TO THE LADY DURSLEY by MATTHEW PRIOR

HERE reading how fond Adam was betrayed,
And how by sin Eve's blasted charms decayed;
Our common loss unjustly you complain;
So small that part of it, which you sustain.
You still, fair mother, in your offspring trace
The stock of beauty destined for the race:
Kind nature, forming them, the pattern took
For Heaven's first work, and Eve's original look.
You, happy saint, the serpent's power control:
Scarce any actual guilt defiles your soul;
And hell does o'er that mind vain triumph boast,
Which gains a Heaven, for earthly Eden lost.
With virtue strong as yours had Eve been armed,
In vain the fruit had blushed, or serpent charmed:
Nor had our bliss by penitence been bought;
Nor had frail Adam fallen, nor Milton wrote.

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