Was withheld from us by my father's folly,

While that of Knowledge, by my mother's haste,

Was plucked too soon; and all the fruit is Death!

Lucifer. They have deceived thee; thou shalt live.

Cain.‍I live,

But live to die; and, living, see no thing110

To make death hateful, save an innate clinging,

A loathsome, and yet all invincible

Instinct of life, which I abhor, as I

Despise myself, yet cannot overcome—