To roll with pleasure in a sensual sty. Therefore when any favor'd of high Jove Chances to pass through this adventrous glade, Swift as the fparkle of a glancing star
I fhoot from Heav'n, to give him fafe convoy, As now I do: But first I muft
These my sky robes spun out of Iris woof, And take the weeds and likenefs of a swain, That to the fervice of this house belongs, Who with his foft pipe, and smooth-dittied fong, Well knows to ftill the wild winds when they roar, And ufh 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 glass in the other; with him a rout of monflers, headed like fundry forts of wild beafls, but otherwise like men and women, their apparel gliftering; they come in making a riotous and unruly noife, with torches in their hands. Com. The ftar that bids the fhepherd fold, Now the top of Heav'n doth hold,
Shoots against the dusky pole,
Pacing toward the other goal
Of his chamber in the east.
Mean while welcome Joy, and Feaft, 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 scrupulous head, Strict Age, and four Severity
We that are of purer fire
Imitate the starry quire,
Who in their nightly watchful spheres,
Lead in swift round the months and years.
The founds and feas, with all their finny drove, 115
Now to the moon in wavering morrice move;
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 daifies trim, 120 Their merry wakes and paflimes keep:
What hath night to do with fleep?
Night hath better sweets 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 Goddefs of nocturnal sport,
Dark-veil'd Cotytto, t' whom the secret flame Of midnight-torches burns; myfterious dame, 130 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'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 descry
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 some chaste footing near about this ground. Run to your shrouds, within these brakes and trees; Our number may affright: Some virgin fure (For so I can distinguish by mine art) Benighted in these woods. Now to my charms, 150 And to my wily trains; I fhall ere long Be well-stock'd with as fair a herd as graz'd About my mother Circe. Thus I hurl
My dazling spells into the spungy air,
Of pow'r to cheat the eye with blear illusion, 155 And give it false presentments, left the place And my quaint habits breed astonishment, And put the damfel to fufpicious flight, Which must not be, for that's against my course;
I under fair pretence of friendly ends, And well plac'd words of glozing courtesy Baited with reasons not unplausible, Wind me into the easy-hearted man,
And hug him into snares. When once her Hath met the virtue of this magic dust,
I fhall appear fome harmless villager, Whom thrift keeps up about his country gear. But here she comes, I fairly ftep aside,
And hearken, if I may, her business here. The Lady enters.
This way the noise was, if mine ear be true, My beft guide now; methought it was the found Of riot and ill manag'd merriment,
Such as the jocund flute, or gamesome pipe Stirs up among the loose unletter'd hinds, When for their teeming flocks, and granges full, 175 In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan, And thank the Gods amifs. I fhould be loath To meet the rudenefs, and fwill'd infolence Of such late wassailers; yet, O where else Shall I inform my unacquainted feet
In the blind mazes of this tangled wood? My Brothers, when they faw me wearied out With this long way, refolving here to lodge Under the spreading favor of these pines, Stept, as they faid, to the next thicket fide To bring me berries, or fuch cooling fruit As the kind hofpitable woods provide. They left me then, when the gray-hooded Even, Like a fad votarift in palmer's weed,
Rofe from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus'wain. 190 But where they are, and why they came not back, Is now the labor of my thoughts; 'tis likelieft They had engag'd their wand'ring steps too far, And envious darknefs, ere they could return, Had ftole them from me; elfe O thievish Night 195 Why should'st thou, but for some fellonious end, In thy dark lantern thus close up the stars, That nature hung in Heav'n, and fill'd their lamps With everlasting oil, to give due light
To the misled and lonely traveller? This is the place, as well as I may guess, Whence even now the tumult of loud mirth Was rife, and perfect in my lift'ning ear, Yet nought but single darkness do I find.
What might this be? A thousand fantasies Begin to throng into my memory,
Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire, And aery tongues, that fyllable men's names
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