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(For most do taste through fond intemperate thirst),
Of this occasion. But I hear the tread
[COMUS enters with a charming rod in one hand, his glass in the other; with him a rout of monsters, headed lite sundry sorts of wild beasts, but otherwise like men and women, their apparel glistering; they come in making a riotous and unruly noise, with tJteir torches in their hands.]
The star that hids the shepherd fold,
Who, in their nightly watchful spheres,
Now to the moon in wavering morrice move;
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 rites begin;
'Tis only daylight that makes sin,
Which these dun shades will ne'er report.
Hail, goddess of nocturnal sport,
Dark-veiled Cotytto ! 7 to whom the secret flame
Of midnight torches burns; mysterious dame,
That ne'er 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 rid'st 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 loophole peep,
And to the tell-tale sun descry
Our concealed solemnity.