That wife Minerva wore, unconquer'd Virgin,
Wherwith the freez'd her foes to congeal'd stone?
But rigid looks of Chaft aufterity,
And noble grace that dash't brute violence
With fudden adoration, and blank aw.
So dear to Heav'n is Saintly chastity,
That when a foul is found fincerely fo,
A thousand liveried Angels lacky her,
Driving far off each thing of fin and guilt,
And in cleer dream, and folemn vision
Tell her of things that no grofs ear can hear,
Till oft convers with heav'nly habitants
Begin to caft a beam on th'outward shape,
The unpolluted temple of the mind,
And turns it by degrees to the fouls effence,
Till all be made immortal: but when luft
By unchafte looks, loose gestures, and foul talk,
But most by leud and lavish act of sin,
Lets in defilement to the inward parts,
The foul grows clotted by contagion,
Imbodies, and imbrutes, till fhe quite loofe
The divine property of her firft being.
Such are thofe thick and gloomy fhadows damp
Oft feen in Charnel vaults, and Sepulchers
Lingering, and fitting by a new made grave,
As loath to leave the Body that it lov'd,
And link't it felf by carnal fenfuality
To a degenerate and degraded state.
2. Bro. How charming is divine Philofophy! Not harsh, and crabbed as dull fools suppose, But mufical as is Apollo's lute,
And a perpetual feast of nectar'd fweets,
Where no crude furfet raigns. Eld. Bro. Lift, lift, I hear
Som far of hallow break the filent Air.
2. Bro. Me thought fo too; what should it be? Eld. Bro. For certain
Either fom one like us night-founder'd here,
Or els fom neighbour Wood-man, or at worst,
Som roaving Robber calling to his fellows.
2. Bro. Heav'n keep my fifter, agen, agen, and Beft draw, and ftand upon our guard.
If he be friendly he comes well, if not,
Defence is a good caufe, and Heav'n be for us.
The attendant Spirit habited like a Shepherd. That hallow I should know, what are you? fpeak; Com not too neer, you fall on iron stakes else. 490 Spir. What voice is that, my young Lord? speak
2. Bro. O brother, 'tis my father Shepherd fure. Eld. Bro. Thyrfis? Whose artful strains have oft The hudling brook to hear his madrigal, [delaid And sweetn'd every muskrose of the dale,
How cam'ft thou here good Swain? hath any Ram Slipt from the fold, or young Kid lost his dam, Or ftraggling Weather the pen't flock forfook? How couldst thou find this dark fequefter'd nook? Spir. O my lov'd Masters heir, and his next joy, I came not here on such a trivial toy
As a stray'd Ewe, or to pursue the stealth
Of pilfering Woolf, not all the fleecy wealth
That doth enrich these Downs, is worth a thought
To this my errand, and the care it brought.
But O my Virgin Lady, where is she?
How chance she is not in your company?
Eld. Bro. To tell thee fadly Shepherd, without Or our neglect, we lost her as we came. [blame, Spir. Ay me unhappy then my fears are true. Eld. Bro. What fears good Thyrfis? Prethee briefly fhew.
Spir. Ile tell ye, 'tis not vain or fabulous, (Though so esteem'd by shallow ignorance) What the fage Poets taught by th'heav'nly Muse, Storied of old in high immortal vers
Of dire Chimera's and inchanted Iles,
And rifted Rocks whofe entrance leads to Hell,
For fuch there be, but unbelief is blind.
Within the navil of this hideous Wood,
Immur'd in cypress shades a Sorcerer dwels
Of Bacchus, and of Circe born, great Comus,
Deep skill'd in all his mothers witcheries,
And here to every thirsty wanderer,
By fly enticement gives his baneful cup,
With many murmurs mixt, whofe pleafing poison The vifage quite transforms of him that drinks, And the inglorious likenes of a beast
Fixes instead, unmoulding reasons mintage
Character'd in the face; this have I learn't
Tending my flocks hard by i'th hilly crofts,
That brow this bottom glade, whence night by night
He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl
Like ftabl'd wolves, or tigers at their prey,
Doing abhorred rites to Hecate
In their obfcured haunts of inmoft bowres,
Yet have they many baits, and guileful spells
To inveigle and invite th'unwary sense
Of them that pass unweeting by the way.
This evening late by then the chewing flocks
Had ta'n their fupper on the favoury Herb
Of Knot-grafs dew-besprent, and were in fold,
I fate me down to watch upon a bank
With Ivy canopied, and interwove
With flaunting Hony-fuckle, and began
Wrapt in a pleasing fit of melancholy
To meditate upon my rural minstrelfie,
Till fancy had her fill, but ere a close
The wonted roar was up amidst the Woods,
And fill'd the Air with barbarous diffonance
At which I ceas't, and liften'd them a while, 550
Till an unusual stop of sudden filence
Gave refpit to the drowfie frighted steeds
That draw the litter of close curtain'd sleep;
At last a soft and folemn breathing found
Rose like a stream of rich diftill'd perfumes,
And stole upon the Air, that even Silence
Was took e're she was ware, and wifht she might
Deny her nature, and be never more
Still to be fo difplac't. I was all ear,
And took in ftrains that might create a foul
Under the ribs of Death, but O ere long
Too well I did perceive it was the voice
Of my most honour'd Lady, your dear fister.
Amaz'd I stood, harrow'd with grief and fear,
And O poor hapless Nightingale thought I,
How sweet thou fing'ft, how near the deadly fnare!
Then down the Lawns I ran with headlong hast
Through paths, and turnings oft'n trod by day,
Till guided by mine ear I found the place
Where that damn'd wifard hid in fly disguise 570
(For fo by certain fignes I knew) had met
Already, ere my best speed could prevent,
The aidlefs innocent Lady his wifh't prey,
Who gently afk't if he had feen fuch two,
Suppofing him fom neighbour villager;
Longer I durft not stay, but soon I guess't
Ye were the two she mean't, with that I fprung
Into swift flight, till I had found you here,
But further know I not. 2. Bro. Onight and fhades,
How are ye joyn'd with Hell in tripple knot 580
Against th'unarm'd weakness of one Virgin
Alone, and helplefs! is this the confidence
You gave me Brother? Eld. Bro. Yes, and keep
Lean on it fafely, not a period
[it ftill, Shall be unfaid for me: against the threats Of malice or of forcery, or that
Which erring men call Chance, this I hold firm,
Vertue may be affail'd, but never hurt,
Surpriz'd by unjust force, but not enthrall'd,
Yea even that which mischief meant most harm,
Shall in the happy trial prove most glory.
But evil on it self shall back recoyl,
And mix no more with goodness, when at last
Gather'd like fcum, and fetl'd to it self
It shall be in eternal restless change
Self-fed, and felf-confum'd, if this fail,
The pillar'd firmament is rott'nness,
And earths base built on ftubble. But com let's on. Against th'oppofing will and arm of Heav'n
|