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'In ev'ry region Virtue finds a foe.
'Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape
'Crush'd the sweet poison of misused wine,
'After the Tuscan mariners transform'd,
'Coasting the Tyrrhenne shore as the winds listed
'On Circe's island fell: (who knows not Circe,
'The daughter of the Sun, whose charmed cup
'Whoever tasted lost his upright shape, 80
'And downward fell into a grov'ling swine ?)
'This nymph, that gaz'd upon his clust'ring locks,
1 With ivy berries wreath'd, and his blithe youth,
'Had by him, ere he parted thence, a son
'Much like his father, but his mother more,
Whom therefore she brought up and Comus nam'd.
S. Spi. "111-cmen'd birth to Virtue and her sons!
F. Spi. " He, ripe and frolick of his full grown age,
Roving the Celtick and Iberian fields,
At last betakes him to this ominous wood, go
And in thick shelter of black shades imbower'd
Excels his mother at her mighty art,
Oif'ring to ev'ry weary traveller
His orient liquor in a crystal glass
To quench the drought of Phcebus, which as they taste,
(For most do taste thro' fond intemp'rate thirst)
All other parts remaining as they were:
"Yet, when he walks his tempting rounds, the sorcerer "By magic pow'r their human face restores "And outward beauty to delude the sight.
S. Spi. "Lose they themem'ry of their former state i
F. Spi. "No, they (so perfect is their misery) "Not once perceive their foul disfigurement, "But boast themselves more comely than before; "And all their friends and native home forget, "To roll with pleasure in a sensual sty. 110
S. Spi. "Degrading fall! from such a dire distress. "What pain too great our mortal charge to save?
F. Spi. " For this, when any favour'd of high Jove "Chances to pass thro' this advent'rous glade, "Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star "I shoot from heaven to give him safe convoy, "As now I do; and opportune thou com'st "To share an office which thy nature loves. "This be our task; but first I must put off "These my sky robes spun out of Iris' woof, Ieo "And take the weeds and likeness of a swain "That to the service of this house belongs, "Who with his soft pipe and smooth-ditty'd song "Well knows to still the wild winds when they roar, "And hush the waving woods; nor of less faith, "And in this office of his mountain watch "Likeliest and nearest to the present aid "Of this occasion. Veil'd in such disguise "Be it my care the sever'd youths to guide "To their distress'd and lonely sister; thine 13a "To cheer her footsteps thro' the magic wood.
"Whatever blessed spirit hovers near,
"On errands bent to wand'ring mortal good,
"If need require him summon to thy side;
"Unseen of mortal eye such thoughts inspire,
"Such heaven-born confidence, as need demands
"In hour of trial.
S. Spi. "Swift as winged winds "To my glad charge I fly. [Exit.
F. Spi." I'll wait a while 140
"To watch the sorcerer, for 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 cjMen andWomen dressed as Bacchanals; they come in mahing a riotous and unruly noise, with torches in their hands. Comus speahs.] The star that bids the shepherd fold
Now the top of heav'n 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 tow'rd the other goal 1 56
Of his chamber in the east;
Now Phoebus sinheth in the west,
Midnight shout and revelry,
Rigour now is gone to bed;
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. 170
SONG. By a Woman.
By dimpled brooh and fountain brim
Night has belter sweets to prove;
Comus. Hail, goddess of nocturnal sport, Dark-veil'd Cotytto! to whom the secret flame 1S0 Of midnight torches burn. 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 Hecat', and befriend
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 s 190
From her cabin loop-hole peep,
SONG. By Comus and Woman.
From tyrant laws and customs free
Why should niggard rules control
No dull stinting hour we own; 200
Comus. Come, knit hands and beat the ground
Break off, break off; I feel the difPrent pace