Cours Enters with a rout of Men and Women, dressed as Bacchanals.

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;
Meantime welcome joy and feast!

SONG, by a Bacchanal.
Now Phabus sinketh in the west,
Welcome song, and welcome jest,

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 scrup'lous head,
Strict Age, and sour Severity,
With their grave saws to slumber lie.

Comus. We that are of purer fire,
Imitate the starry choir,

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 wav'ring morrice move,
And on the tawny sands and shelves
Trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.

A

SONG, by a Bacchunt.

By dimpled brook, and jointain brim,
The wood-nymphs, deck'd with daisies trim,
Their merry wakes and pastimes keep:
What has night to do with sleep?
Night has better sweets to prove,
Venus now wakes, and wakens love:
Come let us our rites begin!
'Tis only day-light that makes sin.

Comus. Hail, goddess of nocturnal sport—
"Dark-veil'd Cocytto, t'whom the sacred flame
Of midnight torches burns; mysterious dame,
That ne'er art call'd, but when the dragon womb
Of Stygian darkness spits her thickest gloom,
And makes one blot of all the air,"
Stay thy cloudy ebon chair,

Wherein thou rid'st with Hecate; and befriend
Us thy vow'd priests!

Till the nice morn on th' Indian steep
From her cabin loop-holes peep,
And to the tell-tale sun descry
Our conceal'd solemnity.

Within thy airy cell,

By slow Maander' margent green,

And in the violet-embroider'd vale,

Where the love-lorn nightingale

true,

My best guide now; methought it was the sound
Of riot and ill-manag'd mirth. I should be loth
To meet the rudeness, and swill'd insolence
Of such late rioters; yet, O! where else
Shall I inform my unacquainted feet

In the blind mazes of this tangled wood?
Comus. (Aside) I'll ease her of that care, and
be her guide.

Lady. My brothers, when they saw me wearied out,

Stepp'd, as they said, to the next thicket side,
To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit
As the kind hospitable woods provide.

But where they are, and why they come not back,

Is now the labour of my thoughts; 'tis likeliest
They had engag'd their wandering steps too far :
I cannot halloo to my brothers, but
Such noise as I could make to be heard farthest
Prompt me," and they perhaps are not far off.
I have ventured, " for my new enliven'd spirits

Comus. (Aside.) "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, thro' the empty-vaulted night,
At ev'ry fall smoothing the raven down
Of darkness, 'till it smil'd; I have oft heard
My mother Circe, with the Sirens three,
Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul,
And lap it in Elysium: Scylla wept,
And chid her barking waves into attention,
And fell Charybdis murmur'd soft applause;
Yet they in pleasing slumber lull'd the sense,
And sweet in madness robb'd it of itself.
But such a sacred and hoine-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 won-
der,

Whom certain these rough shades did never breed,

Unless the goddess, that in rural shrine

Forbidding ev'ry bleak unkindly fog

To touch the pros'prous 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 sever'd company,
Compell'd 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 ush'ring guides?

Lady. They left me weary on a grassy turf, To seek i'th' valley some cool friendly spring. Comus. And left your fair side all unguarded, lady?

Lady. They were but twain, and purpos'd quick return.

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 unrazor'd lips. Comus. Two such I saw "what time the labour'd ox

In his loose traces from the furrows came,
And the swink't 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 fairy vision

Of some gay creatures of the element,
That in the colours of the rainbow live,

And play i'th' plaited clouds. I was awe struck,
And as I pass'd I worshipp'd;" if those
seck,

It were a journey like the path to heaven,
To help you find them.

you

Lady. Gentle villager, what readiest way
would bring me to that place?
Comus. I know each lane, and ev'ry alley
green,

Dingle, or bushy dell of this wild wood,
My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood;
And if your stray attendance be yet lodg'd,
Or shroud within these limits, I shall know
Ere morrow wake," or the low roosted lark
From her thatch'd pillar rouse;" or grant it

otherwise,

I can conduct you, lady, to a low

1 Spir. O my lov'd master's heir and his next joy,

Where is my virgin lady? where is she?

further quest.

Ludy. Shepherd, I take thy word,

And trust thy offer'd service. In a place
Less warranted than this, or less secure,
I cannot be, that I should fear to change it.
Eye me, bless'd Providence, and square my
To my proportion'd strength! Shepherd, lead

on.

trial

[Exeunt.

E. Bro. To tell thee sadly, shepherd, without blame,

Or our neglect, we lost her as we came.

1 Spir. Ah me unhappy! then my fears are

All alone-and in her arms

Your breast may beat to love's alarms,
Till bless'd, and blessing, you shall own
The joys of love are joys alone.

Y. Bro. How low sinks beauty, when by vice debas'd!

Fair were that form, if virtue dwelt within; But from the wanton advocate of shame To me the warbled song harsh discord sounds. 2 Wom. No more; these formal maxims misbecome you.

They only suit suspicious shrivell'd age.

SONG.

By a Man and two Women.
Live, and love, enjoy the fair,
Banish sorrow, banish care;
Mind not what old dotards say;
Age has had his share of play,
But youth's sport begins to-day.
From the fruits of sweet delight
Let not scare-crow virtue fright!
Here in pleasure's vineyard we
Rove, like birds, from tree to trec,
Careless, airy, guy and free.

E. Bro. How can your impious tongues profane the name

Of sacred Virtue, and yet promise pleasure
In lying songs of vanity and vice?

1 Wom. Turn not away, but listen to our strain,

That shall in pleasing slumber lull the sense, And sweet in madness rob it of itself.

SCENE I-A gay Pavilion.

COMUS and Attendants on each side of the Lady, who is seated in an enchanted chair.

Come, thou goddess fair and free,
In heaven yclep'd Euphrosyne,
And by men heart-easing Mirth,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth,
With two sister graces more,
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore!
Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful jollity,

Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles,
Nods and becks, and wreathed smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport, that wrinkled care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides!
Come, and trip it as you go,
On the light fantastic toe:

And in thy right hand lead with thee,
The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty!

Are the only tumults here,

All the woes you need to fear;
Love and harmony live here."

Lady. How long must I, by magic fetters
chain'd

To this detested seat, hear odious strains
Of shameless folly, which my soul abhors!
Comus. Now softly slow sweet Lydian airs
attune,

And breathe the pleasing pangs of gentle love. Enter EUPHROSYNE and Pastoral Nymph, who advances slow, with a melancholy and desponding air, to the side of the stage, and repeat, by way of soliloquy, the first six lines, and then sings the ballad. She is observed by EUPHROSYNE, who, by her gestures, expresses her different sentiments of the subject of her complaint, suitably to the character of their several songs.

RECITATIVE.

How gentle was my Damon's air!
Like sunny
beams his golden hair,
His voice was like the nightingale's
More sweet his breath than flowery vales.
How hard such beauties to resign!
And yet that cruel task is mine.
BALLAD.

On every hill, in every grove,

Along the margin of each stream,
Dear conscious scenes of former love,
Imourn, and Damon is my theme.
The hills, the groves, the streams remain,
But Damon there I seek iu vain.
"From hill from dale, each charm is fled;
Groves, flocks and fountains please no more.
Each flower in pity droops its head,
All nature does my loss deplore.

All, all reproach the faithless swain,
Yet Damon still I seek in vain.

RECITATIVE.

By EUPHROSYNE.

Love, the greatest bliss below, How to taste few women know; Fewer still the way have hit How a fickle swain to quit. Simple nymph, then learn of me, How to treat inconstancy.