Of Paradise, so late their happy seat,

Wav'd over by that flaming brand; the gate
With dreadful faces throng'd, and fiery arms:

Some natural tears they dropt, but wip'd them soon;
The world was all before them, where to choose
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide:
They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow,
Through Eden took their solitary way.

FINIS.

C. Whittingham, Printer, Chiswick.