handSoft she withdrew, and like a Wood-Nymph lightOread or Dryad, or of Delia's Traine,Betook her to the Groves, but Delia's selfIn gate surpass'd and Goddess-like deport,
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Though not as shee with Bow and Quiver armd,But with such Gardning Tools as Are yet rude,Guiltless of fire had formd, or Angels brought,To Pales or Pomona, thus adornd,Likest she seemd, Pomona when she fledVertumnus, or to Ceres in her Prime,Yet Virgin of Proserpina from Jove.Her long with ardent look his Eye pursu'dDelighted, but desiring more her stay.Oft he to her his charge of quick returne,
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Repeated, shee to him as oft engag'dTo be returnd by Noon amid the Bowre,And all things in best order to inviteNoontide repast, or Afternoons repose.O much deceav'd, much failing, hapless Eve,Of thy presum'd return! event perverse!Thou never from that houre in ParadiseFoundst either sweet repast, or found repose;Such ambush hid among sweet Flours and ShadesWaited with hellish rancor imminent
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To intercept thy way, or send thee backDespoild of Innocence, of Faith, of Bliss.For now, and since first break of dawne the Fiend,Meer Serpent in appearance, forth was come,And on his Quest, where likeliest he might findeThe onely two of Mankinde, but in themThe whole included Race, his purposd prey.In Bowre and Field he sought, where any tuftOf Grove or Garden-Plot more pleasant lay,Thir tendance or Plantation for delight,
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By Fountain or by shadie RivuletHe sought them both, but wish'd his hap might findEve separate, he wish'd, but not with hopeOf what so seldom chanc'd, when to his wish,Beyond his hope, Eve separate he spies,Veild in a Cloud of Fragrance, where she stood,Half spi'd, so thick the Roses bushing roundAbout her glowd, oft stooping to supportEach Flour of slender stalk, whose head though gayCarnation, Purple, Azure, or spect with Gold,
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Hung drooping unsustaind, them she upstaiesGently with Mirtle band, mindless the while,Her self, though fairest unsupported Flour,From her best prop so farr, and storn so nigh.Neererhe drew, and many a walk travers'd