The Adamus exul of Grotius; or The Prototype of Paradise Lost — page 62: what you’re looking at

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

Eve. Grimmer than thousand sepulchres? Ay, worse Than Hell, whereto I haste. I will forego The abeyance of my fate, and with bold hand Anticipate black destiny, and be My own most just avenger. I will live No living death—-still dying never dead. No dull, procrastinating, cankering blight, For me at least. I go—lI go alone, And in this swift voraginous tide of fate, The many-voiced Euphrates, will I lose This more than lost existence, and be borne To the unfathomable deep, and lie On undiscovered shores, o’er which the waves Howl their monotonous elegies, and Night Forever broods in wizard solitude. He, who by evil seeks to cure his ill, Doth but increase the wrong he hates. This crime Is surely worth surviving, if ‘tis worth Thus rashly dying for. Let not the soul So madly leave its form, but rather wait Till body leaves the mind. Thus quietly Expect the doomed, the inevitable hour When our tired spirits shall, by just decree, Resign their sad mortalities; and God, Great Arbiter of life and death, shall loose ' The yoke, and bid his weary ones go home. Adam. Eve. At his command death wears the charm of duty ; But now t’ were madness, sin, and infamy. No, Eve ; not so hath dissolute passion quenched All sense of spiritual shame indelible. Think ’st thou, fond fool, that I will thus live on, The scorn of my own slaves? Methinks I hear All beasts and birds, and insect-wingéd things, Lift up their pitiful voices, some in hate, Or worse compassion, and at once exclaim, As with the thunder-peal of vengeance—Die ! Begone, and slay thyself! Let the earth hide Thy curse-crowned execrable head, and hurl Thy spirit down the blazing throat of Hell, That gapes for thy destruction. Yes, I hear Their words, and will obey them. All my vows Shall be accomplished, gallantly at least, If madly, let it be so. Why should I Longer detain this conscience-scorched soul, Amid the upbraiding light? Have I not lost All things worth living for ?—my power, my joy, My kingdom, my salvation, my own self— All but my life? Nay; counsel not in vain. Alas! sweet consort of my blighted heart ! Why thus persist in passionate words? Why rush COL @ DOO <S (c@