TO THE LADY DURSLEY On the same Subject. Here reading how fond Adam was betray'd; And how by Sin Eve's blasted Charms decay'd; 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 destin'd for the Race: Kind Nature, forming Them, the Pattern took From Heav'n's first Work, and Eve's Original Look. You, happy Saint, the Serpent's Pow'r controul: Scarce any actual Guilt defiles your Soul: And Hell does o'er that Mind vain Triumph boast, Which gains a Heav'n, for Earthly Eden lost. With Virtue strong as Your's had Eve been arm'd, In vain the Fruit had blush'd, or Serpent charm'd: Nor had our Bliss by Penitence been bought: Nor had frail Adam fall'n, nor Milton wrote.