The first scene discovers a wild wood.
The attendent Spirit descends or enters.
EFORE the ftarry threshold of Jove's court
My manfion is, where thofe immortal shapes
Of bright aereal Spirits live infpher'd
In regions mild of calm and ferene air,
Above the fmoke and stir of this dim spot,
Which men call Earth, and with low thoughted care
Confin'd, and pefter'd in this pin-fold 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 enthron'd Gods on fainted feats.
Yet fome there be that by due fteps aspire
To lay their just hands on that golden key,
That opes the palace of eternity:
To fuch my errand is; and but for fuch,
I would not foil these pure ambrofial weeds
With the rank vapors of this fin-worn mold.
But to my task. Neptune befides the sway
Of every falt flood, and each ebbing stream,
Took in by lot 'twixt high and nether Jove
Imperial rule of all the fea-girt iles,
That like to rich and various gems inlay
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The unadorned bofom of the deep,
Which he to grace his tributary Gods
By courfe commits to several government,
And gives them leave to wear their faphir crowns,
And wield their little tridents: but this Ile,
The greatest and the best of all the main,
He quarters to his blue-hair'd deities;
And all this tract that fronts the falling fun
A noble Peer of mickle truft and power
Has in his charge, with temper'd awe to guide
An old, and haughty nation proud in arms:
Where his fair ofspring nurs'd in princely lore
Are coming to attend their father's ftate,
And new-intrufted fcepter; but their way
Lies through the perplex'd paths of this drear wood,
The nodding horror of whofe fhady brows
Threats the forlorn and wand'ring paffenger;
And here their tender age might fuffer peril,
But that by quick command from sovran Jove
I was dispatch'd for their defense and guard :
And liften why, for I will tell you now
What never yet was heard in tale or fong,
From old or modern bard, in hall or bower.
Bacchus, that fuft from out the purple grape
Crush'd the sweet poison of mis-used wine,
After the Tuscan mariners transform'd,
Coafting the Tyrrhene fhore, as the winds lifted,
On Circe's iland fell: (Who knows not Circe 50
The daughter of the fun? whofe charmed cup
Whoever tafted, loft his upright shape,
And downward fell into a groveling fwine)
This Nymph that gaz'd upon his cluftring locks,
With ivy berries wreath'd, and his blithe youth, 55
Had by him, ere he parted thence, a fon
Much like his father, but his mother more,
Whom therefore the brought up, and Comus nam`d,
Who ripe, and frolic of his full grown age,
Roving the Celtic and Iberian fields,
At laft betakes him to this ominous wood,
And in thick shelter of black fhades imbowr'd
Excels his mother at her mighty art,
Offering to every weary traveller
His orient liquor in a crystal glafs,
Toquench the drouth of Phoebus, which as they taste,
(For most do taste through fond intemp'rate thirst)
Soon as the potion works, their human count'nance,
Th' exprefs refemblance of the Gods, is chang'd
Into fome brutish form of wolf, or bear,
Or ounce, or tiger, hog, or bearded goat,
All other parts remaining as they were;
And they, fo perfect is their mifery,
Not once perceive their foul disfigurement,
But boast themselves more comely than before, 75
And all their friends and native home forget,
To roll with pleasure in a fenfual sty.
Therefore when any favor'd of high Jove
Chances to pass through this adventrous glade,
Swift as the fparkle of a glancing ftar
I shoot from Heav'n, to give him fafe convoy,
As now I do: But first I must put off
These my sky robes fpun out of Iris woof,
And take the weeds and likeness of a swain,
That to the fervice of this house belongs,
Who with his foft pipe, and fmooth-dittied fong,
Well knows to ftill the wild winds when they roar,
And hush the waving woods, nor of less faith,
And in this office of his mountain watch,
Likelieft, and nearest to the present aid
Of this occafion. But I hear the tread
Of hateful steps, I must be viewless now.
Comus enters with a charming rod in one hand, his glafs in the other; with him a rout of monsters, headed like fundry forts of wild beasts, but otherwife like men and women, their apparel gliftering; they come in making a riotous and unruly noife, with torches in their hands.
COMUS. The ftar that bids the fhepherd fold, Now the top of Heav'n doth hold,
And the gilded car of day
His glowing axle doth allay
In the fteep Atlantic stream,
And the flope fun his upward beam
Shoots against the dusky pole,
Pacing toward the other goal
Of his chamber in the east.
Mean while welcome Joy, and Feast,
Midnight Shout, and Revelry,
Tipfy Dance, and Jollity.
Braid your locks with rofy twine,
Dropping odors, dropping wine.
Rigor now is gone to bed,
And Advice with fcrupulous head,
Strict Age, and four Severity
With their grave faws in flumber lie.
We that are of purer fire
Imitate the ftarry quire,
Who in their nightly watchful spheres,
Lead in fwift round the months and years.
The founds and feas, with all their finny drove, Now to the moon in wavering morrice move; 16
And on the tawny fands and shelves
Trip the pert faeries and the dapper elves.
By dimpled brook, and fountain brim,
The Wood-Nymphs deck'd with daisies trim, 120
Their merry wakes and paftimes keep:
What hath night to do with fleep?
Night hath better fweets to prove,
Venus now wakes, and wakens Love.
Come let us our rites begin,
'Tis only day-light that makes fin,
Which thefe dun fhades will ne'er report.
Hail Goddess of nocturnal sport,
Dark-veil'd Cotytto, t'whom the fecret flame
Of inid-night torches burns; myfterious dame, 130
That ne'er art call'd, but when the dragon womb
Of Stygian darkness fpits her thickeft gloom,
And makes one blot of all the air,
Stay thy cloudy ebon chair,
Wherein thou rid'ft with Hecat', and befriend 135. Us thy vow'd priests, till utmost end
Of all thy dues be done, and none left out,
Ere the blabbing eastern scout,
The nice morn on th' Indian steep
From her cabin'd loophole peep,
And to the tell-tale fun defcry
Our conceal'd folemnity.
Come, knit hands, and beat the ground
In a light fantastic round.
The Measure.
Break off, break off, I feel the different pace 145
Of fome chafte footing near about this ground.
Run to your shrouds, within these brakes and trees;
Our number may affright: Some virgin fure
(For fo I can diftinguish by mine art)
Benighted in thefe woods. Now to my charms,
And to my wily trains; I fhall ere long
Be well-ftock'd with as fair a herd as graz'd
About my mother Circe. Thus I hurl
My dazling spells into the fpungy air,
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