The Battle of Darkness and Light . Джон Мильтон
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Like his, and colour Serpentine may shew
Thy inward fraud, to warn all Creatures from thee
Henceforth; least that too heav’nly form, pretended
To hellish falshood, snare them. But for thee
I had persisted happie, had not thy pride
And wandring vanitie, when lest was safe,
Rejected my forewarning, and disdain’d
Not to be trusted, longing to be seen
Though by the Devil himself, him overweening
To over-reach, but with the Serpent meeting
Fool’d and beguil’d, by him thou, I by thee,
To trust thee from my side, imagin’d wise,
Constant, mature, proof against all assaults,
And understood not all was but a shew
Rather then solid vertu, all but a Rib
Crooked by nature, bent, as now appears,
More to the part sinister from me drawn,
Well if thrown out, as supernumerarie
To my just number found. O why did God,
Creator wise, that peopl’d highest Heav’n
With Spirits Masculine, create at last
This noveltie on Earth, this fair defect
Of Nature, and not fill the World at once
With Men as Angels without Feminine,
Or find some other way to generate
Mankind? this mischief had not then befall’n,
And more that shall befall, innumerable
Disturbances on Earth through Femal snares,
And straight conjunction with this Sex: for either
He never shall find out fit Mate, but such
As some misfortune brings him, or mistake,
Or whom he wishes most shall seldom gain
Through her perverseness, but shall see her gaind
By a farr worse, or if she love, withheld
By Parents, or his happiest choice too late
Shall meet, alreadie linkt and Wedlock-bound
To a fell Adversarie, his hate or shame:
Which infinite calamitie shall cause
To humane life, and houshold peace confound.
He added not, and from her turn’d, but Eve Not so repulst, with Tears that ceas’d not flowing, And tresses all disorderd, at his feet Fell humble, and imbracing them, besaught His peace, and thus proceeded in her plaint.
Forsake me not thus, Adam, witness Heav’n What love sincere, and reverence in my heart I beare thee, and unweeting have offended, Unhappilie deceav’d; thy suppliant I beg, and clasp thy knees; bereave me not, Whereon I live, thy gentle looks, thy aid, Thy counsel in this uttermost distress, My onely strength and stay: forlorn of thee, Whither shall I betake me, where subsist? While yet we live, scarse one short hour perhaps, Between us two let there be peace, both joyning, As joyn’d in injuries, one enmitie Against a Foe by doom express assign’d us, That cruel Serpent: On me exercise not Thy hatred for this miserie befall’n, On me already lost, mee then thy self More miserable; both have sin’d, but thou Against God onely, I against God and thee, And to the place of judgement will return, There with my cries importune Heaven, that all The sentence from thy head remov’d may light On me, sole cause to thee of all this woe, Mee mee onely just object of his ire.
She ended weeping, and her lowlie plight,
Immoveable till peace obtain’d from fault
Acknowledg’d and deplor’d, in Adam wraught Commiseration; soon his heart relented Towards her, his life so late and sole delight, Now at his feet submissive in distress, Creature so faire his reconcilement seeking, His counsel whom she had displeas’d, his aide; As one disarm’d, his anger all he lost, And thus with peaceful words uprais’d her soon.
Unwarie, and too desirous, as before,
So now of what thou knowst not, who desir’st
The punishment all on thy self; alas,
Beare thine own first, ill able to sustaine
His full wrauth whose thou feelst as yet lest part,
And my displeasure bearst so ill. If Prayers
Could alter high Decrees, I to that place
Would speed before thee, and be louder heard,
That on my head all might be visited,
Thy frailtie and infirmer Sex forgiv’n,
To me committed and by me expos’d.
But rise, let us no more contend, nor blame
Each other, blam’d enough elsewhere, but strive
In offices of Love, how we may light’n
Each others burden in our share of woe;
Since this days Death denounc’t, if ought I see,
Will prove no sudden, but a slow-pac’t evill,
A long days dying to augment our paine,
And to our Seed (O hapless Seed!) deriv’d.
To whom thus Eve, recovering heart, repli’d. Adam, by sad experiment I know How little weight my words with thee can finde, Found so erroneous, thence by just event Found so unfortunate; nevertheless, Restor’d by thee, vile as I am, to place Of new acceptance, hopeful to regaine Thy Love, the sole contentment of my heart, Living or dying from thee I will not hide What thoughts in my unquiet brest are ris’n, Tending to som relief of our extremes, Or end, though sharp and sad, yet tolerable, As in our evils, and of easier choice. If care of our descent perplex us most, Which must be born to certain woe, devourd By Death at last, and miserable it is To be to others cause of misery, Our own begotten, and of our Loines to bring Into this cursed World a woful Race, That after wretched Life must be at last Food for so foule a Monster, in thy power It lies, yet ere Conception to prevent The Race unblest, to being yet unbegot. Childless thou art, Childless remaine: So Death shall be deceav’d his glut, and with us two Be forc’d to satisfie his Rav’nous Maw. But if thou judge it hard and difficult, Conversing, looking, loving, to abstain From Loves due Rites, Nuptial embraces sweet, And with desire to languish without hope, Before the present object languishing With like desire, which would be miserie And torment less then none of what we dread, Then both our selves and Seed at once to free From what we fear for both, let us make short, Let us seek Death, or hee not found, supply With our own hands his Office on our selves; Why stand we longer shivering under feares, That shew no end but Death, and have the power, Of many wayes to die the shortest choosing, Destruction with destruction to destroy.
She ended heer, or vehement despaire
Broke off the rest; so much of Death her thoughts
Had entertaind, as di’d her Cheeks with pale.
But Adam with such counsel nothing sway’d, To better hopes his more attentive minde Labouring had rais’d, and thus to Eve repli’d.
Eve, thy contempt of life and pleasure seems To argue in thee somthing more sublime And excellent then what thy minde contemnes; But self-destruction therefore saught, refutes That excellence thought in thee, and implies, Not thy contempt, but anguish and regret For loss of life and pleasure overlov’d. Or if thou covet death, as utmost end Of miserie, so thinking to evade The penaltie pronounc’t, doubt not but God Hath wiselier arm’d his vengeful ire then so To be forestall’d; much more I fear least Death So snatcht will not exempt us from the paine We are by doom to pay; rather such