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.

Eve. Alas, who dares dispute with him that right?  The Power, which formed us, must be infinite.

Luc. Who told you how your form was first designed? 
The sun and earth produce, of every kind,
Grass, flowers, and fruits; nay, living creatures too: 
Their mould was base; ’twas more refined in you: 
Where vital heat, in purer organs wrought,
Produced a nobler kind raised up to thought;
And that, perhaps, might his beginning be: 
Something was first; I question if ’twere he. 
But grant him first, yet still suppose him good,
Not envying those he made, immortal food.

Eve. But death our disobedience must pursue.

Lucif. Behold, in me, what shall arrive to you. 
I tasted; yet I live:  Nay, more; have got
A state more perfect than my native lot. 
Nor fear this petty fault his wrath should raise: 
Heaven rather will your dauntless virtue praise,
That sought, through threatened death, immortal good: 
Gods are immortal only by their food. 
Taste, and remove
What difference does ’twixt them and you remain;
As I gained reason, you shall godhead gain.