Eve. In vain: What hope to shun his piercing sight, Who from dark chaos struck the sparks of light?
Adam. These should have been your thoughts,
when, parting hence,
You trusted to your guideless innocence.
See now the effects of your own wilful mind:
Guilt walks before us; death pursues behind.
So fatal ’twas to seek temptations out:
Most confidence has still most cause to doubt.
Eve. Such might have been thy hap, alone assailed;
And so, together, might we both have failed.
Cursed vassalage of all my future kind!
First idolized, till love’s hot fire be o’er,
Then slaves to those who courted us before.
Adam. I counselled you to stay; your pride refused: By your own lawless will you stand accused.
Eve. Have you that privilege of only wise,
And would you yield to her you so despise?
You should have shown the authority you boast,
And, sovereign-like, my headlong will have crost:
Counsel was not enough to sway my heart;
An absolute restraint had been your part.
Adam. Even such returns do they deserve to
find,
When force is lawful, who are fondly kind.
Unlike my love; for when thy guilt I knew,
I shared the curse which did that crime pursue.
Hard fate of love! which rigour did forbear,
And now ’tis taxed, because ’twas not
severe.
Eve. You have yourself your kindness overpaid; He ceases to oblige, who can upbraid.
Adam. On women’s virtue, who too much
rely,
To boundless will give boundless liberty.
Restraint you will not brook; but think it hard
Your prudence is not trusted as your guard:
And, to yourselves so left, if ill ensues,
You first our weak indulgence will accuse.
Curst be that hour,
When, sated with my single happiness,
I chose a partner, to controul my bliss!
Who wants that reason which her will should sway,
And knows but just enough to disobey.
Eve. Better with brutes my humble lot had gone;
Of reason void, accountable for none:
The unhappiest of creation is a wife,
Made lowest, in the highest rank of life:
Her fellow’s slave; to know, and not to chuse:
Curst with that reason she must never use.
Adam. Add, that she’s proud, fantastic,
apt to change,
Restless at home, and ever prone to range:
With shows delighted, and so vain is she,
She’ll meet the devil, rather than not see.
Our wise Creator, for his choirs divine,
Peopled his heaven with souls all masculine.—
Ah! why must man from woman take his birth?
Why was this sin of nature made on earth?
This fair defect, this helpless aid, called wife;
The bending crutch of a decrepid life?
Posterity no pairs from you shall find,
But such as by mistake of love are joined:
The worthiest men their wishes ne’er shall gain;
But see the slaves they scorn their loves obtain.
Blind appetite shall your wild fancies rule;
False to desert, and faithful to a fool.
[Turns
in anger from her, and is going off.