Adam. Better constrained to good, than free to ill.

Raph. But what reward or punishment could be,
If man to neither good nor ill were free? 
The 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 blest, and angels shall rejoice.
                          [RAPHAEL and GABRIEL fly up in the Cloud: 
                           the other Angels go off.

Adam. Hard state of life! since heaven foreknows 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. 
Fore-knowing 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, unhid, gives more than we can ask;
But work is pleasure when we chuse our task. 
Nature, not bounteous now, but lavish grows;
Our paths with flowers she prodigally strows;
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 haste;
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 would’st 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 human 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 beings 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 force, 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.