No More Learning

if gold can do it. [_Exit. _

LOVELL: He's gone; I wonder how the earth can bear
Such a portent! I, that have lived a soldier,
And stood the enemy's violent charge undaunted,
Am bathed in a cold sweat.


SCENE II. --_A chamber in_ SIR GILES'S _house. Enter_ WELLBORN _and_
MARRALL.

WELLBORN: Now, Master Marrall, what's the weighty secret
You promised to impart?

MARRALL: This only, in a word: I know Sir Giles
Will come upon you for security
For his thousand pounds; which you must not consent to.
As he grows in heat (as I'm sure he will),
Be you but rough, and say, he's in your debt
Ten times the sum upon sale of your land.
The deed in which you passed it over to him
Bid him produce: he'll have it to deliver
To the Lord Lovell, with many other writings,
And present moneys. I'll instruct you farther
As I wait on your worship.

WELLBORN: I trust thee.

[_Exeunt. Enter_ MARGARET _as if in anger, followed
by_ ALLWORTH.

MARGARET: I'll pay my lord all debts due to his title;
And when with terms not taking from his honour
He does solicit me, I shall gladly hear him:
But in this peremptory, nay, commanding way,
To appoint a meeting, and without my knowledge,
Shows a confidence that deceives his lordship.

ALLWORTH: I hope better, good lady.

MARGARET: Hope, sir, what you please; I have
A father, and, without his full consent,
I can grant nothing.

[_Enter_ OVERREACH, _having overheard_.

OVERREACH _(aside)_: I like this obedience.
But whatever my lord writes must and shall be
Accepted and embraced. (_Addressing_ Allworth. ) Sweet Master Allworth,
You show yourself a true and faithful servant.
How! frowning, Meg? Are these looks to receive
A messenger from my lord? In name of madness,
What could his honour write more to content you?

MARGARET: Why, sir, I would be married like your daughter,
Not hurried away in the night, I know not whither,
Without all ceremony; no friends invited,
To honour the solemmnity.

ALLWORTH: My lord desires this privacy, in respect
His honourable kinsmen are far off;
And he desires there should be no delay.

MARGARET: Give me but in the church, and I'm content.

OVERREACH: So my lord have you, what care I who gives you?
Lord Lovell would be private, I'll not cross him.
Use my ring to my chaplain; he is beneficed
At my manor of Gotham, and called Parson Willdo.

MARGARET: What warrant is your ring? He may suppose
I got that twenty ways without your knowledge.
Your presence would do better.

OVERREACH: Still perverse!
Paper and ink there.

ALLWORTH: I can furnish you.

OVERREACH: I thank you; I can write then.

[_Writes on his book_.

ALLWORTH: You may, if you please, leave out the name of my lord,
In respect he comes disguised, and only write,
"Marry her to this gentleman. "

OVERREACH: Well advised.

[MARGARET _kneels_.

'Tis done; away--my blessing, girl? Thou hast it.

[_Exeunt_ ALLWORTH _and_ MARGARET.

OVERREACH: Farewell! Now all's cock sure.
Methink I hear already knights and ladies
Say, "Sir Giles Overreach, how is it with
Your honourable daughter? Has her honour
Slept well to-night? " Now for Wellborn
And the lands; were he once married to the widow--I
have him here. [_Exit. _


ACT III

SCENE I. --_A chamber in_ LADY ALLWORTH'S _house. Enter_ LOVELL
_and_ LADY ALLWORTH _contracted to one another. He has
told her that only a desire to promote the union of her
promising young stepson_, ALLWORTH, _with_ MARGARET
OVERREACH _tempted him into a seeming courtship of_ SIR
GILES'S _daughter. She has told him that her somewhat
exaggerated courtesies and attentions to_ WELLBORN _were
an obligation paid to one who in his prosperous days had
ventured all for her dead husband. To them enter_
WELLBORN _in a rich habit_.

LADY ALLWORTH: You're welcome, sir. Now you look like yourself.

WELLBORN: Your creature, madam. I will never hold
My life my own, when you please to command it.

LADY ALLWORTH: I'm glad my endeavours prospered. Saw you lately
Sir Giles, your uncle?

WELLBORN: I heard of him, madam,
By his minister, Marrall. He's grown into strange passions
About his daughter. This last night he looked for
Your lordship at his house; but missing you,
And she not yet appearing, his wise head
Is much perplexed and troubled.

OVERREACH (_outside_): Ha! find her, booby; thou huge lump of nothing.
I'll bore thine eyes out else.

WELLBORN: May't please your lordship,
For some ends of my own, but to withdraw
A little out of sight, though not of hearing.

LOVELL: You shall direct me.

[_Steps aside. Enter_ OVERREACH, _with distracted looks,
driving in_ MARRALL _before him_.

OVERREACH: Lady, by your leave, did you see my daughter, lady,
And the lord, her husband? Are they in your house?
If they are, discover, that I may bid them joy;
And, as an entrance to her place of honour,
See your ladyship on her left hand, and make curt'sies
When she nods on you; which you must receive
As a special favour.

LADY ALLWORTH: When I know, Sir Giles,
Her state require such ceremony I shall pay it;
Meantime, I neither know nor care where she is.

OVERREACH: Nephew!

WELLBORN: Well.

OVERREACH: No more!

WELLBORN: 'Tis all I owe you.

OVERREACH: I am familiar with the cause that makes you
Bear up thus bravely; there's a certain buz
Of a stolen marriage--do you hear? Of a stolen marriage;
In which, 'tis said, there's somebody hath been cozened.
I name no parties.

[LADY ALLWORTH _turns away_.

WELLBORN: Well, sir, and what follows?

OVERREACH: Marry, this, since you are peremptory. Remember
Upon mere hope of your great match I lent you
A thousand pounds. Put me in good security,
And suddenly, by mortgage or by statute,
Of some of your new possessions, or I'll have you
Dragged in your lavender robes to the jail.
Shall I have security?

WELLBORN: No, indeed, you shall not:
Nor bond, nor bill, nor bare acknowledgment;
Your great looks fright not me. And whereas, sir,
You charge me with a debt of a thousand pounds,
Either restore my land, or I'll recover
A debt, that is truly due to me from you,
In value ten times more than what you challenge.

OVERREACH: Oh, monstrous impudence! Did I not purchase
The land left by thy father? [_Enter servant with a box_.
Is not here
The deed that does confirm it mine?

MARRALL: Now, now.

WELLBORN: I do acknowledge none; I ne'er passed o'er
Any such land; I grant, for a year or two,
You had it in trust; which if you do discharge,
Surrendering the possession, you shall ease
Yourself and me of chargeable suits in law.

LADY ALLWORTH: In my opinion, he advises well.

OVERREACH: Good, good; conspire with your new husband, lady.
(_To_ WELLBORN) Yet, to shut up thy mouth, and make thee give
Thyself the lie, the loud lie! I draw out
The precious evidence. (_Opens the box_. ) Ha!

LADY ALLWORTH: A fair skin of parchment.

WELLBORN: Indented, I confess, and labels too;
But neither wax nor words. How? Thunderstruck!
Is this your precious evidence, my wise uncle?

OVERREACH: What prodigy is this? What subtle devil
Hath razed out the inscription--the wax
Turned into dust? Do you deal with witches, rascal?
This juggling shall not save you.

WELLBORN: To save thee would beggar the stock of mercy.

OVERREACH: Marrall!

MARRALL: Sir.

OVERREACH (_flattering him_): Though the witnesses are dead,
Help with an oath or two; and for thy master
I know thou wilt swear anything to dash
This cunning sleight; the deed being drawn, too,
By thee, my careful Marrall, and delivered
When thou wert present, will make good my title.
Wilt thou not swear this?

MARRALL: I have a conscience not seared up like yours;
I know no deeds.

OVERREACH: Wilt thou betray me?

MARRALL: Yes, and uncase you, too. The lump of flesh,
The idiot, the patch, the slave, the booby,
The property fit only to be beaten,
Can now anatomise you, and lay open
All your black plots.

OVERREACH: But that I will live, rogue, to torture thee,
And make thee wish and kneel in vain to die,
These swords, that keep thee from me, should fix here.
I play the fool and make my anger but ridiculous.
There will be a time, and place, there will be, cowards!
When you shall feel what I dare do.
After these storms, at length a calm appears.

[_Enter_ PARSON WILLDO.

Welcome, most welcome; is the deed done?

WILLDO: Yes, I assure you.

OVERREACH: Vanish all sad thoughts!
My doubts and fears are in the titles drowned
Of my right honourable, right honourable daughter.
A lane there for my lord!

[_Loud music. Enter_ ALLWORTH, MARGARET, _and_ LOVELL.

MARGARET: Sir, first your pardon, then your blessing, with
Your full allowance of the choice I have made.
(_Kneeling_) This is my husband.

OVERREACH: How?

ALLWORTH: So I assure you.

OVERREACH: Devil! Are they married?

WILLDO: They are married, sir; but why this rage to me?
Is not this your letter, sir? And these the words,
"Marry her to this gentleman"?

OVERREACH: I never will believe it, 'death! I will not;
That I should be gulled, baffled, fooled, defeated
By children, all my hopes and labours crossed.

WELLBORN: You are so, my grave uncle, it appears.

OVERREACH: Village nurses revenge their wrongs with curses,
I'll waste no words, but thus I take the life
Which, wretch, I gave to thee.

[_Offers to kill_ MARGARET.

LOVELL: Hold, for your own sake!

OVERREACH: Lord! thus I spit at thee,
And at thy counsel; and again desire thee
As thou'rt a soldier, let us quit the house
And change six words in private.

LOVELL: I am ready.

LADY ALLWORTH: Stay, sir; would you contest with
one distraited?

OVERREACH: Are you pale?
Borrow his help; though Hercules call it odds,
I'll stand against both, as I am, hemmed in thus.
Alone, I can do nothing, but I have servants
And friends to succour me; and if I make not
This house a heap of ashes, or leave one throat uncut,
Hell add to my afflictions! [_Exit. _

MARRALL: Is't not brave sport?

ALLWORTH (_to_ MARGARET): Nay, weep not, dearest,
though't express your pity.

MARRALL: Was it not a rare trick,
An't please your worship, to make the deed nothing?
I can do twenty neater, if you please
To purchase and grow rich. They are mysteries
Not to be spoke in public; certain minerals
Incorporated in the ink and wax.

WELLBORN: You are a rascal. He that dares be false
To a master, though unjust, will ne'er be true
To any other. Look not for reward
Or favour from me. Instantly begone.

MARRALL: At this haven false servants still arrive.

[_Exit. Re-enter_ OVERREACH.


WILLDO: Some little time I have spent, under your favours,
In physical studies, and, if my judgment err not,
He's mad beyond recovery.

OVERREACH: Were they a squadron of pikes, when I am mounted
Upon my injuries, shall I fear to charge them?

[_Flourishing his sword sheathed_.

I'll fall to execution--ha! I am feeble:
Some undone widow sits upon mine arm,
And takes away the use of 't! And my sword,
Glued to my scabbard with wronged orphans' tears,
Will not be drawn. Are these the hangmen?
But I'll be forced to hell like to myself;
Though you were legions of accursed spirits,
Thus would I fly among you. [_Rushes forward_.

WELLBORN: There's no help;
Disarm him first, then bind him.

MARGARET: Oh, my dear father!

[_They force_ OVERREACH _off_.

ALLWORTH: You must be patient, mistress.

LOVELL: Pray take comfort.
I will endeavour you shall be his guardians
In his distraction: and for your land, Master Wellborn,
Be it good or ill in law, I'll be an umpire
Between you and this the undoubted heir
Of Sir Giles Overreach; for me, here's the anchor
That I must fix on.

[_Takes_ LADY ALLWORTH'S _hand_.


FOOTNOTES:

[Z] Of all Shakespeare's immediate successors one of the most
powerful, as well as the most prolific, was Philip Massinger. The son
of a retainer in the household of the Earl of Pembroke, he was born
during the second half of 1583, and entered St. Alban's Hall, Oxford,
in 1602, but left without a degree four years later. Coming to London,
he appears to have mixed freely with writers for the stage, and soon
made a reputation as playwright. The full extent of his literary
activities is not known, inasmuch as a great deal of his work has
been lost. He also collaborated with other authors, particularly with
Fletcher (see Vol. XVI, p. 133) in whose grave he was buried on March
18, 1639. It is certain, however, that he wrote single-handed fifteen
plays, of which the best known is the masterly and satirical comedy,
"A New Way to Pay Old Debts. " Printed in 1633, but probably written
between 1625 and 1626, the piece retained its popularity longer than
any other of Massinger's plays. The construction is ingenious, the
dialogue witty, but the _dramatis personae_, with the exception of Sir
Giles Overreach, are feeble and without vitality.




JOHN MILTON[AA]




Paradise Lost


_I.
--The Army of the Rebel Angels_

The poem opens with an invocation to the Heavenly Muse for
enlightenment and inspiration.

Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste
Brought death into the World, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,
Sing, Heavenly Muse, that, on the secret top
Of Horeb, or of Sinai, didst inspire
That Shepherd who first taught the chosen seed
In the beginning how the heavens and earth
Rose out of Chaos; or, if Sion's hill
Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flowed
Fast by the oracle of God, I thence
Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song,
That with no middle flight intends to soar
Above the Aonian mount, while it pursues
Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.
And chiefly Thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer
Before all temples the upright heart and pure,
Instruct me, for Thou know'st; Thou from the first
Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread,
Dove-like sat'st brooding on the vast Abyss,
And mad'st it pregnant: what in me is dark
Illumine, what is low raise and support;
That, to the highth of this great argument,
I may assert Eternal Providence,
And justify the ways of God to men.

Say first--for Heaven hides nothing from thy view,
Nor the deep tract of Hell--say first what cause
Moved our grand Parents, in that happy state,
Favoured of Heaven so highly, to fall off
From their Creator, and trangress his will.

The infernal serpent; he it was whose guile,
Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived
The mother of mankind, what time his pride
Had cast him out from Heaven, with all his host
Of rebel angels. Him the Almighty Power
Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky,
With hideous ruin and combustion, down
To bottomless perdition, there to dwell
In adamantine chains and penal fire,
Who durst defy the Omnipotent to arms.

For nine days and nights the apostate Angel lay silent, "rolling in
the fiery gulf," and then, looking round, he discerned by his side
Beelzebub, "one next himself in power and next in crime. " With him he
took counsel, and rearing themselves from off the pool of fire they
found footing on a dreary plain. Walking with uneasy steps the burning
marle, the lost Archangel made his way to the shore of "that inflamed
sea," and called aloud to his associates, to "Awake, arise, or be for
ever fallen! " They heard, and gathered about him, all who were "known
to men by various names and various idols through the heathen world,"
but with looks "downcast and damp. " He--

Then straight commands that, at the warlike sound
Of trumpets loud and clarions, be upreared
His mighty standard. That proud honour claimed
Azazel as his right, a cherub tall,
Who forthwith from the glittering staff unfurled
The imperial ensign. . . .
At which the universal host up-sent
A shout that tore Hell's conclave, and beyond
Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night.

The mighty host now circled in orderly array about "their dread
Commander. "

He, above the rest
In shape and gesture proudly eminent,
Stood like a tower. His form had not yet lost
All its original brightness, nor appeared
Less than an Archangel ruined, and the excess
Of glory obscured: as when the sun new-risen
Looks through the horizontal misty air
Shorn of his beams, or, from behind the moon,
In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds
On half the nations, and with fear of change
Perplexes monarchs. Darkened so, yet shone
Above them all the Archangel. But his face
Deep scars of thunder had intrenched, and care
Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows
Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride,
Waiting revenge. . . .
He now prepared
To speak; whereat their doubled ranks they bend
From wing to wing, and half enclose him round
With all his peers. Attention held them mute.
Thrice he assayed and thrice, in spite of scorn,
Tears, such as Angels weep, burst forth; at last
Words interwove with sighs found out their way:
"O myriads of immortal Spirits! O Powers,
Matchless, but with the Almighty! --and that strife
Was not inglorious, though the event was dire,
As this place testifies, and this dire change,
Hateful to utter. But what power of mind,
Foreseeing or presaging, from the depth
Of knowledge past or present, could have feared
How such united force of gods, how such
As stood like these, could ever know repulse?
He who reigns
Monarch in Heaven till then as one secure
Sat on his throne, upheld by old repute,
Consent, or custom, and his regal state
Put forth at full, but still his strength concealed--
Which tempted our attempt, and wrought our fall.
Henceforth his might we know, and know our own,
So as not either to provoke, or dread
New war provoked. Our better part remains
To work in close design, by fraud or guile,
What force effected not; that he no less
At length from us may find, Who overcomes
By force hath overcome but half his foe.
Space may produce more Worlds, whereof so rife
There went a fame in Heaven that He ere long
Intended to create, and therein plant
A generation whom his choice regard
Should favour equal to the Sons of Heaven.
Thither, if but to pry, shall be perhaps
Our first eruption--thither, or elsewhere;
For this infernal pit shall never hold
Celestial Spirits in bondage, nor the Abyss
Long under darkness cover. But these thoughts
Full counsel must mature. Peace is despaired;
For who can think submission? War, then, war
Open or understood, must be resolved. "
He spake; and to confirm his words, out-flew
Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs
Of mighty Cherubim. The sudden blaze
Far round illumined Hell. Highly they raged.
Against the Highest, and fierce with grasped arms
Clashed on their sounding shields the din of war,
Hurling defiance toward the vault of Heaven.

The exiled host now led by Mammon, "the least erected Spirit that fell
from Heaven," proceeded to build Pandemonium, their architect being
him whom "men called Mulciber," and here

The great Seraphic Lords and Cherubim
In close recess and secret conclave sat
A thousand demi-gods on golden seats.


_II. --The Fiends' Conclave_

High on a throne of royal state, which far
Outshone the wealth of Ormus or of Ind,
Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand
Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold,
Satan exalted sat, by merit raised
To that bad eminence.

Here his compeers gathered round to advise. First Moloch, the
"strongest and the fiercest Spirit that fought in Heaven," counselled
war. Then uprose Belial--"a fairer person lost not Heaven"--and
reasoned that force was futile.

"The towers of Heaven are filled
With armed watch, that render all access
Impregnable. "

Besides, failure might lead to their annihilation, and who wished for
that?

"Who would lose,
Though full of pain, this intellectual being,
These thoughts that wander through eternity? "

They were better now than when they were hurled from Heaven, or when
they lay chained on the burning lake. Their Supreme Foe might in time
remit his anger, and slacken those raging fires. Mammon also advised
them to keep the peace, and make the best they could of Hell, a policy
received with applause; but then Beelzebub, "than whom, Satan except,
none higher sat," rose, and with a look which "drew audience and
attention still as night," developed the suggestion previously made by
Satan, that they should attack Heaven's High Arbitrator through His
new-created Man, waste his creation, and "drive as we are driven. "

"This would surpass
Common revenge, and interrupt His joy
In our confusion, and our joy upraise
In His disturbance. "

This proposal was gleefully received. But then the difficulty arose
who should be sent in search of this new world? All sat mute, till
Satan declared that he would "abroad through all the coasts of dark
destruction," a decision hailed with reverent applause. The Council
dissolved, the Infernal Peers disperse to their several employments:
some to sports, some to warlike feats, some to argument, "in wandering
mazes lost," some to adventurous discovery; while Satan wings his
way to the nine-fold gate of Hell, guarded by Sin, and her abortive
offspring, Death; and Sin, opening the gate for him to go out, cannot
shut it again. The Fiend stands on the brink, "pondering his voyage,"
while before him appear

The secrets of the hoary Deep--on dark
Illimitable ocean, without bound,
Without dimension; where length, breadth, and highth,
And time, and place, are lost; where eldest Night
And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold
Eternal anarchy.

At last he spreads his "sail-broad vans for flight," and, directed by
Chaos and sable-vested Night, comes to where he can see far off

The empyreal Heaven, once his native seat,
And, fast by, hanging in a golden chain,
This pendent World.


_III. --Satan Speeds to Earth_

An invocation to Light, and a lament for the poet's blindness now
preludes a picture of Heaven, and the Almighty Father conferring with
the only Son.

Hail, holy Light, offspring of Heaven first-born!
Bright effluence of bright essence uncreate!
Whose fountain who shall tell? Before the Sun,
Before the Heavens, thou wert, and at the voice
Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest
The rising World of waters dark and deep,
Won from the void and formless Infinite!
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . But thou
Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . With the year
Seasons return; but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn,
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose,
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;
But clouds instead, and ever-during dark
Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men
Cut off.

God, observing the approach of Satan to the world, foretells the fall
of Man to the Son, who listens while

In his face
Divine compassion visibly appeared,
Love without end, and without measure grace.

The Father asks where such love can be found as will redeem man by
satisfying eternal Justice.

He asked, but all the Heavenly Quire stood mute,
And silence was in Heaven.

Admiration seized all Heaven, and "to the ground they cast their
crowns in solemn adoration," when the Son replied

"Account me Man. I for his sake will leave
Thy bosom, and this glory next to Thee
Freely put off, and for him lastly die
Well pleased; on me let Death wreak all his rage.
Under his gloomy power I shall not long
Lie vanquished. "

While the immortal quires chanted their praise, Satan drew near, and
sighted the World--the sun, earth, moon, and companion planets--

As when a scout,
Through dark and desert ways with peril gone
All night, at last by break of cheerful dawn
Obtains the brow of some high-climbing hill,
Which to his eye discovers unaware
The goodly prospect of some foreign land
First seen, or some renowned metropolis
With glistening spires and pinnacles adorned,
Which now the rising Sun gilds with his beams,
Such wonder seized, though after Heaven seen,
The Spirit malign, but much more envy seized,
At sight of all this world beheld so fair.

Flying to the Sun, and taking the form of "a stripling Cherub," Satan
recognises there the Archangel Uriel and accosts him.

"Brightest Seraph, tell
In which of all these shining orbs hath Man
His fixed seat. "

And Uriel, although held to be "the sharpest-sighted Spirit of all in
Heaven," was deceived, for angels cannot discern hypocrisy. So Uriel,
pointing, answers:

"That place is Earth, the seat of Man. . . .
That spot to which I point is Paradise,
Adam's abode; those lofty shades his bower.
Thy way thou canst not miss; me mine requires. "
Thus said, he turned; and Satan, bowing low,
As to superior Spirits is wont in Heaven,
Where honour due and reverence none neglects,
Took leave, and toward the coast of Earth beneath,
Down from the ecliptic, sped with hoped success,
Throws his steep flight in many an aery wheel,
Nor stayed till on Niphantes' top he lights.


_IV. --Of Adam and Eve in Paradise_

Coming within sight of Paradise Satan's conscience is aroused, and he
grieves over the suffering his dire work will entail, exclaiming

"Me miserable; which way shall I fly
Infinite wrath and infinite despair?
Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell. "

But he cannot brook submission, and hardens his heart afresh.

"So farewell hope, and, with hope, farewell fear,
Farewell remorse! All good to me is lost;
Evil, be thou my Good. "

As he approaches Paradise more closely, the deliciousness of the place
affects even his senses.

As when to them who sail
Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past
Mozambic, off at sea north-east winds blow
Sabean odours from the spicy shore
Of Araby the Blest, with such delay
Well pleased they slack their course, and many a league
Cheered with the grateful smell old Ocean smiles,
So entertained those odorous sweets the Fiend.

At last, after sighting "all kind of living creatures new to sight and
strange," he descries Man.

Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall,
God-like erect, with native honour clad
In naked majesty, seemed lords of all,
And worthy seemed; for in their looks divine
The image of their glorious Maker shone.
For contemplation he and valour formed,
For softness she and sweet attractive grace;
He for God only, she for God in Him.
So hand in hand they passed, the loveliest pair
That ever since in love's embraces met--
Adam the goodliest man of men since born
His sons; the fairest of her daughters Eve.

At the sight of the gentle pair, Satan again almost relents. Taking
the shape of various animals, he approaches to hear them talk and
finds from Adam that the only prohibition laid on them is partaking
of the Tree of Knowledge. Eve, replying, tells how she found herself
alive, saw her form reflected in the water, and thought herself fairer
even than Adam until

"Thy gentle hand
Seized mine; I yielded, and from that time see
How beauty is excelled by manly grace
And wisdom, which alone is truly fair. "

While Satan roams through Paradise, with "sly circumspection," Uriel
descends on an evening sunbeam to warn Gabriel, chief of the angelic
guards, that a suspected Spirit, with looks "alien from Heaven," had
passed to earth, and Gabriel promises to find him before dawn.

Now came still Evening on, and Twilight gray
Had in her sober livery all things clad;
Silence accompanied; for beast and bird,
They to their grassy couch, these to their nests
Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale.
She all night long her amorous descant sung.
Silence was pleased. Now glowed the firmament
With living sapphires; Hesperus, that led
The starry host, rode brightest, till the Moon,
Rising in clouded majesty, at length
Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light,
And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.

Adam and Eve talk ere they retire to rest--she questioning him

"Sweet is the breath of Morn, her rising sweet,
With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the Sun,
When first on this delightful land he spreads
His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower,
Glistening with dew; fragrant the fertile Earth
After soft showers; and sweet the coming on
Of grateful Evening mild; then silent Night
With this her solemn bird, and this fair Moon,
And these the gems of Heaven, her starry train;
But neither breath of Morn, when she ascends
With charm of earliest birds; nor rising Sun
On this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower,
Glistening with dew; nor fragrance after showers,
Nor grateful Evening mild; nor silent Night,
With this her solemn bird; nor walk by moon,
Or glittering star-light, without thee is sweet.
But wherefore all night long shine these? For whom
This glorious sight, when sleep hath shut all eyes? "

Adam replies:

"These have their course to finish round the Earth,
And they, though unbeheld in deep of night,
Shine not in vain. Nor think, though men were none,
That Heaven would want spectators, God want praise.
Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth
Unseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep;
All these with ceaseless praise His works behold
Both day and night. ". . . .
Thus talking, hand in hand, alone they passed
On to their blissful bower.

Gabriel then sends the Cherubim, "armed to their night watches," and
commands Ithuriel and Zephon to search the Garden, where they find
Satan, "squat like a toad close to the ear of Eve," seeking to taint
her dreams.

Him thus intent Ithuriel with his spear
Touched lightly; for no falsehood can endure
Touch of celestial temper, but returns
Of force to its own likeness.

Satan therefore starts up in his own person, and is conducted to
Gabriel, who sees him coming with them, "a third, of regal port, but
faded splendour wan. " Gabriel and he engage in a heated altercation,
and a fight seems imminent between the Fiend and the angelic squadrons
that "begin to hem him round," when, by a sign in the sky, Satan is
reminded of his powerlessness in open fight, and flees, murmuring;
"and with him fled the shades of Night. "


_V. --The Morning Hymn of Praise_

Adam, waking in the morning, finds Eve flushed and distraught, and she
tells him of her troublous dreams. He cheers her, and they pass out to
the open field, and, adoring, raise their morning hymn of praise.

"These are Thy glorious works, Parent of good,
Almighty! Thine this universal frame,
Thus wondrous fair--Thyself how wondrous then!
Unspeakable! Who sittest above these heavens
To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these Thy lowest works; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
Speak, ye who best can tell, ye Sons of Light,
Angels--for ye behold Him, and with songs
And chloral symphonies, day without night,
Circle His throne rejoicing--ye in Heaven;
On Earth join, all ye creatures, to extol
Him first, Him last, Him midst, and without end.
Fairest of Stars, last in the train of Night,
If better than belong not to the Dawn,
Sure pledge of Day, that crown'st the smiling morn
With thy bright circlet, praise Him in thy sphere
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Thou Sun, of this great World both eye and soul,
Acknowledge Him thy greater; sound His praise
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st
And when high noon hast gained, and when thou fall'st.
Moon, that now meet'st the orient Sun, now fliest,
With the fixed Stars, fixed in their orb, that flies;
And ye five other wandering Fires, that move
In mystic dance, not without song, resound
His praise Who out of Darkness called up Light.
Ye Mists and Exhalations, that now rise
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray,
Till the Sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the World's great Author rise;
Whether to deck with clouds the uncoloured sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers,
Rising or falling, still advance His praise.
His praise, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow,
Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye Pines,
With every plant in sign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow,
Melodious murmurs, warbling, tune His praise.
Join voices, all ye living souls. Ye Birds,
That, singing, up to Heaven's gate ascend,
Bear on your wings and in your notes His praise.
Hail universal Lord! Be bounteous still
To give us only good; and, if the night
Have gathered aught of evil, or concealed,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark. "
So prayed they innocent, and to their thoughts
Firm peace recovered soon, and wonted calm.

The Almighty now sends Raphael, "the sociable Spirit," from Heaven
to warn Adam of his danger, and alighting on the eastern cliff of
Paradise, the Seraph shakes his plumes and diffuses heavenly fragrance
around; then moving through the forest is seen by Adam, who, with
Eve, entertains him, and seizes the occasion to ask him of "their
Being Who dwell in Heaven," and further, what is meant by the angelic
caution--"If ye be found obedient. " Raphael thereupon tells of the
disobedience, in Heaven, of Satan, and his fall, "from that high
state of bliss into what woe. " He tells how the Divine decree of
obedience to the Only Son was received by Satan with envy, because he
felt "himself impaired"; and how, consulting with Beelzebub, he drew
away all the Spirits under their command to the "spacious North,"
and, taunting them with being eclipsed, proposed that they should
rebel. Only Abdiel remained faithful, and urged them to cease their
"impious rage," and seek pardon in time, or they might find that He
Who had created them could uncreate them.

So spake the Seraph Abdiel, faithful found;
Among the faithless faithful only he;
Among innumerable false unmoved,
Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified,
His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal;
Nor number nor example with him wrought
To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind
Though single.