Here reading how fond Adam was betray'd, And how by Sin Eve's blasted Charms decay'd; Our common Loss unjustly you complain; Small is that part of it which you sustain.
You still (fair Mother) in your Offspring trace The Stock of Beauty destin'd for our Race: Kind Nature, forming them, the Features took From Heav'ns own Work, in Eve's original look.
You, happy Saint, the Serpent's pow'r controul, Whilst scarce one actual Guilt defiles your Soul: And Hell does o're your Mind vain Triumphs boast, Which gains a Heaven, for Earthly Eden lost.
With equal Vertue had frail Eve been arm'd, In vain the Fruit had blush'd, the Serpent charm'd: Our Bliss by Penitence had neer been bought; Adam had never faln, or Milton wrote.
