All this you freely may confess,
Yet we ne’er disagree:
For did you love your Pleasure less,
You were no Match for me.
[The FALL.]
A SONG.
I.
How blest was the Created State
Of Man and Woman e’re they fell,
Compar’d to our unhappy Fate,
We need not fear another Hell!
II.
Naked, beneath cool Shades, they lay,
Enjoyment waited on Desire:
Each Member did their Wills obey,
Nor could a Wish set Pleasure higher.
III.
But we, poor Slaves, to Hope and Fear,
Are never of our Joys secure;
They lessen still, as they draw near,
And none but dull Delights endure.