Comus

A Masque     presented at Ludlow Castle,     1634,     Before The Earl of Bridgewater, then President of Wales.     The Persons     The attendant Spirit, afterwards in the habit of Thyrsis.     Comus, with his Crew.     The Lady.     First Brother.     Second Brother.     Sabrina, the Nymph.     The Chief Persons which presented were:     The Lord Brackley;     Mr. Thomas Egerton, his Brother;     The Lady Alice Egerton.     The first Scene discovers a wild wood.     The ATTENDANT SPIRIT descends or enters.     Before the starry threshold of Joves court     My mansion is, where those immortal shapes     Of bright aerial spirits live insphered     In regions mild of calm and serene air,     Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot     Which men call Earth, and, with low-thoughted care,     Confined and pestered in this pinfold here,     Strive to keep up a frail and feverish being,     Unmindful of the crown that Virtue gives,     After this mortal change, to her true servants     Amongst the enthroned gods on sainted seats.     Yet some there be that by due steps aspire     To lay their just hands on that golden key     That opes the palace of eternity.     To Such my errand is; and, but for such,     I would not soil these pure ambrosial weeds     With the rank vapours of this sin-worn mould.     But to my task. Neptune, besides the sway     Of every salt flood and each ebbing stream,     Took in by lot, twixt high and nether Jove,     Imperial rule of all the sea-girt isles     That, like to rich and various gems, inlay     The unadorned bosom of the deep;     Which he, to grace his tributary gods,     By course commits to several government,     And gives them leave to wear their sapphire crowns     And wield their little tridents. But this Isle,     The greatest and the best of all the main,     He quarters to his blue-haired deities;     And all this tract that fronts the falling sun     A noble Peer of mickle trust and power     Has in his charge, with tempered awe to guide     An old and haughty nation, proud in arms:     Where his fair offspring, nursed in princely lore,     Are coming to attend their fathers state,     And new-intrusted sceptre. But their way     Lies through the perplexed paths of this drear wood,     The nodding horror of whose shady brows     Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger;     And here their tender age might suffer peril,     But that, by quick command from sovran Jove,     I was despatched for their defence and guard:     And listen why; for I will tell you now     What never yet was heard in tale or song,     From old or modern bard, in hall or bower.     Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape     Crushed the sweet poison of misused wine,     After the Tuscan mariners transformed,     Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listed,     On Circes island fell. (Who knows not Circe,     The daughter of the Sun, whose charmed cup     Whoever tasted lost his upright shape,     And downward fell into a grovelling swine?)     This Nymph, that gazed upon his clustering locks,     With ivy berries wreathed, and his blithe youth,     Had by him, ere he parted thence, a son     Much like his father, but his mother more,     Whom therefore she brought up, and Comus named:     Who, ripe and frolic of his full-grown age,     Roving the Celtic and Iberian fields,     At last betakes him to this ominous wood,     And, in thick shelter of black shades imbowered,     Excels his mother at her mighty art;     Offering to every weary traveller     His orient liquor in a crystal glass,     To quench the drouth of Phoebus; which as they taste     (For most do taste through fond intemperate thirst),     Soon as the potion works, their human countnance,     The express resemblance of the gods, is changed     Into some brutish form of wolf or bear,     Or ounce or tiger, hog, or bearded goat,     All other parts remaining as they were.     And they, so perfect is their misery,     Not once perceive their foul disfigurement,     But boast themselves more comely than before,     And all their friends and native home forget,     To roll with pleasure in a sensual sty.     Therefore, when any favoured of high Jove     Chances to pass through this adventurous glade,     Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star     I shoot from heaven, to give him safe convoy,     As now I do. But first I must put off     These my sky-robes, spun out of Iris woof,     And take the weeds and likeness of a swain     That to the service of this house belongs,     Who, with his soft pipe and smooth-dittied song,     Well knows to still the wild winds when they roar,     And hush the waving woods; nor of less faith     And in this office of his mountain watch     Likeliest, and nearest to the present aid     Of this occasion. But I hear the tread     Of hateful steps; I must be viewless now.     [Comus enters, with a charming-rod in one hand, his glass in the other: with him a rout of monsters, headed like sundry sorts of wild beasts, but otherwise like men and women, their apparel glistering. They come in making a riotous and unruly noise, with torches in their hands.]     Comus.     The star that bids the shepherd fold     Now the top of heaven doth hold;     And the gilded car of day     His glowing axle doth allay     In the steep Atlantic stream;     And the slope sun his upward beam     Shoots against the dusky pole,     Pacing toward the other goal     Of his chamber in the east.     Meanwhile, welcome joy and feast,     Midnight shout and revelry,     Tipsy dance and jollity.     Braid your locks with rosy twine,     Dropping odours, dropping wine.     Rigour now is gone to bed;     And Advice with scrupulous head,     Strict Age, and sour Severity,     With their grave saws, in slumber lie.     We, that are of purer fire,     Imitate the starry quire,     Who, in their nightly watchful spheres,     Lead in swift round the months and years.     The sounds and seas, with all their finny drove,     Now to the moon in wavering morrice move;     And on the tawny sands and shelves     Trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.     By dimpled brook and fountain-brim,     The wood-nymphs, decked with daisies trim,     Their merry wakes and pastimes keep:     What hath night to do with sleep?     Night hath better sweets to prove;     Venus now wakes, and wakens Love.     Come, let us our rights begin;     Tis only daylight that makes sin,     Which these dun shades will neer report.     Hail, goddess of nocturnal sport,     Dark-veiled Cotytto, to whom the secret flame     Of midnight torches burns! mysterious dame,     That neer art called but when the dragon womb     Of Stygian darkness spets her thickest gloom,     And makes one blot of all the air!     Stay thy cloudy ebon chair,     Wherein thou ridest with Hecat, and befriend     Us thy vowed priests, till utmost end     Of all thy dues be done, and none left out,     Ere the blabbing eastern scout,     The nice Morn on the Indian steep,     From her cabined loop-hole peep,     And to the tell-tale Sun descry     Our concealed solemnity.     Come, knit hands, and beat the ground     In a light fantastic round.     [The Measure.]     Break off, break off! I feel the different pace     Of some chaste footing near about this ground.     Run to your shrouds within these brakes and trees;     Our number may affright. Some virgin sure     (For so I can distinguish by mine art)     Benighted in these woods! Now to my charms,     And to my wily trains: I shall ere long     Be well stocked with as fair a herd as grazed     About my mother Circe. Thus I hurl     My dazzling spells into the spongy air,     Of power to cheat the eye with blear illusion,     And give it false presentments, lest the place     And my quaint habits breed astonishment,     And put the damsel to suspicious flight;     Which must not be, for thats against my course.     I, under fair pretence of friendly ends,     And well-placed words of glozing courtesy,     Baited with reasons not unplausible,     Wind me into the easy-hearted man,     And hug him into snares. When once her eye     Hath met the virtue of this magic dust,     I shall appear some harmless villager     Whom thrift keeps up about his country gear.     But here she comes; I fairly step aside,     And hearken, if I may her business hear.     [The Lady enters.]     Lady.     This way the noise was, if mine ear be true,     My best guide now. Methought it was the sound     Of riot and ill-managed merriment,     Such as the jocund flute or gamesome pipe     Stirs up among the loose unlettered hinds,     When, for their teeming flocks and granges full,     In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan,     And thank the gods amiss. I should be loth     To meet the rudeness and swilled insolence     Of such late wassailers; yet, oh! where else     Shall I inform my unacquainted feet     In the blind mazes of this tangled wood?     My brothers, when they saw me wearied out     With this long way, resolving here to lodge     Under the spreading favour of these pines,     Stepped, as they said, to the next thicket-side     To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit     As the kind hospitable woods provide.     They left me then when the grey-hooded Even,     Like a sad votarist in palmers weed,     Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus wain.     But where they are, and why they came not back,     Is now the labour of my thoughts. Tis likeliest     They had engaged their wandering steps too far;     And envious darkness, ere they could return,     Had stole them from me. Else, O thievish Night,     Why shouldst thou, but for some felonious end,     In thy dark lantern thus close up the stars     That Nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps     With everlasting oil to give due light     To the misled and lonely traveller?     This is the place, as well as I may guess,     Whence even now the tumult of loud mirth     Was rife, and perfect in my listening ear;     Yet nought but single darkness do I find.     What might this be ? A thousand fantasies     Begin to throng into my memory,     Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire,     And airy tongues that syllable mens names     On sands and shores and desert wildernesses.     These thoughts may startle well, but not astound     The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended     By a strong siding champion, Conscience.     O, welcome, pure-eyed Faith, white-handed Hope,     Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings,     And thou unblemished form of Chastity!     I see ye visibly, and now believe     That He, the Supreme Good, to whom all things ill     Are but as slavish officers of vengeance,     Would send a glistering guardian, if need were,     To keep my life and honour unassailed. . . .     Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud     Turn forth her silver lining on the night?     I did not err: there does a sable cloud     Turn forth her silver lining on the night,     And casts a gleam over this tufted grove.     I cannot hallo to my brothers, but     Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest     Ill venture; for my new-enlivened spirits     Prompt me, and they perhaps are not far off.     SONG.     Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that livst unseen     Within thy airy shell     By slow Meanders margent green,     And in the violet-embroidered vale     Where the love-lorn nightingale     Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well:     Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair     That likest thy Narcissus are?     O, if thou have     Hid them in some flowery cave,     Tell me but where,     Sweet Queen of Parley, Daughter of the Sphere!     So mayst thou be translated to the skies,     And give resounding grace to all Heavens harmonies!     Comus.     Can any mortal mixture of earths mould     Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment?     Sure something holy lodges in that breast,     And with these raptures moves the vocal air     To testify his hidden residence.     How sweetly did they float upon the wings     Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night,     At every fall smoothing the raven down     Of darkness till it smiled! I have oft heard     My mother Circe with the Sirens three,     Amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades,     Culling their potent herbs and baleful drugs,     Who, as they sung, would take the prisoned soul,     And lap it in Elysium: Scylla wept,     And chid her barking waves into attention,     And fell Charybdis murmured soft applause.     Yet they in pleasing slumber lulled the sense,     And in sweet madness robbed it of itself;     But such a sacred and home-felt delight,     Such sober certainty of waking bliss,     I never heard till now. Ill speak to her,     And she shall be my queen. Hail, foreign wonder!     Whom certain these rough shades did never breed,     Unless the goddess that in rural shrine     Dwellst here with Pan or Sylvan, by blest song     Forbidding every bleak unkindly fog     To touch the prosperous growth of this tall wood.     Lady.     Nay, gentle shepherd, ill is lost that praise     That is addressed to unattending ears.     Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift     How to regain my severed company,     Compelled me to awake the courteous Echo     To give me answer from her mossy couch.     Comus.     What chance, good lady, hath bereft you thus?     Lady.     Dim darkness and this leafy labyrinth.     Comus.     Could that divide you from near-ushering guides?     Lady.     They left me weary on a grassy turf.     Comus.     By falsehood, or discourtesy, or why?     Lady.     To seek i the valley some cool friendly spring.     Comus.     And left your fair side all unguarded, Lady?     Lady.     They were but twain, and purposed quick return.     Comus.     Perhaps forestalling night prevented them.     Lady.     How easy my misfortune is to hit!     Comus.     Imports their loss, beside the present need?     Lady.     No less than if I should my brothers lose.     Comus.     Were they of manly prime, or youthful bloom?     Lady.     As smooth as Hebes their unrazored lips.     Comus.     Two such I saw, what time the laboured ox     In his loose traces from the furrow came,     And the swinked hedger at his supper sat.     I saw them under a green mantling vine,     That crawls along the side of yon small hill,     Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots;     Their port was more than human, as they stood.     I took it for a faery vision     Of some gay creatures of the element,     That in the colours of the rainbow live,     And play i the plighted clouds. I was awe-strook,     And, as I passed, I worshiped. If those you seek,     It were a journey like the path to Heaven     To help you find them.     Lady.     Gentle villager,     What readiest way would bring me to that place?     Comus.     Due west it rises from this shrubby point.     Lady.     To find out that, good shepherd, I suppose,     In such a scant allowance of star-light,     Would overtask the best land-pilots art,     Without the sure guess of well-practised feet.     Comus.     I know each lane, and every alley green,     Dingle, or bushy dell, of this wild wood,     And every bosky bourn from side to side,     My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood;     And, if your stray attendance be yet lodged,     Or shroud within these limits, I shall know     Ere morrow wake, or the low-roosted lark     From her thatched pallet rouse. If otherwise,     I can conduct you, Lady, to a low     But loyal cottage, where you may be safe     Till further quest.     Lady.     Shepherd, I take thy word,     And trust thy honest-offered courtesy,     Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds,     With smoky rafters, than in tapestry halls     And courts of princes, where it first was named,     And yet is most pretended. In a place     Less warranted than this, or less secure,     I cannot be, that I should fear to change it.     Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial     To my proportioned strength! Shepherd, lead on.     [The Two Brothers.]     Eld. Bro.     Unmuffle, ye faint stars; and thou, fair moon,     That wontst to love the travellers benison,     Stoop thy pale visage through an amber cloud,     And disinherit Chaos, that reigns here     In double night of darkness and of shades;     Or, if your influence be quite dammed up     With black usurping mists, some gentle taper,     Though a rush-candle from the wicker hole     Of some clay habitation, visit us     With thy long levelled rule of streaming light,     And thou shalt be our star of Arcady,     Or Tyrian Cynosure.     Sec. Bro.     Or, if our eyes     Be barred that happiness, might we but hear     The folded flocks, penned in their wattled cotes,     Or sound of pastoral reed with oaten stops,     Or whistle from the lodge, or village cock     Count the night-watches to his feathery dames,     Twould be some solace yet, some little cheering,     In this close dungeon of innumerous boughs.     But, oh, that hapless virgin, our lost sister!     Where may she wander now, whither betake her     From the chill dew, amongst rude burs and thistles     Perhaps some cold bank is her bolster now,     Or gainst the rugged bark of some broad elm     Leans her unpillowed head, fraught with sad fears.     What if in wild amazement and affright,     Or, while we speak, within the direful grasp     Of savage hunger, or of savage heat!     Eld. Bro.     Peace, brother: be not over-exquisite     To cast the fashion of uncertain evils;     For, grant they be so, while they rest unknown,     What need a man forestall his date of grief,     And run to meet what he would most avoid?     Or, if they be but false alarms of fear,     How bitter is such self-delusion!     I do not think my sister so to seek,     Or so unprincipled in virtues book,     And the sweet peace that goodness bosoms ever,     As that the single want of light and noise     (Not being in danger, as I trust she is not)     Could stir the constant mood of her calm thoughts,     And put them into misbecoming plight.     Virtue could see to do what Virtue would     By her own radiant light, though sun and moon     Were in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdoms self     Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude,     Where, with her best nurse, Contemplation,     She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings,     That, in the various bustle of resort,     Were all to-ruffled, and sometimes impaired.     He that has light within his own clear breast     May sit i the centre, and enjoy bright day:     But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts     Benighted walks under the mid-day sun;     Himself is his own dungeon.     Sec. Bro.     Tis most true     That musing meditation most affects     The pensive secrecy of desert cell,     Far from the cheerful haunt of men and herds,     And sits as safe as in a senate house     For who would rob a hermit of his weeds,     His few books, or his beads, or maple dish,     Or do his grey hairs any violence?     But Beauty, like the fair Hesperian tree     Laden with blooming gold, had need the guard     Of dragon-watch with unenchanted eye     To save her blossoms, and defend her fruit,     From the rash hand of bold Incontinence.     You may as well spread out the unsunned heaps     Of misers treasure by an outlaws den,     And tell me it is safe, as bid me hope     Danger will wink on Opportunity,     And let a single helpless maiden pass     Uninjured in this wild surrounding waste.     Of night or loneliness it recks me not;     I fear the dread events that dog them both,     Lest some ill-greeting touch attempt the person     Of our unowned sister.     Eld. Bro.     I do not, brother,     Infer as if I thought my sisters state     Secure without all doubt or controversy;     Yet, where an equal poise of hope and fear     Does arbitrate the event, my nature is     That I incline to hope rather than fear,     And gladly banish squint suspicion.     My sister is not so defenceless left     As you imagine; she has a hidden strength,     Which you remember not.     Sec. Bro..     What hidden strength,     Unless the strength of Heaven, if you mean that?     Eld. Bro.     I mean that too, but yet a hidden strength,     Which, if Heaven gave it, may be termed her own.     Tis chastity, my brother, chastity:     She that has that is clad in complete steel,     And, like a quivered nymph with arrows keen,     May trace huge forests, and unharboured heaths,     Infamous hills, and sandy perilous wilds;     Where, through the sacred rays of chastity,     No savage fierce, bandite, or mountaineer,     Will dare to soil her virgin purity.     Yea, there where very desolation dwells,     By grots and caverns shagged with horrid shades,     She may pass on with unblenched majesty,     Be it not done in pride, or in presumption.     Some say no evil thing that walks by night,     In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen,     Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost,     That breaks his magic chains at curfew time,     No goblin or swart faery of the mine,     Hath hurtful power oer true virginity.     Do ye believe me yet, or shall I call     Antiquity from the old schools of Greece     To testify the arms of chastity?     Hence had the huntress Dian her dread bow     Fair silver-shafted queen for ever chaste,     Wherewith she tamed the brinded lioness     And spotted mountain-pard, but set at nought     The frivolous bolt of Cupid; gods and men     Feared her stern frown, and she was queen o the woods.     What was that snaky-headed Gorgon shield     That wise Minerva wore, unconquered virgin,     Wherewith she freezed her foes to congealed stone,     But rigid looks of chaste austerity,     And noble grace that dashed brute violence     With sudden adoration and blank awe?     So dear to Heaven is saintly chastity     That, when a soul is found sincerely so,     A thousand liveried angels lackey her,     Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt,     And in clear dream and solemn vision     Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear;     Till oft converse with heavenly habitants     Begin to cast a beam on the outward shape,     The unpolluted temple of the mind,     And turns it by degrees to the souls essence,     Till all be made immortal. But, when lust,     By unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk,     But most by lewd and lavish act of sin,     Lets ill defilement to the inward parts,     The soul grows clotted by contagion,     Imbodies, and imbrutes, till she quite loose     The divine property of her first being.     Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp     Oft seen in charnel-vaults and sepulchres,     Lingering and sitting by a new-made grave,     As loth to leave the body that it loved,     And linked itself by carnal sensualty     To a degenerate and degraded state.     Sec. Bro. How charming is divine Philosophy!     Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose,     But musical as is Apollos lute,     And a perpetual feast of nectared sweets,     Where no crude surfeit reigns.     Eld. Bro.     List! list! I hear     Some far-off hallo break the silent air.     Sec. Bro.     Methought so too; what should it be?     Eld. Bro.     For certain.     Either some one, like us, night-foundered here,     Or else some neighbour woodman, or, at worst,     Some roving robber calling to his fellows.     Sec. Bro.     Heaven keep my sister! Again, again, and near!     Best draw, and stand upon our guard.     Eld. Bro.     Ill hallo!     If he be friendly, he comes well: if not,     Defence is a good cause, and Heaven be for us!     [The Attendant Spirit, habited like a shepherd.]     That hallo I should know. What are you? speak.     Come not too near; you fall on iron stakes else.     Spir.     What voice is that? my young Lord? speak again.     Sec. Bro.     O brother, t is my fathers Shepherd, sure.     Eld. Bro.     Thyrsis! whose artful strains have of delayed     The huddling brook to hear his madrigal,     And sweetened every musk-rose of the dale.     How camest thou here, good swain? Hath any ram     Slipped from the fold, or young kid lost his dam,     Or straggling wether the pent flock forsook?     How couldst thou find this dark sequestered nook?     Spir.     O my loved masters heir, and his next joy,     I came not here on such a trivial toy     As a strayed ewe, or to pursue the stealth     Of pilfering wolf; not all the fleecy wealth     That doth enrich these downs is worth a thought     To this my errand, and the care it brought.     But, oh ! my virgin Lady, where is she?     How chance she is not in your company?     Eld. Bro.     To tell thee sadly, Shepherd, without blame     Or our neglect, we lost her as we came.     Spir.     Ay me unhappy! then my fears are true.     Eld. Bro.     What fears, good Thyrsis? Prithee briefly shew.     Spir.     Ill tell ye. T is not vain or fabulous     (Though so esteemed by shallow igrlorance)     What the sage poets, taught by the heavenly Muse,     Storied of old in high immortal verse     Of dire Chimeras and enchanted isles,     And rifted rocks whose entrance leads to Hell;     For such there be, but unbelief is blind.     Within the navel of this hideous wood,     Immured in cypress shades, a sorcerer dwells,     Of Bacchus and of Circe born, great Comus,     Deep skilled in all his mothers witcheries,     And here to every thirsty wanderer     By sly enticement gives his baneful cup,     With many murmurs mixed, whose pleasing poison     The visage quite transforms of him that drinks,     And the inglorious likeness of a beast     Fixes instead, unmoulding reasons mintage     Charactered in the face. This have I learnt     Tending my flocks hard by i the hilly crofts     That brow this bottom glade; whence night by night     He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl     Like stabled wolves, or tigers at their prey,     Doing abhorred rites to Hecate     In their obscured haunts of inmost bowers.     Yet have they many baits and guileful spells     To inveigle and invite the unwary sense     Of them that pass unweeting by the way.     This evening late, by then the chewing flocks     Had taen their supper on the savoury herb     Of knot-grass dew-besprent, and were in fold,     I sat me down to watch upon a bank     With ivy canopied, and interwove     With flaunting honeysuckle, and began,     Wrapt in a pleasing fit of melancholy,     To meditate my rural minstrelsy,     Till fancy had her fill. But ere a close     The wonted roar was up amidst the woods,     And filled the air with barbarous dissonance;     At which I ceased, and listened them awhile,     Till an unusual stop of sudden silence     Gave respite to the drowsy-flighted steeds     That draw the litter of close-curtained Sleep.     At last a soft and solemn-breathing sound     Rose like a steam of rich distilled perfumes,     And stole upon the air, that even Silence     Was took ere she was ware, and wished she might     Deny her nature, and be never more,     Still to be so displaced. I was all ear,     And took in strains that might create a soul     Under the ribs of Death. But, oh! ere long     Too well I did perceive it was the voice     Of my most honoured Lady, your dear sister.     Amazed I stood, harrowed with grief and fear;     And O poor hapless nightingale, thought I,     How sweet thou singst, how near the deadly snare!     Then down the lawns I ran with headlong haste,     Through paths and turnings often trod by day,     Till, guided by mine ear, I found the place     Where that damned wizard, hid in sly disguise     (For so by certain signs I knew), had met     Already, ere my best speed could prevent,     The aidless innocent lady, his wished prey;     Who gently asked if he had seen such two,     Supposing him some neighbour villager.     Longer I durst not stay, but soon I guessed     Ye were the two she meant; with that I sprung     Into swift flight, till I had found you here;     But further know I not.     Sec. Bro.     O night and shades,     How are ye joined with hell in triple knot     Against the unarmed weakness of one virgin,     Alone and helpless! Is this the confidence     You gave me, brother?     Eld. Bro.     Yes, and keep it still;     Lean on it safely; not a period     Shall be unsaid for me. Against the threats     Of malice or of sorcery, or that power     Which erring men call Chance, this I hold firm:     Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt,     Surprised by unjust force, but not enthralled;     Yea, even that which Mischief meant most harm     Shall in the happy trial prove most glory.     But evil on itself shall back recoil,     And mix no more with goodness, when at last,     Gathered like scum, and settled to itself,     It shall be in eternal restless change     Self-fed and self-consumed. If this fail,     The pillared firmament is rottenness,     And earths base built on stubble. But come, lets on!     Against the opposing will and arm of heaven     May never this just sword be lifted up;     But, for that damned magician, let him be girt     With all the griesly legions that troop     Under the sooty flag of Acheron,     Harpies and Hydras, or all the monstrous forms     Twixt Africa and Ind, Ill find him out,     And force him to return his purchase back,     Or drag him by the curls to a foul death,     Cursed as his life.     Spir.     Alas! good venturous youth,     I love thy courage yet, and bold emprise;     But here thy sword can do thee little stead.     Far other arms and other weapons must     Be those that quell the might of hellish charms.     He with his bare wand can unthread thy joints,     And crumble all thy sinews.     Eld. Bro.     Why, prithee, Shepherd,     How durst thou then thyself approach so near     As to make this relation?     Spir.     Care and utmost shifts     How to secure the Lady from surprisal     Brought to my mind a certain shepherd lad,     Of small regard to see to, yet well skilled     In every virtuous plant and healing herb     That spreads her verdant leaf to the morning ray.     He loved me well, and oft would beg me sing;     Which when I did, he on the tender grass     Would sit, and hearken even to ecstasy,     And in requital ope his leathern scrip,     And show me simples of a thousand names,     Telling their strange and vigorous faculties.     Amongst the rest a small unsightly root,     But of divine effect, he culled me out.     The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it,     But in another country, as he said,     Bore a bright golden flower, but not in this soil:     Unknown, and like esteemed, and the dull swain     Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon;     And yet more medcinal is it than that Moly     That Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave.     He called it Haemony, and gave it me,     And bade me keep it as of sovran use     Gainst all enchantments, mildew blast, or damp,     Or ghastly Furies apparition.     I pursed it up, but little reckoning made,     Till now that this extremity compelled.     But now I find it true; for by this means     I knew the foul enchanter, though disguised,     Entered the very lime-twigs of his spells,     And yet came off. If you have this about you     (As I will give you when we go), you may     Boldly assault the necromancers hall;     Where if he be, with dauntless hardihood     And brandished blade rush on him: break his glass,     And shed the luscious liquor on the ground;     But seize his wand. Though he and his curst crew     Fierce sign of battle make, and menace high,     Or, like the sons of Vulcan, vomit smoke,     Yet will they soon retire, if he but shrink.     Eld. Bro.     Thyrsis, lead on apace; Ill follow thee;     And some good angel bear a shield before us!     [The Scene changes to a stately palace, set out with all manner of deliciousness: soft music, tables spread with all dainties. Comus appears with his rabble, and the Lady set in an enchanted chair; to whom he offers his glass; which she puts by, and goes about to rise.]     Comus.     Nay, Lady, sit. If I but wave this wand,     Your nerves are all chained up in alabaster,     And you a statue, or as Daphne was,     Root-bound, that fled Apollo.     Lady.     Fool, do not boast.     Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind     With all thy charms, although this corporal rind     Thou hast immanacled while Heaven sees good.     Comus.     Why are you vexed, Lady? why do you frown?     Here dwell no frowns, nor anger; from these gates     Sorrow flies far. See, here be all the pleasures     That fancy can beget on youthful thoughts,     When the fresh blood grows lively, and returns     Brisk as the April buds in primrose season.     And first behold this cordial julep here,     That flames and dances in his crystal bounds,     With spirits of balm and fragrant syrups mixed.     Not that Nepenthes which the wife of Thone     In Egypt gave to Jove-born Helena     Is of such power to stir up joy as this,     To life so friendly, or so cool to thirst.     Why should you be so cruel to yourself,     And to those dainty limbs, which Nature lent     For gentle usage and soft delicacy?     But you invert the covenants of her trust,     And harshly deal, like an ill borrower,     With that which you received on other terms,     Scorning the unexempt condition     By which all mortal frailty must subsist,     Refreshment after toil, ease after pain,     That have been tired all day without repast,     And timely rest have wanted. But, fair virgin,     This will restore all soon.     Lady.     T will not, false traitor!     T will not restore the truth and honesty     That thou hast banished from thy tongue with lies.     Was this the cottage and the safe abode     Thou toldst me of? What grim aspects are these,     These oughly-headed monsters? Mercy guard me!     Hence with thy brewed enchantments, foul deceiver!     Hast thou betrayed my credulous innocence     With vizored falsehood and base forgery?     And wouldst thou seek again to trap me here     With liquorish baits, fit to ensnare a brute?     Were it a draught for Juno when she banquets,     I would not taste thy treasonous offer. None     But such as are good men can give good things;     And that which is not good is not delicious     To a well-governed and wise appetite.     Comus.     O foolishness of men! that lend their ears     To those budge doctors of the Stoic fur,     And fetch their precepts from the Cynic tub,     Praising the lean and sallow Abstinence!     Wherefore did Nature pour her bounties forth     With such a full and unwithdrawing hand,     Covering the earth with odours, fruits, and flocks,     Thronging the seas with spawn innumerable,     But all to please and sate the curious taste?     And set to work millions of spinning worms,     That in their green shops weave the smooth-haired silk,     To deck her sons; and, that no corner might     Be vacant of her plenty, in her own loins     She hutched the all-worshipped ore and precious gems,     To store her children with. If all the world     Should, in a pet of temperance, feed on pulse,     Drink the clear stream, and nothing wear but frieze,     The All-giver would be unthanked, would be unpraised,     Not half his riches known and yet despised;     And we should serve him as a grudging master,     As a penurious niggard of his wealth,     And live like Natures bastards, not her sons,     Who would be quite surcharged with her own weight,     And strangled with her waste fertility:     The earth cumbered, and the winged air darked with plumes,     The herds would over-multitude their lords;     The sea oerfraught would swell, and the unsought diamonds     Would so emblaze the forehead of the deep,     And so bestud with stars, that they below     Would grow inured to light, and come at last     To gaze upon the sun with shameless brows.     List, Lady; be not coy, and be not cozened     With that same vaunted name, Virginity.     Beauty is Natures coin; must not be hoarded,     But must be current; and the good thereof     Consists in mutual and partaken bliss,     Unsavoury in the enjoyment of itself.     If you let slip time, like a neglected rose     It withers on the stalk with languished head.     Beauty is Natures brag, and must be shown     In courts, at feasts, and high solemnities,     Where most may wonder at the workmanship.     It is for homely features to keep home;     They had their name thence: coarse complexions     And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply     The sampler, and to tease the huswifes wool.     What need a vermeil-tinctured lip for that,     Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the morn?     There was another meaning in these gifts;     Think what, and be advised; you are but young yet.     Lady.     I had not thought to have unlocked my lips     In this unhallowed air, but that this juggler     Would think to charm my judgment, as mine eyes,     Obtruding false rules pranked in reasons garb.     I hate when vice can bolt her arguments     And virtue has no tongue to check her pride.     Impostor! do not charge most innocent Nature,     As if she would her children should be riotous     With her abundance. She, good cateress,     Means her provision only to the good,     That live according to her sober laws,     And holy dictate of spare Temperance.     If every just man that now pines with want     Had but a moderate and beseeming share     Of that which lewdly-pampered Luxury     Now heaps upon some few with vast excess,     Natures full blessings would be well dispensed     In unsuperfluous even proportion,     And she no whit encumbered with her store;     And then the Giver would be better thanked,     His praise due paid: for swinish gluttony     Neer looks to Heaven amidst his gorgeous feast,     But with besotted base ingratitude     Crams, and blasphemes his Feeder. Shall I go on     Or have I said enow? To him that dares     Arm his profane tongue with contemptuous words     Against the sun-clad power of chastity     Fain would I something say;yet to what end?     Thou hast nor ear, nor soul, to apprehend     The sublime notion and high mystery     That must be uttered to unfold the sage     And serious doctrine of Virginity;     And thou art worthy that thou shouldst not know     More happiness than this thy present lot.     Enjoy your dear wit, and gay rhetoric,     That hath so well been taught her dazzling fence;     Thou art not fit to hear thyself convinced.     Yet, should I try, the uncontrolled worth     Of this pure cause would kindle my rapt spirits     To such a flame of sacred vehemence     That dumb things would be moved to sympathise,     And the brute Earth would lend her nerves, and shake,     Till all thy magic structures, reared so high,     Were shattered into heaps oer thy false head.     Comus.     She fables not. I feel that I do fear     Her words set off by some superior power;     And, though not mortal, yet a cold shuddering dew     Dips me all oer, as when the wrath of Jove     Speaks thunder and the chains of Erebus     To some of Saturns crew. I must dissemble,     And try her yet more strongly.Come, no more!     This is mere moral babble, and direct     Against the canon laws of our foundation.     I must not suffer this; yet tis but the lees     And settlings of a melancholy blood.     But this will cure all straight; one sip of this     Will bathe the drooping spirits in delight     Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste.     [The Brothers rush in with swords drawn, wrest his glass out of his hand, and break it against the ground: his rout make sign of resistance, but are all driven in. The Attendant Spirit comes in.]     Spir.     What! have you let the false enchanter scape?     O ye mistook; ye should have snatched his wand,     And bound him fast. Without his rod reversed,     And backward mutters of dissevering power,     We cannot free the Lady that sits here     In stony fetters fixed and motionless.     Yet stay: be not disturbed; now I bethink me,     Some other means I have which may be used,     Which once of Meliboeus old I learnt,     The soothest shepherd that eer piped on plains.     There is a gentle Nymph not far from hence,     That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream:     Sabrina is her name: a virgin pure;     Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine,     That had the sceptre from his father Brute.     She, guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuit     Of her enraged stepdame, Guendolen,     Commended her fair innocence to the flood     That stayed her flight with his cross-flowing course.     The water-nymphs, that in the bottom played,     Held up their pearled wrists, and took her in,     Bearing her straight to aged Nereus hall;     Who, piteous of her woes, reared her lank head,     And gave her to his daughters to imbathe     In nectared lavers strewed with asphodil,     And through the porch and inlet of each sense     Dropt in ambrosial oils, till she revived,     And underwent a quick immortal change,     Made Goddess of the river. Still she retains     Her maiden gentleness, and oft at eve     Visits the herds along the twilight meadows,     Helping all urchin blasts, and ill-luck signs     That the shrewd meddling elf delights to make,     Which she with precious vialed liquors heals:     For which the shepherds, at their festivals,     Carol her goodness loud in rustic lays,     And throw sweet garland wreaths into her stream     Of pansies, pinks, and gaudy daffodils.     And, as the old swain said, she can unlock     The clasping charm, and thaw the numbing spell,     If she be right invoked in warbled song;     For maidenhood she loves, and will be swift     To aid a virgin, such as was herself,     In hard-besetting need. This will I try,     And add the power of some adjuring verse.     SONG.     Sabrina fair,     Listen where thou art sitting     Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave,     In twisted braids of lilies knitting     The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair;     Listen for dear honours sake,     Goddess of the silver lake,     Listen and save!     Listen, and appear to us,     In name of great Oceanus.     By the earth-shaking Neptunes mace,     And Tethys grave majestic pace;     By hoary Nereus wrinkled look,     And the Carpathian wizards hook;     By scaly Tritons winding shell,     And old soothsaying Glaucus spell;     By Leucotheas lovely hands,     And her son that rules the strands;     By Thetis tinsel-slippered feet,     And the songs of Sirens sweet;     By dead Parthenopes dear tomb,     And fair Ligeas golden comb,     Wherewith she sits on diamond rocks     Sleeking her soft alluring locks;     By all the Nymphs that nightly dance     Upon thy streams with wily glance;     Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head     From thy coral-paven bed,     And bridle in thy headlong wave,     Till thou our summons answered have.     Listen and save!     [Sabrina rises, attended by water-nymphs, and sings.]     By the rushy-fringed bank,     Where grows the willow and the osier dank,     My sliding chariot stays,     Thick set with agate, and the azurn sheen     Of turkis blue, and emerald green,     That in the channel strays;     Whilst from off the waters fleet     Thus I set my printless feet     Oer the cowslips velvet head,     That bends not as I tread.     Gentle swain, at thy request     I am here!     Spir.     Goddess dear,     We implore thy powerful hand     To undo the charmed band     Of true virgin here distressed     Through the force and through the wile     Of unblessed enchanter vile.     Sabr.     Shepherd, t is my office best     To help ensnared chastity.     Brightest Lady, look on me.     Thus I sprinkle on thy breast     Drops that from my fountain pure     I have kept of precious cure;     Thrice upon thy fingers tip,     Thrice upon thy rubied lip:     Next this marble venomed seat,     Smeared with gums of glutinous heat,     I touch with chaste palms moist and cold.     Now the spell hath lost his hold;     And I must haste ere morning hour     To wait in Amphitrites bower.     [Sabrina descends, and the Lady rises out of her seat.]     Spir.     Virgin, daughter of Locrine,     Sprung of old Anchises line,     May thy brimmed waves for this     Their full tribute never miss     From a thousand petty rills,     That tumble down the snowy hills:     Summer drouth or singed air     Never scorch thy tresses fair,     Nor wet Octobers torrent flood     Thy molten crystal fill with mud;     May thy billows roll ashore     The beryl and the golden ore;     May thy lofty head be crowned     With many a tower and terrace round,     And here and there thy banks Upon     With groves of myrrh and cinnamon.     Come, Lady; while Heaven lends us grace,     Let us fly this cursed place,     Lest the sorcerer us entice     With some other new device.     Not a waste or needless sound     Till we come to holier ground.     I shall be your faithful guide     Through this gloomy covert wide;     And not many furlongs thence     Is your Fathers residence,     Where this night are met in state     Many a friend to gratulate     His wished presence, and beside     All the swains that there abide     With jigs and rural dance resort.     We shall catch them at their sport,     And our sudden coming there     Will double all their mirth and cheer.     Come, let us haste; the stars grow high,     But Night sits monarch yet in the mid sky.     [The Scene changes,presenting Ludlow Town, and the PresidentUs Castle: then come in Country Dancers; after them the Attendant Spirit, with the two Brothers and the Lady.]     SONG.     Spir.     Back, shepherds, back! Enough your play     Till next sun-shine holiday.     Here be, without duck or nod,     Other trippings to be trod     Of lighter toes, and such court guise     As Mercury did first devise     With the mincing Dryades     On the lawns and on the leas.     [The second Song presents them to their Father and Mother.]     Noble Lord and Lady bright,     I have brought ye new delight.     Here behold so goodly grown     Three fair branches of your own.     Heaven hath timely tried their youth,     Their faith, their patience, and their truth,     And sent them here through hard assays     With a crown of deathless praise,     To triumph in victorious dance     Oer sensual folly and intemperance.     The dances ended, the Spirit epiloguizes.     Spir.     To the ocean now I fly,     And those happy climes that lie     Where day never shuts his eye,     Up in the broad fields of the sky.     There I suck the liquid air,     All amidst the gardens fair     Of Hesperus, and his daughters three     That sing about the golden tree.     Along the crisped shades and bowers     Revels the spruce and jocund Spring;     The Graces and the rosy-bosomed Hours     Thither all their bounties bring.     There eternal Summer dwells;     And west winds with musky wing     About the cedarn alleys fling     Nard and cassias balmy smells.     Iris there with humid bow     Waters the odorous banks, that blow     Flowers of more mingled hue     Than her purfled scarf can shew,     And drenches with Elysian dew     (List, mortals, if your ears be true)     Beds of hyacinth and roses,     Where young Adonis oft reposes,     Waxing well of his deep wound,     In slumber soft, and on the ground     Sadly sits the Assyrian queen.     But far above, in spangled sheen,     Celestial Cupid, her famed son, advanced     Holds his dear Psyche, sweet entranced     After her wandering labours long,     Till free consent the gods among     Make her his eternal bride,     And from her fair unspotted side     Two blissful twins are to be born,     Youth and Joy; so Jove hath sworn.     But now my task is smoothly done:     I can fly, or I can run,     Quickly to the green earths end,     Where the bowed welkin slow doth bend,     And from thence can soar as soon     To the corners of the moon.     Mortals, that would follow me,     Love virtue; she alone is free.     She can teach ye how to climb     Higher than the sphery chime;     Or, if Virtue feeble were,     Heaven itself would stoop to her.     THE END