The Adamus exul of Grotius; or The Prototype of Paradise Lost — page 52: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Satan. Adam. A TRAGEDY.-—~ACT IV. The fine degrees of guilt, which is itself An indivisible essence. Thus one sin Can only by its proper progeny Of sins be well defended ; and one lie, By lies innumerable, be made secure. So the august hurt Majesty of Heaven Must hold me guilty, nor delay to strike ; And I must back the luxury of vice By strong transgression, and accumulate The ramparts of offence. Such is my choice, My free self-poised election. Now, my hand, Be firm, and thus raise to my burning lips The mystery of knowledge. O my soul, How exquisitely luscious! how divine Its odorous perfume! Most nectareous juice Of immortality, thou dost infuse A more than earthly bliss, too great for earth, Fit only for the skies. No more remains, To crown the eternal rapture, but to share This blessing with my love and be twice blest. The deed is done, and many times and oft, Doubtless, you ‘ll bless my memory when you feel Your full extent of obligation. Now You ‘Il know the good you ’ve lost, and learn, full soon, The evil you have gained. No lapse of time Shall take this knowledge from you; and your sons And daughters too shall share it. Truth’s fair lights Are thus extinguished, and the sable lies They leave behind them you shall well defend Not without wordy wars and bloody. I Will still befriend you. Now behold at once The first part of your happiness, your spouse, Led by the happy accident no doubt, This way approaches. I will hide myself, While you invite him to the delicate banquet. Slowly and half dejectedly ; oppressed With consciousness of evil, have I walked This garden of delights ; and now I come To that same spot, whereon the tree of knowledge Hangs forth the tempting mischief. Here I drew My heaven-derivéd birth ; here first awoke To sense of life and feeling, and blest hope Of Godlike immortality. And now, Wearied with wandering through my vacant bowers, Return I with strange awe and presage dire ; A clinging wild presentiment of woe Unfelt before. For nowhere can I find My Eve, my beautiful, my ever young Amiably pensive one, who sweetly smiles-— O how familiarly !—and sweetly speaks (C@ inn 35 @ DOO <S (c@