(What pains will malice, raised like mine, refuse? 
Not the most abject form of brutes to take.)
Hid in the spiry volumes of the snake,
I lurked within the covert of a brake,
Not yet descried.  But see, the woman here
Alone! beyond my hopes! no guardian near. 
Good omen that:  I must retire unseen,
And, with my borrowed shape, the work begin. [Retires.

  Enter EVE.

Eve. Thus far, at least, with leave; nor can it be
A sin to look on this celestial tree: 
I would not more; to touch, a crime may prove: 
Touching is a remoter taste in love. 
Death may be there, or poison in the smell,
(If death in any thing so fair can dwell:)
But heaven forbids:  I could be satisfied,
Were every tree but this, but this denied.

  A Serpent enters on the Stage, and makes directly to the Tree of
  Knowledge, on which winding himself, he plucks an Apple; then
  descends, and carries it away.

Strange sight! did then our great Creator grant
That privilege, which we, their masters, want,
To these inferior brings?  Or was it chance? 
And was he blest with bolder ignorance? 
I saw his curling crest the trunk enfold: 
The ruddy fruit, distinguished o’er with gold. 
And smiling in its native wealth, was torn
From the rich bough, and then in triumph borne: 
The venturous victor marched unpunished hence,
And seemed to boast his fortunate offence.

  To her LUCIFER, in a human Shape.

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.