Lady.This way the noise was, if mine ear be true,My best guide now. Methought it was the soundOf riot and ill-managed merriment,172Such as the jocund flute or gamesome pipeStirs 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 lothTo meet the rudeness and swilled insolenceOf such late wassailers; yet, oh! where elseShall I inform my unacquainted feet180In the blind mazes of this tangled wood?My brothers, when they saw me wearied outWith this long way, resolving here to lodgeUnder the spreading favour of these pines,Stepped, as they said, to the next thicket-sideTo bring me berries, or such cooling fruitAs the kind hospitable woods provide.They left me then when the grey-hooded Even,Like a sad votarist in palmer’s weed,Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phœbus’ wain.190But where they are, and why they came not back,Is now the labour of my thoughts. ’Tis likeliestThey 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 starsThat Nature hung in heaven, and filled their lampsWith everlasting oil to give due lightTo the misled and lonely traveller?200This is the place, as well as I may guess,Whence even now the tumult of loud mirthWas rife, and perfect in my listening ear;Yet nought but single darkness do I find.What might this be? A thousand fantasiesBegin to throng into my memory,Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire,And airy tongues that syllable men’s namesOn sands and shores and desert wildernesses.These thoughts may startle well, but not astound210The virtuous mind, that ever walks attendedBy 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 believeThat He, the Supreme Good, to whom all things illAre but as slavish officers of vengeance,Would send a glistering guardian, if need were,To keep my life and honour unassailed....220Was I deceived, or did a sable cloudTurn forth her silver lining on the night?I did not err: there does a sable cloudTurn forth her silver lining on the night,And casts a gleam over this tufted grove.I cannot hallo to my brothers, butSuch noise as I can make to be heard farthestI’ll venture; for my new-enlivened spiritsPrompt me, and they perhaps are not far off.
Lady.This way the noise was, if mine ear be true,My best guide now. Methought it was the soundOf riot and ill-managed merriment,172Such as the jocund flute or gamesome pipeStirs 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 lothTo meet the rudeness and swilled insolenceOf such late wassailers; yet, oh! where elseShall I inform my unacquainted feet180In the blind mazes of this tangled wood?My brothers, when they saw me wearied outWith this long way, resolving here to lodgeUnder the spreading favour of these pines,Stepped, as they said, to the next thicket-sideTo bring me berries, or such cooling fruitAs the kind hospitable woods provide.They left me then when the grey-hooded Even,Like a sad votarist in palmer’s weed,Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phœbus’ wain.190But where they are, and why they came not back,Is now the labour of my thoughts. ’Tis likeliestThey 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 starsThat Nature hung in heaven, and filled their lampsWith everlasting oil to give due lightTo the misled and lonely traveller?200This is the place, as well as I may guess,Whence even now the tumult of loud mirthWas rife, and perfect in my listening ear;Yet nought but single darkness do I find.What might this be? A thousand fantasiesBegin to throng into my memory,Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire,And airy tongues that syllable men’s namesOn sands and shores and desert wildernesses.These thoughts may startle well, but not astound210The virtuous mind, that ever walks attendedBy 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 believeThat He, the Supreme Good, to whom all things illAre but as slavish officers of vengeance,Would send a glistering guardian, if need were,To keep my life and honour unassailed....220Was I deceived, or did a sable cloudTurn forth her silver lining on the night?I did not err: there does a sable cloudTurn forth her silver lining on the night,And casts a gleam over this tufted grove.I cannot hallo to my brothers, butSuch noise as I can make to be heard farthestI’ll venture; for my new-enlivened spiritsPrompt me, and they perhaps are not far off.
Song.
Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv’st unseen230Within thy airy shellBy slow Meander’s margent green,And in the violet-embroidered valeWhere the love-lorn nightingaleNightly to thee her sad song mourneth well:Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pairThat likest thy Narcissus are?O, if thou haveHid them in some flowery cave,Tell me but where,240Sweet Queen of Parley, Daughter of the Sphere!So may’st thou be translated to the skies,And give resounding grace to all Heaven’s harmonies!
Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv’st unseen230Within thy airy shellBy slow Meander’s margent green,And in the violet-embroidered valeWhere the love-lorn nightingaleNightly to thee her sad song mourneth well:Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pairThat likest thy Narcissus are?O, if thou haveHid them in some flowery cave,Tell me but where,240Sweet Queen of Parley, Daughter of the Sphere!So may’st thou be translated to the skies,And give resounding grace to all Heaven’s harmonies!
Comus.Can any mortal mixture of earth’s mouldBreathe such divine enchanting ravishment?Sure something holy lodges in that breast,And with these raptures moves the vocal airTo testify his hidden residence.How sweetly did they float upon the wingsOf silence, through the empty-vaulted night,250At every fall smoothing the raven downOf darkness till it smiled! I have oft heardMy 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,260And 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. I’ll 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 shrineDwell’st here with Pan or Sylvan by blest songForbidding every bleak unkindly fogTo touch the prosperous growth of this tall wood.270Lady.Nay, gentle shepherd, ill is lost that praiseThat is addressed to unattending ears.Not any boast of skill, but extreme shiftHow to regain my severed company,Compelled me to awake the courteous EchoTo 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.280Comus.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 Hebe’s their unrazored lips.290Comus.Two such I saw, what time the laboured oxIn 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 stoodI took it for a faery visionOf some gay creatures of the element,That in the colours of the rainbow live,300And 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 HeavenTo 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-pilot’s art,Without the sure guess of well-practised feet.310Comus.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 knowEre morrow wake, or the low-roosted larkFrom her thatched pallet rouse. If otherwise,I can conduct you, lady, to a lowBut loyal cottage, where you may be safe320Till 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 hallsAnd courts of princes, where it first was named,And yet is most pretended. In a placeLess warranted than this, or less secure,I cannot be, that I should fear to change it.Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trialTo my proportioned strength! Shepherd, lead on.[Exeunt.
Comus.Can any mortal mixture of earth’s mouldBreathe such divine enchanting ravishment?Sure something holy lodges in that breast,And with these raptures moves the vocal airTo testify his hidden residence.How sweetly did they float upon the wingsOf silence, through the empty-vaulted night,250At every fall smoothing the raven downOf darkness till it smiled! I have oft heardMy 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,260And 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. I’ll 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 shrineDwell’st here with Pan or Sylvan by blest songForbidding every bleak unkindly fogTo touch the prosperous growth of this tall wood.270
Lady.Nay, gentle shepherd, ill is lost that praiseThat is addressed to unattending ears.Not any boast of skill, but extreme shiftHow to regain my severed company,Compelled me to awake the courteous EchoTo 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.280
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 Hebe’s their unrazored lips.290
Comus.Two such I saw, what time the laboured oxIn 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 stoodI took it for a faery visionOf some gay creatures of the element,That in the colours of the rainbow live,300And 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 HeavenTo 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-pilot’s art,Without the sure guess of well-practised feet.310
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 knowEre morrow wake, or the low-roosted larkFrom her thatched pallet rouse. If otherwise,I can conduct you, lady, to a lowBut loyal cottage, where you may be safe320Till 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 hallsAnd courts of princes, where it first was named,And yet is most pretended. In a placeLess warranted than this, or less secure,I cannot be, that I should fear to change it.Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trialTo my proportioned strength! Shepherd, lead on.[Exeunt.
Enter theTwo Brothers.
Elder Brother.Unmuffle, ye faint stars; and thou, fair moon,331That wont’st to love the traveller’s benison,Stoop thy pale visage through an amber cloud,And disinherit Chaos, that reigns hereIn double night of darkness and of shades;Or, if your influence be quite dammed upWith black usurping mists, some gentle taper,Though a rush-candle from the wicker holeOf some clay habitation, visit usWith thy long levelled rule of streaming light,340And thou shalt be our star of Arcady,Or Tyrian Cynosure.Second Brother.Or, if our eyesBe barred that happiness, might we but hearThe folded flocks, penned in their wattled cotes,Or sound of pastoral reed with oaten stops,Or whistle from the lodge, or village cockCount 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!350Where may she wander now, whither betake herFrom the chill dew, amongst rude burs and thistles?Perhaps some cold bank is her bolster now,Or ’gainst the rugged bark of some broad elmLeans her unpillowed head, fraught with sad fears.What if in wild amazement and affright,Or, while we speak, within the direful graspOf savage hunger, or of savage heat!Elder Brother.Peace, brother: be not over-exquisiteTo cast the fashion of uncertain evils;360For, 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 virtue’s 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)370Could stir the constant mood of her calm thoughts,And put them into misbecoming plight.Virtue could see to do what Virtue wouldBy her own radiant light, though sun and moonWere in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdom’s selfOft 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.380He that has light within his own clear breastMay sit i’ the centre, and enjoy bright day:But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughtsBenighted walks under the mid-day sun;Himself is his own dungeon.Second Brother.’Tis most trueThat musing meditation most affectsThe 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,390His few books, or his beads, or maple dish,Or do his grey hairs any violence?But Beauty, like the fair Hesperian treeLaden with blooming gold, had need the guardOf dragon-watch with unenchanted eyeTo save her blossoms, and defend her fruit,From the rash hand of bold Incontinence.You may as well spread out the unsunned heapsOf miser’s treasure by an outlaw’s den,And tell me it is safe, as bid me hope400Danger will wink on Opportunity,And let a single helpless maiden passUninjured 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 personOf our unownéd sister.Elder Brother.I do not, brother,Infer as if I thought my sister’s stateSecure without all doubt or controversy;Yet, where an equal poise of hope and fear410Does arbitrate the event, my nature isThat I incline to hope rather than fear,And gladly banish squint suspicion.My sister is not so defenceless leftAs you imagine; she has a hidden strength,Which you remember not.Second Brother.What hidden strength,Unless the strength of Heaven, if you mean that?Elder Brother.I mean that too, but yet a hidden strength,Which, if Heaven gave it, may be termed her own.’Tis chastity, my brother, chastity:420She that has that is clad in cómplete steel,And, like a quivered nymph with arrows keen,May trace huge forests, and unharboured heaths,Infámous 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,430Be 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 o’er true virginity.Do ye believe me yet, or shall I callAntiquity from the old schools of GreeceTo testify the arms of chastity?440Hence had the huntress Dian her dread bowFair silver-shafted queen for ever chaste,Wherewith she tamed the brinded lionessAnd spotted mountain-pard, but set at noughtThe frivolous bolt of Cupid; gods and menFeared her stern frown, and she was queen o’ the woods.What was that snaky-headed Gorgon shieldThat wise Minerva wore, unconquered virgin,Wherewith she freezed her foes to congealed stone,But rigid looks of chaste austerity,450And noble grace that dashed brute violenceWith sudden adoration and blank awe?So dear to Heaven is saintly chastityThat, 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 visionTell her of things that no gross ear can hear;Till oft converse with heavenly habitantsBegin to cast a beam on the outward shape,460The unpolluted temple of the mind,And turns it by degrees to the soul’s 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 in defilement to the inward parts,The soul grows clotted by contagion,Imbodies, and imbrutes, till she quite looseThe divine property of her first being.Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp470Oft 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 sensualtyTo a degenerate and degraded state.Second Brother.How charming is divine Philosophy!Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose,But musical as is Apollo’s lute,And a perpetual feast of nectared sweets,Where no crude surfeit reigns.Elder Brother.List! list! I hear480Some far-off hallo break the silent air.Second Brother.Methought so too; what should it be?Elder Brother.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.Second Brother.Heaven keep my sister! Again, again, and near!Best draw, and stand upon our guard.Elder Brother.I’ll hallo.If he be friendly, he comes well: if not,Defence is a good cause, and Heaven be for us!
Elder Brother.Unmuffle, ye faint stars; and thou, fair moon,331That wont’st to love the traveller’s benison,Stoop thy pale visage through an amber cloud,And disinherit Chaos, that reigns hereIn double night of darkness and of shades;Or, if your influence be quite dammed upWith black usurping mists, some gentle taper,Though a rush-candle from the wicker holeOf some clay habitation, visit usWith thy long levelled rule of streaming light,340And thou shalt be our star of Arcady,Or Tyrian Cynosure.
Second Brother.Or, if our eyesBe barred that happiness, might we but hearThe folded flocks, penned in their wattled cotes,Or sound of pastoral reed with oaten stops,Or whistle from the lodge, or village cockCount 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!350Where may she wander now, whither betake herFrom the chill dew, amongst rude burs and thistles?Perhaps some cold bank is her bolster now,Or ’gainst the rugged bark of some broad elmLeans her unpillowed head, fraught with sad fears.What if in wild amazement and affright,Or, while we speak, within the direful graspOf savage hunger, or of savage heat!
Elder Brother.Peace, brother: be not over-exquisiteTo cast the fashion of uncertain evils;360For, 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 virtue’s 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)370Could stir the constant mood of her calm thoughts,And put them into misbecoming plight.Virtue could see to do what Virtue wouldBy her own radiant light, though sun and moonWere in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdom’s selfOft 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.380He that has light within his own clear breastMay sit i’ the centre, and enjoy bright day:But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughtsBenighted walks under the mid-day sun;Himself is his own dungeon.
Second Brother.’Tis most trueThat musing meditation most affectsThe 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,390His few books, or his beads, or maple dish,Or do his grey hairs any violence?But Beauty, like the fair Hesperian treeLaden with blooming gold, had need the guardOf dragon-watch with unenchanted eyeTo save her blossoms, and defend her fruit,From the rash hand of bold Incontinence.You may as well spread out the unsunned heapsOf miser’s treasure by an outlaw’s den,And tell me it is safe, as bid me hope400Danger will wink on Opportunity,And let a single helpless maiden passUninjured 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 personOf our unownéd sister.
Elder Brother.I do not, brother,Infer as if I thought my sister’s stateSecure without all doubt or controversy;Yet, where an equal poise of hope and fear410Does arbitrate the event, my nature isThat I incline to hope rather than fear,And gladly banish squint suspicion.My sister is not so defenceless leftAs you imagine; she has a hidden strength,Which you remember not.
Second Brother.What hidden strength,Unless the strength of Heaven, if you mean that?
Elder Brother.I mean that too, but yet a hidden strength,Which, if Heaven gave it, may be termed her own.’Tis chastity, my brother, chastity:420She that has that is clad in cómplete steel,And, like a quivered nymph with arrows keen,May trace huge forests, and unharboured heaths,Infámous 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,430Be 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 o’er true virginity.Do ye believe me yet, or shall I callAntiquity from the old schools of GreeceTo testify the arms of chastity?440Hence had the huntress Dian her dread bowFair silver-shafted queen for ever chaste,Wherewith she tamed the brinded lionessAnd spotted mountain-pard, but set at noughtThe frivolous bolt of Cupid; gods and menFeared her stern frown, and she was queen o’ the woods.What was that snaky-headed Gorgon shieldThat wise Minerva wore, unconquered virgin,Wherewith she freezed her foes to congealed stone,But rigid looks of chaste austerity,450And noble grace that dashed brute violenceWith sudden adoration and blank awe?So dear to Heaven is saintly chastityThat, 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 visionTell her of things that no gross ear can hear;Till oft converse with heavenly habitantsBegin to cast a beam on the outward shape,460The unpolluted temple of the mind,And turns it by degrees to the soul’s 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 in defilement to the inward parts,The soul grows clotted by contagion,Imbodies, and imbrutes, till she quite looseThe divine property of her first being.Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp470Oft 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 sensualtyTo a degenerate and degraded state.
Second Brother.How charming is divine Philosophy!Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose,But musical as is Apollo’s lute,And a perpetual feast of nectared sweets,Where no crude surfeit reigns.
Elder Brother.List! list! I hear480Some far-off hallo break the silent air.
Second Brother.Methought so too; what should it be?
Elder Brother.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.
Second Brother.Heaven keep my sister! Again, again, and near!Best draw, and stand upon our guard.
Elder Brother.I’ll hallo.If he be friendly, he comes well: if not,Defence is a good cause, and Heaven be for us!
Enter theAttendant Spirit, habited like a shepherd.
That hallo I should know. What are you? speak.490Come not too near; you fall on iron stakes else.Spirit.What voice is that? my young Lord? speak again.Second Brother.O brother, ’tis my father’s shepherd, sure.Elder Brother.Thyrsis! whose artful strains have oft delayedThe huddling brook to hear his madrigal,And sweetened every musk-rose of the dale.How camest thou here, good swain? Hath any ramSlipped from the fold, or young kid lost his dam,Or straggling wether the pent flock forsook?How couldst thou find this dark sequestered nook?500Spirit.O my loved master’s heir, and his next joy,I came not here on such a trivial toyAs a strayed ewe, or to pursue the stealthOf pilfering wolf; not all the fleecy wealthThat doth enrich these downs is worth a thoughtTo this my errand, and the care it brought,But, oh! my virgin Lady, where is she?How chance she is not in your company?Elder Brother.To tell thee sadly, Shepherd, without blameOr our neglect, we lost her as we came.510Spirit.Ay me unhappy! then my fears are true.Elder Brother.What fears, good Thyrsis? Prithee briefly shew.Spirit.I’ll tell ye. ’Tis not vain or fabulous(Though so esteemed by shallow ignorance)What the sage poets, taught by the heavenly Muse,Storied of old in high immortal verseOf 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,520Immured in cypress shades, a sorcerer dwells,Of Bacchus and of Circe born, great Comus,Deep skilled in all his mother’s witcheries,And here to every thirsty wandererBy sly enticement gives his baneful cup,With many murmurs mixed, whose pleasing poisonThe visage quite transforms of him that drinks,And the inglorious likeness of a beastFixes instead, unmoulding reason’s mintageCharáctered in the face. This have I learnt530Tending my flocks hard by i’ the hilly croftsThat brow this bottom glade; whence night by nightHe and his monstrous rout are heard to howlLike stabled wolves, or tigers at their prey,Doing abhorred rites to HecateIn their obscuréd haunts of inmost bowers.Yet have they many baits and guileful spellsTo inveigle and invite the unwary senseOf them that pass unweeting by the way.This evening late, by then the chewing flocks540Had ta’en their supper on the savoury herbOf knot-grass dew-besprent, and were in fold,I sat me down to watch upon a bankWith ivy canopied, and interwoveWith flaunting honeysuckle, and began,Wrapt in a pleasing fit of melancholy,To meditate my rural minstrelsy,Till fancy had her fill. But ere a closeThe wonted roar was up amidst the woods,And filled the air with barbarous dissonance;550At which I ceased, and listened them awhile,Till an unusual stop of sudden silenceGave respite to the drowsy frighted steedsThat draw the litter of close-curtained Sleep.At last a soft and solemn-breathing soundRose like a steam of rich distilled perfumes,And stole upon the air, that even SilenceWas took ere she was ware, and wished she mightDeny her nature, and be never more,Still to be so displaced. I was all ear,560And took in strains that might create a soulUnder the ribs of Death. But, oh! ere longToo well I did perceive it was the voiceOf 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 sing’st, 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 place570Where that damned wizard, hid in sly disguise(For so by certain signs I knew), had metAlready, 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 guessedYe were the two she meant; with that I sprungInto swift flight, till I had found you here;But further know I not.Second Brother.O night and shades,580How are ye joined with hell in triple knotAgainst the unarmed weakness of one virgin,Alone and helpless! Is this the confidenceYou gave me, brother?Elder Brother.Yes, and keep it still;Lean on it safely; not a periodShall be unsaid for me. Against the threatsOf malice or of sorcery, or that powerWhich erring men call Chance, this I hold firm:Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt,Surprised by unjust force, but not enthralled;590Yea, even that which Mischief meant most harmShall 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 changeSelf-fed and self-consumed. If this fail,The pillared firmament is rottenness,And earth’s base built on stubble. But come, let’s on!Against the opposing will and arm of Heaven600May never this just sword be lifted up;But, for that damned magician, let him be girtWith all the grisly legions that troopUnder the sooty flag of Acheron,Harpies and Hydras, or all the monstrous forms’Twixt Africa and Ind, I’ll 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.Spirit.Alas! good venturous youth,I love thy courage yet, and bold emprise;610But here thy sword can do thee little stead.Far other arms and other weapons mustBe those that quell the might of hellish charms.He with his bare wand can unthread thy joints,And crumble all thy sinews.Elder Brother.Why, prithee, Shepherd,How durst thou then thyself approach so nearAs to make this relation?Spirit.Care and utmost shiftsHow to secure the Lady from surprisalBrought to my mind a certain shepherd lad,Of small regard to see to, yet well skilled620In every virtuous plant and healing herbThat 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 grassWould 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.630The 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 swainTreads on it daily with his clouted shoon;And yet more med’cinal is it than that MolyThat Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave.He called it Hæmony, and gave it me,And bade me keep it as of sovran use’Gainst all enchantments, mildew blast, or damp,640Or 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 meansI 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 mayBoldly assault the necromancer’s hall;Where if he be, with dauntless hardihood650And 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 crewFierce sign of battle make, and menace high,Or, like the sons of Vulcan, vomit smoke,Yet will they soon retire, if he but shrink.Elder Brother.Thyrsis, lead on apace; I’ll follow thee;And some good angel bear a shield before us!
That hallo I should know. What are you? speak.490Come not too near; you fall on iron stakes else.
Spirit.What voice is that? my young Lord? speak again.
Second Brother.O brother, ’tis my father’s shepherd, sure.
Elder Brother.Thyrsis! whose artful strains have oft delayedThe huddling brook to hear his madrigal,And sweetened every musk-rose of the dale.How camest thou here, good swain? Hath any ramSlipped from the fold, or young kid lost his dam,Or straggling wether the pent flock forsook?How couldst thou find this dark sequestered nook?500
Spirit.O my loved master’s heir, and his next joy,I came not here on such a trivial toyAs a strayed ewe, or to pursue the stealthOf pilfering wolf; not all the fleecy wealthThat doth enrich these downs is worth a thoughtTo this my errand, and the care it brought,But, oh! my virgin Lady, where is she?How chance she is not in your company?
Elder Brother.To tell thee sadly, Shepherd, without blameOr our neglect, we lost her as we came.510
Spirit.Ay me unhappy! then my fears are true.
Elder Brother.What fears, good Thyrsis? Prithee briefly shew.
Spirit.I’ll tell ye. ’Tis not vain or fabulous(Though so esteemed by shallow ignorance)What the sage poets, taught by the heavenly Muse,Storied of old in high immortal verseOf 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,520Immured in cypress shades, a sorcerer dwells,Of Bacchus and of Circe born, great Comus,Deep skilled in all his mother’s witcheries,And here to every thirsty wandererBy sly enticement gives his baneful cup,With many murmurs mixed, whose pleasing poisonThe visage quite transforms of him that drinks,And the inglorious likeness of a beastFixes instead, unmoulding reason’s mintageCharáctered in the face. This have I learnt530Tending my flocks hard by i’ the hilly croftsThat brow this bottom glade; whence night by nightHe and his monstrous rout are heard to howlLike stabled wolves, or tigers at their prey,Doing abhorred rites to HecateIn their obscuréd haunts of inmost bowers.Yet have they many baits and guileful spellsTo inveigle and invite the unwary senseOf them that pass unweeting by the way.This evening late, by then the chewing flocks540Had ta’en their supper on the savoury herbOf knot-grass dew-besprent, and were in fold,I sat me down to watch upon a bankWith ivy canopied, and interwoveWith flaunting honeysuckle, and began,Wrapt in a pleasing fit of melancholy,To meditate my rural minstrelsy,Till fancy had her fill. But ere a closeThe wonted roar was up amidst the woods,And filled the air with barbarous dissonance;550At which I ceased, and listened them awhile,Till an unusual stop of sudden silenceGave respite to the drowsy frighted steedsThat draw the litter of close-curtained Sleep.At last a soft and solemn-breathing soundRose like a steam of rich distilled perfumes,And stole upon the air, that even SilenceWas took ere she was ware, and wished she mightDeny her nature, and be never more,Still to be so displaced. I was all ear,560And took in strains that might create a soulUnder the ribs of Death. But, oh! ere longToo well I did perceive it was the voiceOf 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 sing’st, 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 place570Where that damned wizard, hid in sly disguise(For so by certain signs I knew), had metAlready, 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 guessedYe were the two she meant; with that I sprungInto swift flight, till I had found you here;But further know I not.
Second Brother.O night and shades,580How are ye joined with hell in triple knotAgainst the unarmed weakness of one virgin,Alone and helpless! Is this the confidenceYou gave me, brother?
Elder Brother.Yes, and keep it still;Lean on it safely; not a periodShall be unsaid for me. Against the threatsOf malice or of sorcery, or that powerWhich erring men call Chance, this I hold firm:Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt,Surprised by unjust force, but not enthralled;590Yea, even that which Mischief meant most harmShall 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 changeSelf-fed and self-consumed. If this fail,The pillared firmament is rottenness,And earth’s base built on stubble. But come, let’s on!Against the opposing will and arm of Heaven600May never this just sword be lifted up;But, for that damned magician, let him be girtWith all the grisly legions that troopUnder the sooty flag of Acheron,Harpies and Hydras, or all the monstrous forms’Twixt Africa and Ind, I’ll 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.
Spirit.Alas! good venturous youth,I love thy courage yet, and bold emprise;610But here thy sword can do thee little stead.Far other arms and other weapons mustBe those that quell the might of hellish charms.He with his bare wand can unthread thy joints,And crumble all thy sinews.
Elder Brother.Why, prithee, Shepherd,How durst thou then thyself approach so nearAs to make this relation?
Spirit.Care and utmost shiftsHow to secure the Lady from surprisalBrought to my mind a certain shepherd lad,Of small regard to see to, yet well skilled620In every virtuous plant and healing herbThat 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 grassWould 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.630The 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 swainTreads on it daily with his clouted shoon;And yet more med’cinal is it than that MolyThat Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave.He called it Hæmony, and gave it me,And bade me keep it as of sovran use’Gainst all enchantments, mildew blast, or damp,640Or 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 meansI 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 mayBoldly assault the necromancer’s hall;Where if he be, with dauntless hardihood650And 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 crewFierce sign of battle make, and menace high,Or, like the sons of Vulcan, vomit smoke,Yet will they soon retire, if he but shrink.
Elder Brother.Thyrsis, lead on apace; I’ll 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.Comusappears with his rabble, and theLadyset 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,660And 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 mindWith all thy charms, although this corporal rindThou hast immanacled while Heaven sees good.Comus.Why are you vexed, lady? why do you frown?Here dwell no frowns, nor anger; from these gatesSorrow flies far. See, here be all the pleasuresThat fancy can beget on youthful thoughts,When the fresh blood grows lively, and returns670Brisk 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 ThoneIn Egypt gave to Jove-born HelenaIs 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 lent680For 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 conditionBy 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.’Twill not, false traitor!690’Twill not restore the truth and honestyThat thou hast banished from thy tongue with lies.Was this the cottage and the safe abodeThou told’st 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 innocenceWith vizored falsehood and base forgery?And would’st thou seek again to trap me hereWith liquorish baits, fit to ensnare a brute?700Were it a draught for Juno when she banquets,I would not taste thy treasonous offer. NoneBut such as are good men can give good things;And that which is not good is not deliciousTo a well-governed and wise appetite.Comus.O foolishness of men! that lend their earsTo 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 forth710With 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 mightBe vacant of her plenty, in her own loinsShe hutched the all-worshipped ore and precious gems,To store her children with. If all the world720Should, 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 Nature’s 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,730The herds would over-multitude their lords;The sea o’erfraught would swell, and the unsought diamondsWould so emblaze the forehead of the deep,And so bestud with stars, that they belowWould grow inured to light, and come at lastTo gaze upon the sun with shameless brows.List, lady; be not coy, and be not cozenedWith that same vaunted name, Virginity.Beauty is Nature’s coin; must not be hoarded,But must be current; and the good thereof740Consists in mutual and partaken bliss,Unsavoury in the enjoyment of itself.If you let slip time, like a neglected roseIt withers on the stalk with languished head.Beauty is Nature’s brag, and must be shownIn 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 complexionsAnd cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply750The sampler, and to tease the huswife’s wool.What need of 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 lipsIn this unhallowed air, but that this jugglerWould think to charm my judgment, as mine eyes,Obtruding false rules pranked in reason’s garb.I hate when vice can bolt her arguments760And virtue has no tongue to check her pride.Impostor! do not charge most innocent Nature,As if she would her children should be riotousWith 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 wantHad but a moderate and beseeming shareOf that which lewdly-pampered Luxury770Now heaps upon some few with vast excess,Nature’s full blessings would be well dispensedIn unsuperfluous even proportions,And she no whit encumbered with her store;And then the Giver would be better thanked,His praise due paid: for swinish gluttonyNe’er looks to Heaven amidst his gorgeous feast,But with besotted base ingratitudeCrams, and blasphemes his Feeder. Shall I go on?Or have I said enow? To him that dares780Arm his profane tongue with contemptuous wordsAgainst the sun-clad power of chastityFain would I something say;—yet to what end?Thou hast nor ear, nor soul, to apprehendThe sublime notion and high mysteryThat must be uttered to unfold the sageAnd serious doctrine of Virginity;And thou art worthy that thou shouldst not knowMore happiness than this thy present lot.Enjoy your dear wit, and gay rhetoric,790That hath so well been taught her dazzling fence;Thou art not fit to hear thyself convinced.Yet, should I try, the uncontrollèd worthOf this pure cause would kindle my rapt spiritsTo such a flame of sacred vehemenceThat 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 o’er thy false head.Comus.She fables not. I feel that I do fear800Her words set off by some superior power;And, though not mortal, yet a cold shuddering dewDips me all o’er, as when the wrath of JoveSpeaks thunder and the chains of ErebusTo some of Saturn’s crew. I must dissemble,And try her yet more strongly.—Come, no more!This is mere moral babble, and directAgainst the canon laws of our foundation.I must not suffer this; yet ’tis but the leesAnd settlings of a melancholy blood.810But this will cure all straight; one sip of thisWill bathe the drooping spirits in delightBeyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste.
Comus.Nay, lady, sit. If I but wave this wand,Your nerves are all chained up in alabaster,660And 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 mindWith all thy charms, although this corporal rindThou hast immanacled while Heaven sees good.
Comus.Why are you vexed, lady? why do you frown?Here dwell no frowns, nor anger; from these gatesSorrow flies far. See, here be all the pleasuresThat fancy can beget on youthful thoughts,When the fresh blood grows lively, and returns670Brisk 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 ThoneIn Egypt gave to Jove-born HelenaIs 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 lent680For 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 conditionBy 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.’Twill not, false traitor!690’Twill not restore the truth and honestyThat thou hast banished from thy tongue with lies.Was this the cottage and the safe abodeThou told’st 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 innocenceWith vizored falsehood and base forgery?And would’st thou seek again to trap me hereWith liquorish baits, fit to ensnare a brute?700Were it a draught for Juno when she banquets,I would not taste thy treasonous offer. NoneBut such as are good men can give good things;And that which is not good is not deliciousTo a well-governed and wise appetite.
Comus.O foolishness of men! that lend their earsTo 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 forth710With 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 mightBe vacant of her plenty, in her own loinsShe hutched the all-worshipped ore and precious gems,To store her children with. If all the world720Should, 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 Nature’s 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,730The herds would over-multitude their lords;The sea o’erfraught would swell, and the unsought diamondsWould so emblaze the forehead of the deep,And so bestud with stars, that they belowWould grow inured to light, and come at lastTo gaze upon the sun with shameless brows.List, lady; be not coy, and be not cozenedWith that same vaunted name, Virginity.Beauty is Nature’s coin; must not be hoarded,But must be current; and the good thereof740Consists in mutual and partaken bliss,Unsavoury in the enjoyment of itself.If you let slip time, like a neglected roseIt withers on the stalk with languished head.Beauty is Nature’s brag, and must be shownIn 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 complexionsAnd cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply750The sampler, and to tease the huswife’s wool.What need of 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 lipsIn this unhallowed air, but that this jugglerWould think to charm my judgment, as mine eyes,Obtruding false rules pranked in reason’s garb.I hate when vice can bolt her arguments760And virtue has no tongue to check her pride.Impostor! do not charge most innocent Nature,As if she would her children should be riotousWith 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 wantHad but a moderate and beseeming shareOf that which lewdly-pampered Luxury770Now heaps upon some few with vast excess,Nature’s full blessings would be well dispensedIn unsuperfluous even proportions,And she no whit encumbered with her store;And then the Giver would be better thanked,His praise due paid: for swinish gluttonyNe’er looks to Heaven amidst his gorgeous feast,But with besotted base ingratitudeCrams, and blasphemes his Feeder. Shall I go on?Or have I said enow? To him that dares780Arm his profane tongue with contemptuous wordsAgainst the sun-clad power of chastityFain would I something say;—yet to what end?Thou hast nor ear, nor soul, to apprehendThe sublime notion and high mysteryThat must be uttered to unfold the sageAnd serious doctrine of Virginity;And thou art worthy that thou shouldst not knowMore happiness than this thy present lot.Enjoy your dear wit, and gay rhetoric,790That hath so well been taught her dazzling fence;Thou art not fit to hear thyself convinced.Yet, should I try, the uncontrollèd worthOf this pure cause would kindle my rapt spiritsTo such a flame of sacred vehemenceThat 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 o’er thy false head.
Comus.She fables not. I feel that I do fear800Her words set off by some superior power;And, though not mortal, yet a cold shuddering dewDips me all o’er, as when the wrath of JoveSpeaks thunder and the chains of ErebusTo some of Saturn’s crew. I must dissemble,And try her yet more strongly.—Come, no more!This is mere moral babble, and directAgainst the canon laws of our foundation.I must not suffer this; yet ’tis but the leesAnd settlings of a melancholy blood.810
But this will cure all straight; one sip of thisWill bathe the drooping spirits in delightBeyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste.
TheBrothersrush 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. TheAttendant Spiritcomes in.