every good around her, and with God's prohibition unforgotten, she
chooses disobedience, and drags Adam after her. But Adam's guilt is no
less than hers. The writer had not Milton at his elbow to teach him how
to twist the Bible narrative into an argument for the superiority of
man. Adam yields to the same sophistry as led Eve astray; and sin,
rushing in with the suddenness of swallowed poison, finds its first home
not in her breast but in his. The awful doom follows. In the desolation
that succeeds, the woman's bitter sorrow is allowed to move our pity at
last. Eating at her heart is the thought, 'My husbond is lost because of
me', so that in her agony she begs Adam to slay her.

Now stomble we on stalk and ston,
My wyt awey is fro me gon,
Wrythe on to my necke bon,
With hardnesse of thin honde.

Adam says what he can to console her, but without much success. The
scene ends with her lamenting.

The foul contagion, spreading over the earth, has been washed out in the
Flood and a fresh start made before _Scene 5_ introduces Abraham. In an
earlier paragraph we have spoken of the pathos of which these plays were
capable. Here in this scene it may be found. Abraham is, before all
things else, a father; Isaac is the apple of his eye. When as yet no
cloud fills the sky with the gloom of sacrifice, the old man exults in
his glorious possession, a son. Isaac is standing a little apart when
his father turns with outstretched arms, exclaiming

Now, suete sone, ffayre fare thi fface,
fful hertyly do I love the,