Of happiness. Yet well, if here would end
The misery; I deserved it, and would bear
My own deservings. But this will not serve;
All that I eat and drink, or shall beget,
Is propagated curse. O voice once heard
Delightfully, Encrease and multiply,730
Now death to hear! for what can I encrease
Or multiply, but curses on my head?
Who of all ages to succeed, but, feeling
The evil on him brought by me, will curse
My head? Ill fare our ancestor impure
For this we may thank Adam! but his thanks
Shall be the execration. So, besides
Mine own that bide upon me, all from me
Shall with a fierce reflux on me redound;
On me, as on their natural centre, light,740
Heavy though in their place. O fleeting joys
Of Paradise, dear bought with lasting woe!
Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay
To mould me Man? did I solicit thee
From darkness to promote me, or here place
In this delicious garden? As my will
Concurred not to my being, it were but right
And equal to reduce me to my dust,
Desirous to resign and render back
All I received, unable to perform750
Thy terms too hard, by which I was to hold
The good I sought not. To the loss of that,
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PARADISE LOST.
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