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Comus enters with a charming rod in one hand, his glass in the other; with him a rout of monslers, headed like sundry sorts of wild beasis, but otherwise like men and women, their apparel glislering; they come in making a riotous and unruly noise, with torches in their hands.
Com. The star that bids the shepherd fold, Now the top of Heav'n doth hold, And the gilded car of day 95 His glowing axle doth allay In the steep Atlantic stream,
Shoots against the dusky pole,
In the blind mazes of this tangled wood?
My Brothers, when they saw me wearied out
And aery tongues, that syllable mens names On