NOTE: This monologue is reprinted from Lord Byron: Six Plays. Lord Byron. Los Angeles: Black Box Press, 2007.
EVE: Hear, Jehovah!May the eternal Serpent’s curse be on him!For he was fitter for his seed than ours.May all his days be desolate!He hath left thee no brother, Adah—Zillah no husband—me no son! for thusI curse him from my sight for evermore!All bonds I break between us, as he brokeThat of his nature, in yon—Oh Death! Death!Why didst thou not take me, who first incurred thee?Why dost thou not so now?
Why dost thou not take yon Incarnate SpiritOf Death, whom I have brought upon the earthTo strew it with the dead. May all the cursesOf life be on him! and his agoniesDrive him forth o’er the wilderness, like usFrom Eden, till his children do by himAs he did by his brother! May the swordsAnd wings of fiery Cherubim pursue himBy day and night—snakes spring up in his path—Earth’s fruits be ashes in his mouth—the leavesOn which he lays his head to sleep be strewedWith scorpions! May his dreams be of his victim!His waking a continual dread of Death!May the clear rivers turn to blood as heStoops down to stain them with his raging lip!May every element shun or change to him!May he live in the pangs which others die with!And Death itself wax something worse than DeathTo him who first acquainted him with man!Hence, fratricide! henceforth that word is Cain,Through all the coming myriads of mankind,Who shall abhor thee, though thou wert their sire!May the grass wither from thy feet! the woodsDeny thee shelter! earth a home! the dust—A grave! the sun his light! and heaven her God!