On His Being Arrived to the Age of Twenty-Three
 
(1631)
 
 
HOW soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, 
  Stolen on his wing my three and twentieth year! 
  My hasting days fly on with full career, 
  But my late spring no bud or blossom shew’th. 
Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,         5
  That I to manhood am arrived so near, 
  And inward ripeness doth much less appear, 
  That some more timely-happy spirits indu’th. 
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow, 
  It shall be still in strictest measure even         10
  To that same lot, however mean or high, 
Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven, 
  All is, if I have grace to use it so, 
  As ever in my great Task-master’s eye

L’Allegro
 
(1633)
 
 
HENCE, loathèd Melancholy, 
  Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, 
In Stygian cave forlorn 
  ’Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy, 
Find out some uncouth cell,         5
  Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, 
And the night-raven sings; 
  There under ebon shades, and low-browed rocks, 
As ragged as thy locks, 
  In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.         10
But come, thou Goddess fair and free, 
In heaven yclep’d Euphrosyne, 
And by men, heart-easing Mirth, 
Whom lovely Venus at a birth 
With two sister Graces more         15
To ivy-crownèd Bacchus bore; 
Or whether (as some sager sing) 
The frolic Wind that breathes the spring, 
Zephyr with Aurora playing, 
As he met her once a-Maying,         20
There on beds of violets blue, 
And fresh-blown roses washed in dew, 
Filled her with thee, a daughter fair, 
So buxom, blithe and debonair. 
  Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee         25
Jest and youthful Jollity, 
Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles, 
Nods, and Becks, and wreathèd Smiles, 
Such as hang on Hebe’s cheek, 
And love to live in dimple sleek;         30
Sport that wrinkled Care derides, 
And Laughter holding both his sides. 
Come, and trip it as ye go, 
On the light fantastic toe; 
And in thy right hand lead with thee         35
The mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty; 
And, if I give thee honour due, 
Mirth, admit me of thy crew, 
To live with her, and live with thee, 
In unreprovèd pleasures free;         40
To hear the lark begin his flight, 
And singing startle the dull night, 
From his watch-tower in the skies, 
Till the dappled Dawn doth rise; 
Then to come, in spite of sorrow,         45
And at my window bid good-morrow, 
Through the sweet-briar or the vine, 
Or the twisted eglantine; 
While the cock with lively din 
Scatters the rear of Darkness thin;         50
And to the stack, or the barn-door, 
Stoutly struts his dames before: 
Oft listening how the hounds and horn 
Cheerily rouse the slumbering Morn, 
From the side of some hoar hill,         55
Through the high wood echoing shrill: 
Sometime walking, not unseen, 
By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green, 
Right against the eastern gate, 
Where the great Sun begins his state,         60
Robed in flames and amber light, 
The clouds in thousand liveries dight; 
While the ploughman, near at hand, 
Whistles o’er the furrowed land, 
And the milkmaid singeth blithe,         65
And the mower whets his scythe, 
And every shepherd tells his tale 
Under the hawthorn in the dale. 
  Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures, 
Whilst the lantskip round it measures:         70
Russet lawns, and fallows gray, 
Where the nibbling flocks do stray; 
Mountains on whose barren breast 
The labouring clouds do often rest; 
Meadows trim with daisies pied;         75
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide. 
Towers and battlements it sees 
Bosomed high in tufted trees, 
Where perhaps some Beauty lies, 
The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes.         80
Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes 
From betwixt two aged oaks, 
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met 
Are at their savoury dinner set 
Of hearbs and other country messes,         85
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses; 
And then in haste her bower she leaves, 
With Thestylis to bind the sheaves; 
Or, if the earlier season lead, 
To the tanned haycock in the mead.         90
  Sometimes with secure delight 
The upland hamlets will invite, 
When the merry bells ring round, 
And the jocond rebecks sound 
To many a youth and many a maid         95
Dancing in the chequered shade; 
And young and old come forth to play 
On a sunshine holyday, 
Till the livelong daylight fail: 
Then to the spicy nut-brown ale,         100
With stories told of many a feat, 
How fairy Mab the junkets eat: 
She was pinched and pulled, she said; 
And he, by Friar’s lanthorn led, 
Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat         105
To earn his cream-bowl duly set, 
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, 
His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn 
That ten day-labourers could not end; 
Then lies him down, the lubber fiend,         110
And, stretched out all the chimney’s length, 
Basks at the fire his hairy strength, 
And crop-full out of doors he flings, 
Ere the first cock his matin rings. 
Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,         115
By whispering winds soon lulled asleep. 
Towered cities please us then, 
And the busy hum of men, 
Where throngs of Knights and Barons bold, 
In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold,         120
With store of Ladies, whose bright eyes 
Rain influence, and judge the prize 
Of wit or arms, while both contend 
Of win her grace whom all commend. 
There let Hymen oft appear         125
In saffron robe, with taper clear, 
And pomp, and feast, and revelry, 
With mask and antique pageantry; 
Such sights as youthful Poets dream 
On summer eves by haunted stream.         130
Then to the well-trod stage anon, 
If Johnson’s learned sock be on, 
Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy’s child, 
Warble his native wood-notes wild. 
And ever, against eating cares,         135
Lap me in soft Lydian airs, 
Married to immortal verse, 
Such as the meeting soul may pierce, 
In notes with many a winding bout 
Of linkèd sweetness long drawn out         140
With wanton heed and giddy cunning, 
The melting voice through mazes running, 
Untwisting all the chains that tie 
The hidden soul of harmony; 
That Orpheus’ self may heave his head         145
From golden slumber on a bed 
Of heaped Elysian flowers, and hear 
Such strains as would have won the ear 
Of Pluto to have quite set free 
His half-regained Eurydice.         150
These delights if thou canst give, 
Mirth, with thee I mean to live.

 
Il Penseroso
 
(1633)
 
 
HENCE, vain deluding Joys, 
  The brood of Folly without father bred! 
How little you bested, 
  Or fill the fixèd mind with all your toys! 
Dwell in some idle brain,         5
  And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, 
As thick and numberless 
  As the gay motes that people the sunbeams, 
Or likest hovering dreams, 
  The fickle pensioners of Morpheus’ train.         10
But hail! thou Goddess sage and holy! 
Hail, divinest Melancholy! 
Whose saintly visage is too bright 
To hit the sense of human sight, 
And therefore to our weaker view         15
O’erlaid with black, staid Wisdom’s hue; 
Black, but such as in esteem 
Prince Memnon’s sister might beseem, 
Or that starred Ethiop Queen that strove 
To set her beauty’s praise above         20
The Sea-Nymphs, and their powers offended. 
Yet thou art higher far descended: 
Thee bright-haired Vesta long of yore 
To solitary Saturn bore; 
His daughter she; in Saturn’s reign         25
Such mixture was not held a stain. 
Oft in glimmering bowers and glades 
He met her, and in secret shades 
Of woody Ida’s inmost grove, 
Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove.         30
Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure, 
Sober, steadfast, and demure, 
All in a robe of darkest grain, 
Flowing with majestic train, 
And sable stole of cypress lawn         35
Over thy decent shoulders drawn. 
Come; but keep thy wonted state, 
With even step, and musing gait, 
And looks commercing with the skies, 
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes:         40
There, held in holy passion still, 
Forget thyself to marble, till 
With a sad leaden downward cast 
Thou fix them on the earth as fast. 
And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet,         45
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet, 
And hears the Muses in a ring 
Aye round about Jove’s altar sing; 
And add to these retirèd Leisure, 
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure;         50
But, first and chieftest, with thee bring 
Him that yon soars on golden wing, 
Guiding the fiery-wheelèd throne, 
The Cherub Contemplation; 
And the mute Silence hist along,         55
’Less Philomel will deign a song, 
In her sweetest saddest plight, 
Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, 
While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke 
Gently o’er the accustomed oak.         60
Sweet bird, that shunn’st the noise of folly, 
Most musical, most melancholy! 
Thee, Chauntress, oft the woods among 
I woo, to hear they even-song; 
And, missing thee, I walk unseen         65
On the dry smooth-shaven green, 
To behold the wandering Moon, 
Riding near her highest noon, 
Like one that had been led astray 
Through the heaven’s wide pathless way,         70
And oft, as if her head she bowed, 
Stooping through a fleecy cloud. 
Oft, on a plat of rising ground, 
I hear the far-off curfew sound, 
Over some wide-watered shore,         75
Swinging slow with sullen roar; 
Or, if the air will not permit, 
Some still removèd place will fit, 
Where glowing embers through the room 
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom,         80
Far from all resort of mirth, 
Save the cricket on the hearth, 
Or the Bellman’s drowsy charm 
To bless the doors from nightly harm. 
Or let my lamp, at midnight hour,         85
Be seen in some high lonely tower, 
Where I may oft outwatch the Bear, 
With thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere 
The spirit of Plato, to unfold 
What worlds or what vast regions hold         90
The immortal mind that hath forsook 
Her mansion in this fleshly nook; 
And of those Dæmons that are found 
In fire, air, flood, or underground, 
Whose power hath a true consent         95
With planet or with element. 
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy 
In sceptred pall come sweeping by, 
Presenting Thebs, or Pelops’ line, 
Or the tale of Troy divine,         100
Or what (though rare) or later age 
Ennobled hath the buskined stage. 
But, O sad Virgin! that thy power 
Might raise Musæus from his bower; 
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing         105
Such notes as, warbled to the string, 
Drew iron tears down Pluto’s cheek, 
And made Hell grant what Love did seek; 
Or call up him that left half-told 
The story of Cambuscan bold,         110
Of Camball, and of Algarsife, 
And who had Canace to wife, 
That owned the virtuous ring and glass, 
And of the wondrous horse of brass 
On which the Tartar King did ride;         115
And if aught else great Bards beside 
In sage and solemn tunes have sung, 
Of turneys, and of trophies hung, 
Of forests, and inchantments drear, 
Where more is meant than meets the ear.         120
Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career, 
Till civil-suited Morn appear, 
Not tricked and frounced, as she wont 
With the Attic boy to hunt, 
But kerchieft in a comely cloud,         125
While rocking winds are piping loud, 
Or ushered with a shower still, 
When the gust hath blown his fill, 
Ending on the rustling leaves, 
With minute drops from off the eaves.         130
And, when the sun begins to fling 
His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring 
To archèd walks of twilight groves, 
And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, 
Of pine, or monumental oak,         135
Where the rude axe with heaved stroke 
Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt, 
Or fright them from their hallowed haunt. 
There, in close covert, by some brook, 
Where no profaner eye may look,         140
Hide me from Day’s garish eye, 
While the bee with honeyed thigh, 
That at her flowery work doth sing, 
And the waters murmuring, 
With such consort as they keep,         145
Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep. 
And let some strange mysterious dream, 
Wave at his wings in airy stream, 
Of lively portraiture displayed, 
Softly on my eyelids laid.         150
And as I wake, sweet music breathe 
Above, about, or underneath, 
Sent by some Spirit to mortals good, 
Or the unseen Genius of the wood. 
But let my due feet never fail         155
To walk the studious cloister’s pale, 
And love the high embowèd roof, 
With antick pillars massy proof, 
And storied windows richly dight, 
Casting a dim religious light.         160
There let the pealing organ blow, 
To the full voiced Quire below, 
In service high and anthems clear, 
As may with sweetness, through mine ear, 
Dissolve me into ecstasies,         165
And bring all Heaven before mine eyes. 
And may at last my weary age 
Find out the peaceful hermitage, 
The hairy gown and mossy cell, 
Where I may sit and rightly spell,         170
Of every star that Heaven doth shew, 
And every hearb that sips the dew; 
Till old experience do attain 
To something like prophetic strain. 
These pleasures, Melancholy, give         175
And I with thee will choose to live.

Sonnet to the Nightingale
 
(1632–33)
 
 
O NIGHTINGALE that on yon blooming spray 
Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, 
Thou with fresh hopes the Lover’s heart dost fill, 
While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May. 
Thy liquid notes that close the eye of Day,         5
First heard before the shallow cuckoo’s bill, 
Portend success in love. O if Jove’s will 
Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay, 
Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate 
Foretell my hopeless doom, in some grove nigh;         10
As thou from year to year hast sung too late 
For my relief, yet had’st no reason why. 
Whether the Muse or Love call thee his mate, 
Both them I serve, and of their train am I. 
 

 
Song on May Morning
 
(1632–33)
 
 
NOW the bright morning-star, Day’s harbinger, 
Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her 
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws 
The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose. 
  Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire         5
  Mirth, and youth, and warm desire! 
  Woods and groves are of thy dressing; 
  Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. 
Thus we salute thee with our early song, 
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.         10
 

On Time
 
(1633–34)
 
 
FLY, envious Time, till thou run out thy race: 
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping Hours, 
Whose speed is but the heavy plummet’s pace; 
And glut thyself with what thy womb devours, 
Which is no more than what is false and vain,         5
And merely mortal dross; 
So little is our loss, 
So little is thy gain! 
For, whenas each thing bad thou hast entombed, 
And, last of all, thy greedy Self consumed,         10
Then long eternity shall greet our bliss 
With an individual kiss, 
And joy shall undertake us as a flood; 
When everything that is sincerely good 
And perfectly divine,         15
With Truth, and Peace, and Love, shall ever shine 
About the supreme Throne 
Of Him, to whose happy-making sight alone 
When once our heavenly-guided soul shall climb, 
Then, all this earthly grossness quit,         20
Attired with stars we shall forever sit, 
Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, 
    O Time!

At a Solemn Music
 
(1633–34)
 
 
BLEST pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven’s joy, 
Sphere-born harmonious Sisters, Voice and Verse, 
Wed your divine sounds, and mixed power employ, 
Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce; 
And to our high-raised phantasy present         5
That undisturbèd Song of pure consent, 
Aye sung before the sapphire-coloured Throne 
To Him that sits thereon, 
With saintly shout and solemn jubily; 
Where the bright Seraphim in burning row         10
Their loud uplifted angel trumpets blow, 
And the Cherubic host in thousand quires 
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires, 
With those just Spirits that wear victorious palms, 
Hymns devout and holy psalms         15
Singing everlastingly: 
That we on Earth, with undiscording voice, 
May rightly answer that melodious noise; 
As once we did, till disproportioned Sin 
Jarred against Nature’s chime, and with harsh din         20
Broke the fair music that all creatures made 
To their great Lord, whose love their motions swayed 
In perfect diapason, whilst they stood 
In first obedience, and their state of good. 
O, may we soon again renew that song,         25
And keep in tune with Heaven, till God ere long 
To his celestial consort us unite, 
To live with Him, and sing in endless morn of light!

 
Upon the Circumcision
 
(1634)
 
 
YE flaming Powers, and wingèd Warriors bright, 
That erst with music, and triumphant song, 
First heard by happy watchful Shepherds’ ear, 
So sweetly sung your joy the clouds along, 
Through the soft silence of the listening night,—         5
Now mourn; and if sad share with us to bear 
Your fiery essence can distill no tear, 
Burn in your sighs, and borrow 
Seas wept from our deep sorrow, 
He who with all Heaven’s heraldry whilere         10
Entered the world, now bleeds to give us ease. 
Alas! how soon our sin 
Sore doth begin 
His infancy to seize! 
O more exceeding Love, or Law more just?         15
Just Law indeed, but more exceeding Love! 
For we, by rightful doom remediless, 
Were lost in death, till He, that dwelt above 
High-throned in secret bliss, for us frail dust 
Emptied his glory, even to nakedness;         20
And that great Covenant which we still transgress 
Intirely satisfied, 
And the full wrath beside 
Of vengeful Justice bore for our excess, 
And seals obedience first with wounding smart         25
This day; but oh! ere long, 
Huge pangs and strong 
Will pierce more near his heart.

 
Arcades
 
(1633)
 
 
         Part of an Entertainment presented to the Countess Dowager of Derby at Harefield by some Noble Persons of her Family; who appear on the Scene in pastoral habit, moving toward the seat of state, with this song:

I. Song

LOOK, Nymphs and Shepherds, look! 
What sudden blaze of majesty 
Is that which we from hence descry, 
Too divine to be mistook? 
  This, this is she         5
To whom our vows and wishes bend: 
Here our solemn search hath end. 
Fame, that her high worth to raise 
Seemed erst so lavish and profuse, 
We may justly now accuse         10
Of detraction from her praise: 
  Less than half we find expressed; 
  Envy bid conceal the rest. 
 
Mark what radiant state she spreads, 
In circle round her shining throne         15
Shooting her beams like silver threads: 
  This, this is she alone, 
  Sitting like a Goddess bright 
  In the centre of her light. 
 
Might she the wise Latona be,         20
Or the towered Cybele, 
Mother of a hundred gods? 
Juno dares not give her odds: 
  Who had thought this clime had held 
  A Deity so unparalleled?         25
 
         As they came forward, the Genius of the Wood appears, and, turning toward them, speaks.
Gen. Stay, gentle Swains, for, though in this disguise, 
I see bright honour sparkle through your eyes; 
Of famous Arcady ye are, and sprung 
Of that renowned flood so often sung, 
Divine Alpheus, who, by secret sluice,         30
Stole under seas to meet his Arethuse; 
And ye, the breathing roses of the wood, 
Fair silver-buskind Nymphs, as great and good. 
I know this quest of yours and free intent 
Was all in honour and devotion meant         35
To the great Mistress of yon princely shrine, 
Whom with low reverence I adore as mine, 
And with all helpful service will comply 
To further this night’s glad solemnity, 
And lead ye where ye may more near behold         40
What shallow-searching Fame hath left untold; 
Which I full oft, midst these shades alone, 
Have sat to wonder at, and gaze upon. 
For know, by lot from Jove, I am the Power 
Of this fair wood, and live in oaken bower,         45
To nurse the saplings tall, and curl the grove 
With ringlets quaint and wanton windings wove; 
And all my plants I save from nightly ill 
Of noisome winds and blasting vapours chill; 
And from the boughs brush off the evil dew,         50
And heal the harms of thwarting thunder blue, 
Or what the cross dire-looking planet smites, 
Or hurtful worm with cankered venom bites. 
When Evening grey doth rise, I fetch my round 
Over the mount, and all this hallowed ground;         55
And early, ere the odorous breath of morn 
Awakes the slumbering leaves, or tasselled horn 
Shakes the high thicket, haste I all about, 
Number my ranks, and visit every sprout 
With puissant words and murmurs made to bless.         60
But else, in deep of night, when drowsiness 
Hath locked up mortal sense, then listen I 
To the celestial Sirens’ harmony, 
That sit upon the nine enfolded spheres, 
And sing to those that hold the vital shears,         65
And turn the adamantine spindle round 
On which the fate of gods and men is wound. 
Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie, 
To lull the daughters of Necessity, 
And keep unsteady Nature to her law,         70
And the low world in measured motion draw 
After the heavenly tune, which none can hear 
Of human mould with gross unpurged ear. 
And yet such music worthiest were to blaze 
The peerless height of her immortal praise         75
Whose lustre leads us, and for her most fit, 
If my inferior hand or voice could hit 
Inimitable sounds. Yet, as we go, 
Whate’er the skill of lesser gods can show 
I will assay, her worth to celebrate,         80
And so attend ye toward her glittering state; 
Where ye may all, that are of noble stem, 
Approach, and kiss her sacred vesture’s hem. 
 
II. Song

O’er the smooth enamelled green, 
Where no print of step hath been,         85
  Follow me, as I sing 
  And touch the warbled string. 
Under the shady roof 
Of branching elm star-proof 
    Follow me.         90
I will bring you where she sits, 
Clad in splendour as befits 
    Her deity. 
Such a rural Queen 
All Arcadia hath not seen.         95
 
III. Song

Nymphs and Shepherds, dance no more 
  By sandy Ladon’s lilied banks; 
On old Lycæus, or Cyllene hoar, 
  Trip no more in twilight ranks; 
Though Erymanth your loss deplore,         100
  A better soil shall give ye thanks. 
  From the stony Mænalus 
Bring your flocks, and live with us; 
Here ye shall have greater grace, 
To serve the Lady of this place.         105
Through Syrinx your Pan’s mistress were, 
Yet Syrinx well might wait on her. 
  Such a rural Queen 
  All Arcadia hath not seen.

Comus, a Mask
 
 
         THE PERSONS
   
THE ATTENDANT SPIRIT, afterwards in the habit of THYRSIS.
Comus, with his Crew.
THE LADY.
FIRST BROTHER.
SECOND BROTHER.
SABRINA, the Nymph.
   
PRESENTED AT LUDLOW CASTLE, 1634, BEFORE THE EARL OF BRIDGEWATER, THEN PRESIDENT OF WALES
   
The Chief Person which presented were:—The Lord Brackley; Mr. Thomas Egerton, his Brother;The Lady Alice Egerton.
   
The first Scene discovers a wild wood.The ATTENDANT SPIRIT descends or enters.


BEFORE the starry threshold of Jove’s court 
My mansion is, where those immortal shapes 
Of bright aerial Spirits live insphered 
In regions mild of calm and serene air, 
Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot         5
Which men call Earth, and, with low-thoughted care, 
Confined and pestered in this pinfold here, 
Strive to keep up a frail and feverish being, 
Unmindful of the crown that Virtue gives, 
After this mortal change, to her true servants         10
Amongst the enthronèd gods on sainted seats. 
Yet some there be that by due steps aspire 
To lay their just hands on that golden key 
That opes the Palace of Eternity. 
To such my errand is; and, but for such,         15
I would not soil these pure ambrosial weeds 
With the rank vapours of this sin-worn mould. 
  But to my task. Neptune, besides the sway 
Of every salt flood and each ebbing stream, 
Took in, by lot ’twixt high and nether Jove,         20
Imperial rule of all the sea-girt Isles 
That, like to rich and various gems, inlay 
The unadornèd bosom of the Deep; 
Which he, to grace his tributary gods, 
By course commits to several government,         25
And gives them leave to wear their sapphire crowns 
And wield their little tridents. But this Isle, 
The greatest and the best of all the main, 
He quarters to his blue-haired deities; 
And all this tract that fronts the falling sun         30
A noble Peer of mickle trust and power 
Has in his charge, with tempered awe to guide 
An old and haughty Nation, proud in arms: 
Where his fair offspring, nursed in princely lore, 
Are coming to attend their father’s state,         35
And new-intrusted sceptre. But their way 
Lies through the perplexed paths of this drear wood, 
The nodding horror of whose shady brows 
Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger; 
And here their tender age might suffer peril,         40
But that, by quick command from sovran Jove, 
I was despatched for their defence and guard! 
And listen why; for I will tell you now 
What never yet was heard in tale or song, 
From old or modern bard, in hall or bower.         45
  Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape 
Crushed the sweet poison of misused wine, 
After the Tuscan mariners transformed, 
Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listed, 
On Circe’s island fell. (Who knows not Circe,         50
The daughter of the Sun, whose charmed cup 
Whoever tasted lost his upright shape, 
And downward fell into a grovelling swine?) 
This Nymph, that gazed upon his clustering locks, 
With ivy berries wreathed, and his blithe youth,         55
Had by him, ere he parted thence, a Son 
Much like his Father, but his Mother more, 
Whom therefore she brought up, and Comus named: 
Who, ripe and frolic of his full-grown age, 
Roving the Celtic and Iberian fields,         60
At last betakes him to this ominous wood, 
And, in thick shelter of black shades imbowered, 
Excels his Mother at her mighty art; 
Offering to every weary traveller 
His orient liquor in a crystal glass,         65
To quench the drouth of Phœbus; which as they taste 
(For most do taste through fond intemperate thirst), 
Soon as the potion works, their human count’nance, 
The express resemblance of the gods, is changed 
Into some brutish form of wolf or bear,         70
Or ounce or tiger, hog, or bearded goat 
All other parts remaining as they were. 
And they, so perfect is their misery, 
Not once perceive their foul disfigurement, 
But boast themselves more comely than before,         75
And all their friends and native home forget, 
To roll with pleasure in a sensual sty. 
Therefore, when any favoured of high Jove 
Chances to pass through this adventrous glade, 
Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star         80
I shoot from heaven, to give him safe convoy, 
As now I do. But first I must put off 
These my sky-robes, spun out of Iris’ woof, 
And take the weeds and likeness of a swain 
That to the service of this house belongs,         85
Who, with his soft pipe and smooth-dittied 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         90
Of this occasion. 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 Monsters, headed like sundry sorts of wild beasts, but otherwise like men and women, their apparel glistering. They come in making a riotous and unruly noise, with torches in their hands.
  Comus. The star that bids the shepherd fold 
Now the top of heaven doth hold; 
And the gilded car of Day         95
His glowing axle doth allay 
In the steep Atlantic stream: 
And the slope Sun his upward beam 
Shoots against the dusky pole, 
Pacing toward the other goal         100
Of his chamber in the east. 
Meanwhile, welcome joy and feast, 
Midnight shout and revelry, 
Tipsy dance and jollity. 
Braid your locks with rosy twine,         105
Dropping odours, dropping wine. 
Rigour now is gone to bed; 
And Advice with scrupulous head, 
Strict Age, and sour Severity, 
With their grave saws, in slumber lie.         110
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 sounds and seas, with all their finny drove,         115
Now to the Moon in wavering morrice move; 
And on the tawny sands and shelves 
Trip the pert Fairies and the dapper Elves. 
By dimpled brook and fountain-brim, 
The Wood-Nymphs, decked with daisies trim,         120
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;         125
’T is only daylight that makes sin, 
Which these dun shades will ne’er report. 
Hail, goddess of nocturnal sport, 
Dark-veiled Cotytto, to whom the secret flame 
Of midnight torches burns! mysterious Dame,         130
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 ridest with Hecat’, and befriend         135
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 loop-hole peep,         140
And to the tell-tale Sun descry 
Our concealed solemnity. 
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 sure 
(For so I can distinguish by mine art) 
Benighted in these woods! Now to my charms,         150
And to my wily trains: I shall ere long 
Be well stocked with as fair a herd as grazed 
About my Mother Circe. Thus I hurl 
My dazzling spells into the spongy air, 
Of power to cheat the eye with blear illusion,         155
And give it false presentments, lest the place 
And my quaint habits breed astonishment, 
And put the Damsel to suspicious flight; 
Which must not be, for that’s against my course. 
I, under fair pretence of friendly ends,         160
And well-placed words of glozing courtesy, 
Baited with reasons not unplausible, 
Wind me into the easy-hearted man, 
And hug him into snares. When once her eye 
Hath met the virtue of this magic dust         165
I shall appear some harmless villager, 
Whom thrift keeps up about his country gear. 
But here she comes; I fairly step aside, 
And hearken, if I may her business hear. 
 
The LADY Enters

  Lady. This way the noise was, if mine ear be true,         170
My best guide now. Methought it was the sound 
Of riot and ill-managed merriment, 
Such as the jocond flute or gamesome pipe 
Stirs up among the loose unlettered hinds, 
When, for their teeming flocks and granges full,         175
In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan, 
And thank the gods amiss. I should be loth 
To meet the rudeness and swilled insolence 
Of such late wassailers; yet, oh! where else 
Shall I inform my unacquainted feet         180
In the blind mazes of this tangled wood? 
My brothers, when they saw me wearied out 
With this long way, resolving here to lodge 
Under the spreading favour of these pines, 
Stepped, as they said, to the next thicket side         85
To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit 
As the kind hospitable woods provide. 
They left me then when the grey-hooded Even, 
Like a sad Votarist in palmer’s weed, 
Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phœbus’ wain.         190
But where they are, and why they came not back, 
Is now the labour of my thoughts. ’T is likeliest 
They had ingaged their wandering steps too far; 
And envious darkness, ere they could return, 
Had stole them from me. Else, O thievish Night,         195
Why shouldst thou, but for some felonious end, 
In thy dark lantern thus close up the stars 
That Nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps 
With everlasting oil, to give due light 
To the misled and lonely travailler?         200
This is the place, as well as I may guess, 
Whence even now the tumult of loud mirth 
Was rife, and perfet in my listening ear; 
Yet nought but single darkness do I find. 
What might this be? A thousand fantasies         205
Begin to throng into my memory, 
Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire, 
And airy tongues that syllable men’s names 
On sands and shores and desert wildernesses. 
These thoughts may startle well, but not astound         210
The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended 
By a strong siding champion, Conscience. 
O welcome, pure-eyed Faith, white-handed Hope, 
Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings, 
And thou unblemished form of Chastity!         215
I see ye visibly, and now believe 
That He, the Supreme Good, to whom all things ill 
Are but as slavish officers of vengeance, 
Would send a glistering guardian, if need were, 
To keep my life and honour unassailed….         220
Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud 
Turn forth her silver lining on the night? 
I did not err: there does a sable cloud 
Turn forth her silver lining on the night, 
And casts a gleam over this tufted grove.         225
I cannot hallo to my brothers, but 
Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest 
I’ll venter; for my new-enlivened spirits 
Prompt me, and they perhaps are not far off. 
 
SONG

Sweet Echo, sweetest Nymph, that liv’st unseen         230
    Within thy airy shell 
  By slow Meander’s margent green, 
And in the violet-embroidered vale 
  Where the love-lorn Nightingale 
Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well:         235
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair 
  That likest thy Narcissus are? 
    O if thou have 
  Hid them in some flowery cave, 
    Tell me but where,         240
  Sweet Queen of Parley, Daughter of the Sphere! 
  So may’st thou be translated to the skies, 
And give resounding grace to all Heaven’s harmonies! 
  Comus. Can any mortal mixture of earth’s mould 
Breathe such divine inchanting ravishment?         245
Sure something holy lodges in that breast, 
And with these raptures moves the vocal air 
To testify his hidden residence. 
How sweetly did they float upon the wings 
Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night,         250
At every fall smoothing the raven down 
Of darkness till it smiled! I have oft heard 
My mother Circe with the Sirens three, 
Amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades, 
Culling their potent hearbs and baleful drugs,         255
Who, as they sung, would take the prisoned soul, 
And lap it in Elysium: Scylla wept, 
And child her barking waves into attention, 
And fell Charybdis murmured soft applause. 
Yet they in pleasing slumber lulled the sense,         260
And in sweet madness robbed it of itself; 
But such a sacred and home-felt delight, 
Such sober certainty of waking bliss, 
I never heard till now. I’ll speak to her, 
And she shall be my Queen.-Hail, foreign wonder!         265
Whom certain these rough shades did never breed, 
Unless the Goddess that in rural shrine 
Dwell’st here with Pan or Sylvan, by blest song 
Forbidding every bleak unkindly fog 
To touch the prosperous growth of this tall wood.         270
  Lady. Nay, gentle shepherd, ill is lost that praise 
That is addressed to unattending ears. 
Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift 
How to regain my severed company, 
Compelled me to awake the courteous Echo         275
To give me answer from her mossy couch. 
  Comus. What chance, good Lady, hath bereft you thus? 
  Lady. Dim darkness and this leavy labyrinth. 
  Comus. Could that divide you from near-ushering guides? 
  Lady. They left me weary on a grassy turf.         280
  Comus. By falsehood, or discourtesy, or why? 
  Lady. To seek i’ the valley some cool friendly spring. 
  Comus. And left your fair side all unguarded, Lady? 
  Lady. They were but twain, and purposed quick return. 
  Comus. Perhaps forestalling night prevented them.         285
  Lady. How easy my misfortune is to hit! 
  Comus. Imports their loss, beside the present need? 
  Lady. No less than if I should my brothers lose. 
  Comus. Where they of manly prime, or youthful bloom? 
  Lady. As smooth as Hebe’s their unrazored lips.         290
  Comus. Two such I saw, what time the laboured ox 
In his loose traces from the furrow came, 
And the swinked hedger at his supper sat. 
I saw them under a green mantling vine, 
That crawls along the side of yon small hill,         295
Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots; 
Their port was more than human, as they stood. 
I took it for a faery vision 
Of some gay creatures of the element, 
That in the colours of the rainbow live,         300
And play i’ the plighted clouds. I was awe-strook, 
And, as I passed, I worshiped. If those you seek, 
It were a journey like the path to Heaven 
To help you find them. 
  Lady. Gentle villager,         305
What readiest way would bring me to that place? 
  Comus. Due west it rises from this shrubby point. 
  Lady. To find out that, good Shepherd, I suppose, 
In such a scant allowance of star-light, 
Would overtask the best land-pilot’s art,         310
Without the sure guess of well-practised feet. 
  Comus. I know each lane, and every alley green, 
Dingle, or bushy dell, of this wild wood, 
And every bosky bourn from side to side, 
My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood;         315
And, if your stray attendance be yet lodged, 
Or shroud within these limits, I shall know 
Ere morrow wake, or the low-roosted lark 
From her thatched pallet rouse. If otherwise, 
I can conduct you, Lady, to a low         320
But loyal cottage, where you may be safe 
Till further quest. 
  Lady. Shepherd, I take thy word, 
And trust thy honest-offered courtesy, 
Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds,         325
With smoky rafters, than in tapestry halls 
And courts of princes, where it first was named, 
And yet is most pretended. In a place 
Less warranted than this, or less secure, 
I cannot be, that I should fear to change it.         330
Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial 
To my proportioned strength! Shepherd, lead on…. 
 
The TWO BROTHERS.

  Eld. Bro. Unmuffle, ye faint stars; and thou, fair Moon, 
That wont’st to love the travailler’s benison, 
Stoop thy pale visage through an amber cloud,         335
And disinherit Chaos, that reigns here 
In double night of darkness and of shades; 
Or, if your influence be quite dammed up 
With black usurping mists, some gentle taper, 
Though a rush-candle from the wicker hole         340
Of some clay habitation, visit us 
With thy long levelled rule of streaming light, 
And thou shalt be our star of Arcady, 
Or Tyrian Cynosure. 
  Sec. Bro. Or, if our eyes         345
Be barred that happiness, might we but hear 
The folded flocks, penned in their wattled cotes, 
Or sound of pastoral reed with oaten stops, 
Or whistle from the lodge, or village cock 
Count the night-watches to his feathery dames,         350
’Twould be some solace yet, some little cheering, 
In this close dungeon of innumerous boughs. 
But, Oh, that hapless virgin, our lost sister! 
Where may she wander now, whither betake her 
From the chill dew, amongst rude burs and thistles?         355
Perhaps some cold bank is her bolster now, 
Or ’gainst the rugged bark of some broad elm 
Leans her unpillowed head, fraught with sad fears. 
What if in wild amazement and affright, 
Or, while we speak, within the direful grasp         360
Of savage hunger, or of savage heat! 
  Eld. Bro. Peace, brother: be not over-exquisite 
To cast the fashion of uncertain evils; 
For, grant they be so, while they rest unknown, 
What need a man forestall his date of grief,         365
And run to meet what he would most avoid? 
Or, if they be but false alarms of fear, 
How bitter is such self-delusion! 
I do not think my sister so to seek, 
Or so unprincipled in virtue’s book,         370
And the sweet peace that goodness bosoms ever, 
As that the single want of light and noise 
(Not being in danger, as I trust she is not) 
Could stir the constant mood of her calm thoughts, 
And put them into misbecoming plight.         375
Virtue could see to do what Virtue would 
By her own radiant light, though sun and moon 
Were in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdom’s self 
Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude, 
Where, with her best nurse, Contemplation,         380
She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings, 
That, in the various bustle of resort, 
Were all to-ruffled, and sometimes impaired. 
He that has light within his own clear breast 
May sit i’ the centre, and enjoy bright day:         385
But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts 
Benighted walks under the mid-day sun; 
Himself is his own dungeon. 
  Sec. Bro. ’Tis most true 
That musing Meditation most affects         390
The pensive secrecy of desert cell, 
Far from the cheerful haunt of men and herds, 
And sits as safe as in a senate-house; 
For who would rob a Hermit of his weeds, 
His few books, or his beads, or maple dish,         395
Or do his grey hairs any violence? 
But Beauty, like the fair Hesperian Tree 
Laden with blooming gold, had need the guard 
Of dragon-watch with uninchanted eye 
To save her blossoms, and defend her fruit,         400
From the rash hand of bold Incontinence. 
You may as well spread out the unsunned heaps 
Of miser’s treasure by an outlaw’s den, 
And tell me it is safe, as bid me hope 
Danger will wink on Opportunity,         405
And let a single helpless maiden pass 
Uninjured in this wild surrounding waste. 
Of night or loneliness it recks me not; 
I fear the dread events that dog them both, 
Lest some ill-greeting touch attempt the person         410
Of our unownèd sister. 
  Eld. Bro. I do not, brother, 
Infer as if I thought my sister’s state 
Secure without all doubt or controversy; 
Yet, where an equal poise of hope and fear         415
Does arbitrate the event, my nature is 
That I encline to hope rather than fear, 
And gladly banish squint suspicion. 
My sister is not so defenceless left 
As you imagine; she has a hidden strength,         420
Which you remember not. 
  Sec. Bro. What hidden strength, 
Unless the strength of Heaven, if you mean that? 
  Eld. Bro. I mean that too, but yet a hidden strength, 
Which, if Heaven gave it, may be termed her own:         425
’Tis Chastity, my brother, Chastity: 
She that has that is clad in com’plete steel, 
And, like a quivered nymph with arrows keen, 
May trace huge forests, and unharboured heaths, 
Infamous hills, and sandy perilous wilds;         430
Where, through the sacred rays of chastity, 
No savage fierce, bandite, or mountaineer, 
Will dare to soil her virgin purity. 
Yea, there, where very desolation dwells, 
By grots and caverns shagged with horrid shades,         435
She may pass on with unblenched majesty, 
Be it not done in pride, or in presumption. 
Some say no evil thing that walks by night, 
In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen, 
Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost,         440
That breaks his magic chains at curfew time, 
No goblin or swart faery of the mine, 
Hath hurtful power o’er true virginity. 
Do ye believe me yet, or shall I call 
Antiquity from the old schools of Greece         445
To testify the arms of Chastity? 
Hence had the huntress Dian her dread bow, 
Fair silver-shafted Queen for ever chaste, 
Wherewith she tamed the brinded lioness 
And spotted mountain-pard, but set at nought         450
The frivolous bolt of Cupid; gods and men 
Feared her stern frown, and she was queen o’ the woods. 
What was that snaky-headed Gorgon shield 
That wise Minerva wore, unconquered virgin, 
Wherewith she freezed her foes to con’gealed stone,         455
But rigid looks of chaste austerity, 
And noble grace that dashed brute violence 
With sudden adoration and blank awe? 
So dear to Heaven is saintly chastity 
That, when a soul is found sincerely so,         460
A thousand liveried angels lackey her, 
Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, 
And in clear dream and solemn vision 
Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear; 
Till oft converse with heavenly habitants         465
Begin to cast a beam on the outward shape, 
The unpolluted temple of the mind, 
And turns it by degrees to the soul’s essence, 
Till all be made immortal. But, when lust, 
By unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk,         470
But most by lewd and lavish act of sin, 
Lets in defilement to the inward parts, 
The soul grows clotted by contagion, 
Imbodies, and imbrutes, till she quite lose 
The divine property of her first being.         475
Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp 
Oft seen in charnel-vaults and sepulchres, 
Lingering and sitting by a new-made grave, 
As loth to leave the body that it loved, 
And linked itself by carnal sensuality         480
To a degenerate and degraded state. 
  Sec. Bro. How charming is divine Philosophy! 
Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, 
But musical as is Apollo’s lute, 
And a perpetual feast of nectared sweets,         485
Where no crude surfeit reigns. 
  Eld. Bro. List! list! I hear 
Some far-off hallo break the silent air. 
  Sec. Bro. Methought so too; what should it be? 
  Eld. Bro. For certain,         490
Either some one, like us, night-foundered here, 
Or else some neighbour woodman, or, at worst, 
Some roving robber calling to his fellows. 
  Sec. Bro. Heaven keep my sister! 
Again, again, and near!         495
Best draw, and stand upon our guard. 
  Eld. Bro. I’ll hallo. 
If he be friendly, he comes well: if not, 
Defence is a good cause, and Heaven be for us! 
 
The ATTENDANT SPIRIT, habited like a shepherd.

That hallo I should know. What are you? speak.         500
Come not too near; you fall on iron stakes else. 
  Spir. What voice is that? my young Lord? speak again. 
  Sec. Bro. O brother, ’tis my father’s Shepherd, sure. 
  Eld. Bro. Thyrsis! whose artful strains have oft delayed 
The huddling brook to hear his madrigal,         505
And sweetened every musk-rose of the dale. 
How camest thou here, good swain? Hath any ram 
Slipped from the fold, or young kid lost his dam, 
Or straggling wether the pent flock forsook? 
How couldst thou find this dark sequestered nook?         510
  Spir. O my loved master’s heir, and his next joy, 
I came not here on such a trivial toy 
As a strayed ewe, or to pursue the stealth 
Of pilfering wolf; not all the fleecy wealth 
That doth enrich these downs is worth a thought         515
To this my errand, and the care it brought. 
But, oh! my virgin Lady, where is she? 
How chance she is not in your company? 
  Eld. Bro. To tell thee sadly, Shepherd, without blame 
Or our neglect, we lost her as we came.         520
  Spir. Ay me unhappy! then my fears are true. 
  Eld. Bro. What fears, good Thyrsis? 
Prithee briefly shew. 
  Spir. I’ll tell ye, ’tis not vain or fabulous 
(Though so esteemed by shallow ignorance)         525
What the sage poets, taught by the heavenly Muse, 
Storied of old in high immortal verse 
Of dire Chimeras and inchanted Isles, 
And rifted rocks whose entrance leads to Hell; 
For such there be, but unbelief is blind.         530
  Within the navel of this hideous wood, 
Immured in cypress shades, a Sorcerer dwells, 
Of Bacchus and of Circe born, great Comus, 
Deep skilled in all his mother’s witcheries, 
And here to every thirsty wanderer         535
By sly enticement gives his baneful cup, 
With many murmurs mixed, whose pleasing poision 
The visage quite transforms of him that drinks, 
And the inglorious likeness of a beast 
Fixes instead, unmoulding reason’s mintage         540
Charactered in the face. This have I learnt 
Tending my flocks hard by i’ the hilly crofts 
That brow this bottom glade; whence night by night 
He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl 
Like stabled wolves, or tigers at their prey,         545
Doing abhorrèd rites to Hecate 
In their obscurèd haunts of inmost bowers. 
Yet have they many baits and guileful spells 
To inveigle and invite the unwary sense 
Of them that pass unweeting by the way.         550
This evening late, by then the chewing flocks 
Had ta’en their supper on the savoury herb 
Of knot-grass dew-besprent, and were in fold, 
I sat me down to watch upon a bank 
With ivy canopied, and interwove         555
With flaunting honeysuckle, and began, 
Wrapt in a pleasing fit of melancholy, 
To meditate my rural minstrelsy, 
Till fancy had her fill. But ere a close 
The wonted roar was up amidst the woods,         560
And filled the air with barbarous dissonance; 
At which I ceased, and listened them a while, 
Till an unusual stop of sudden silence 
Gave respite to the drowsy-flighted steeds 
That draw the litter of close-curtained Sleep.         565
At last a soft and solemn-breathing sound 
Rose like a steam of rich distilled perfumes, 
And stole upon the air, that even Silence 
Was took ere she was ware, and wished she might 
Deny her nature, and be never more,         570
Still to be so displaced. I was all ear, 
And took in strains that might create a soul 
Under the ribs of Death. But, oh! ere long 
Too well I did perceive it was the voice 
Of my most honoured Lady, your dear sister.         575
Amazed I stood, harrowed with grief and fear; 
And “O poor hapless Nightingale,” thought I, 
“How sweet thou sing’st, how near the deadly snare!” 
Then down the lawns I ran with headlong haste, 
Through paths and turnings often trod by day,         580
Till, guided by mine ear, I found the place 
Where that damned wisard, hid in sly disguise 
(For so by certain signs I knew), had met 
Already, ere my best speed could prevent, 
The aidless innocent lady, his wished prey;         585
Who gently asked if he had seen such two, 
Supposing him some neighbour villager. 
Longer I durst not stay, but soon I guessed 
Ye were the two she meant; with that I sprung 
Into swift flight, till I had found you here;         590
But furder know I not. 
  Sec. Bro. O night and shades, 
How are ye joined with hell in triple knot 
Against the unarmèd weakness of one virgin, 
Alone and helpless! Is this the confidence         595
You gave me, brother? 
  Eld. Bro. Yes, and keep it still; 
Lean on it safely; not a period 
Shall be unsaid for me. Against the threats 
Of malice or of sorcery, or that power         600
Which erring men call Chance, this I hold firm: 
Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt, 
Surprised by unjust force, but not enthralled; 
Yea, even that which Mischief meant most harm 
Shall in the happy trial prove most glory.         605
But evil on itself shall back recoil, 
And mix no more with goodness, when at last, 
Gathered like scum, and settled to itself, 
It shall be in eternal restless change 
Self-fed and self-consumed. If this fail,         610
The pillared firmament is rottenness, 
And earth’s base built on stubble. But come, let’s on! 
Against the opposing will and arm of Heaven 
May never this just sword be lifted up; 
But, for that damned magician, let him be girt         615
With all the griesly legiöns that troop 
Under the sooty flag of Acheron, 
Harpies and Hydras, or all the monstrous forms 
’Twixt Africa and Ind. I’ll find him out, 
And force him to restore his purchase back,         620
Or drag him by the curls to a foul death, 
Cursed as his life. 
  Spir. Alas! good ventrous youth, 
I love thy courage yet, and bold emprise; 
But here thy sword can do thee little stead.         625
Far other arms and other weapons must 
Be those that quell the might of hellish charms. 
He with his bare wand can unthread thy joints, 
And crumble all thy sinews. 
  Eld. Bro. Why, prithee Shepherd,         630
How durst thou then thyself approach so near 
As to make this relation? 
  Spir. Care and utmost shifts 
How to secure the Lady from surprisal 
Brought to my mind a certain shepherd lad,         635
Of small regard to see to, yet well skilled 
In every virtuous plant and healing hearb 
That spreads her verdant leaf to the morning ray. 
He loved me well, and oft would beg me sing; 
Which when I did, he on the tender grass         640
Would sit, and hearken even to ecstasy, 
And in requital ope his leathern scrip, 
And shew me simples of a thousand names, 
Telling their strange and vigorous faculties. 
Amongst the rest a small unsightly root,         645
But of divine effect, he culled me out. 
The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it, 
But in another country, as he said, 
Bore a bright golden flower, but not in this soil: 
Unknown, and like esteemed, and the dull swain         650
Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon; 
And yet more med’cinal is it than that Moly 
That Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave. 
He called it Hæmony, and give it me, 
And bade me keep it as of sovran use         655
’Gainst all inchantments, mildew blast, or damp, 
Or ghastly Furies’ apparition. 
I pursed it up, but little reckoning made, 
Till now that this extremity compelled. 
But now I find it true; for by this means         660
I knew the foul inchanter, though disguised, 
Entered the very lime-twigs of his spells, 
And yet came off. If you have this about you 
(As I will give you when we go) you may 
Boldly assault the necromancer’s hall;         665
Where if he be, with dauntless hardihood 
And brandished blade rush on him: break his glass, 
And shed the luscious liquor on the ground; 
But seize his wand. Though he and his curst crew 
Fierce sign of battail make, and menace high,         670
Or, like the sons of Vulcan, vomit smoke, 
Yet will they soon retire, if he but shrink. 
  Eld. Bro. Thyrsis, lead on apace; I’ll follow thee; 
And some good angel bear a shield before us! 
 
         The Scene changes to a stately palace, set out with all manner of deliciousness: soft music, tables spread with all dainties. COMUS appears with his rabble, and the LADY set in an inchanted chair; to whom he offers his glass; which she puts by, and goes about to rise.

  Comus. Nay, Lady, sit. If I but wave this wand,         675
Your nerves are all chained up in alabaster, 
And you a statue, or as Daphne was, 
Root-bound, that fled Apollo. 
  Lady. Fool, do not boast. 
Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind         680
With all thy charms, although this corporal rind 
Thou hast immanacled while Heaven sees good. 
  Comus. Why are you vexed, Lady? why do you frown? 
Here dwell no frowns, nor anger; from these gates 
Sorrow flies far. See, here be all the pleasures         685
That fancy can beget on youthful thoughts, 
When the fresh blood grows lively, and returns 
Brisk as the April buds in primrose season. 
And first behold this cordial julep here, 
That flames and dances in his crystal bounds,         690
With spirits of balm and fragrant syrups mixed. 
Not that Nepenthes which the wife of Thone 
In Egypt gave to Jove-born Helena 
Is of such power to stir up joy as this, 
To life so friendly, or so cool to thirst.         695
Why should you be so cruel to yourself, 
And to those dainty limbs, which Nature lent 
For gentle usage and soft delicacy? 
But you invert the covenants of her trust, 
And harshly deal, like an ill borrower,         700
With that which you received on other terms, 
Scorning the unexempt condition 
By which all mortal frailty must subsist, 
Refreshment after toil, ease after pain, 
That have been tired all day without repast,         705
And timely rest have wanted. But, fair virgin, 
This will restore all soon. 
  Lady. ’T will not, false traitor! 
’T will not restore the truth and honesty 
That thou has banished from thy tongue with lies.         710
Was this the cottage and the safe abode 
Thou told’st me of? What grim aspects’ are these, 
These oughly-headed monsters? Mercy guard me! 
Hence with thy brewed inchantments, foul deceiver! 
Hast thou betrayed my credulous innocence         715
With vizored falsehood and base forgery? 
And wouldst thou seek again to trap me here 
With lickerish baits, fit to ensnare a brute? 
Were it a draught for Juno when she banquets, 
I would not taste thy treasonous offer. None         720
But such as are good men can give good things; 
And that which is not good is not delicious 
To a well-governed and wise appetite. 
  Comus. O foolishness of men! that lend their ears 
To those budge doctors of the Stoic fur,         725
And fetch their precepts from the Cynic tub, 
Praising the lean and sallow Abstinence 
Wherefore did Nature pour her bounties forth 
With such a full and unwithdrawing hand, 
Covering the earth with odours, fruits, and flocks,         730
Thronging the seas with spawn innumerable, 
But all to please and sate the curious taste? 
And set to work millions of spinning worms, 
That in their green shops weave the smooth-haired silk, 
To deck her sons; and, that no corner might         735
Be vacant of her plenty, in her own loins 
She hutched the all-worshiped ore and precious gems, 
To store here children with. If all the world 
Should in a pet of temperance, feed on pulse, 
Drink the clear stream, and nothing wear but frieze,         740
The All-giver would be unthanked, would be unpraised 
Not half his riches known, and yet despised; 
And we should serve him as a grudging master, 
As a penurious niggard of his wealth, 
And live like Nature’s bastards, not her sons,         745
Who would be quite surcharged with her own weight, 
And strangled with her waste fertility: 
The earth cumbered, and the winged air darked with plumes; 
The herds would over-multitude their lords; 
The sea o’erfraught would swell, and the unsought diamonds         750
Would so emblaze the forehead of the Deep, 
And so bestud with stars, that they below 
Would grow inured to light, and come at last 
To gaze upon the Sun with shameless brows. 
List, Lady; be not coy, and be not cozened         755
With that same vaunted name, Virginity. 
Beauty is Nature’s coin; must not be hoarded, 
But must be current; and the good thereof 
Consists in mutual and partaken bliss, 
Unsavoury in the injoyment of itself.         760
If you let slip time, like a neglected rose 
It withers on the stalk with languished head. 
Beauty is Nature’s brag, and must be shown 
In courts, at feasts, and high solemnities, 
Where most may wonder at the workmanship.         765
It is for homely features to keep home; 
They had their name thence: coarse complexions 
And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply 
The sampler, and to tease the housewife’s wool. 
What need a vermeil-tinctured lip for that,         770
Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the Morn? 
There was another meaning in these gifts; 
Think what, and be advised; you are but young yet. 
  Lady. I had not thought to have unlocked my lips 
In this unhallowed air, but that this Juggler         775
Would think to charm my judgment, as mine eyes, 
Obtruding false rules pranked in reason’s garb. 
I hate when Vice can bolt her arguments 
And Virtue has no tongue to check her pride. 
Impostor! do not charge most innocent Nature,         780
As if she would her children should be riotous 
With her abundance. She, good Cateress, 
Means her provision only to the good, 
That live according to her sober law’s 
And holy dictate of spare Temperance.         785
If every just man that now pines with want 
Had but a moderate and beseeming share 
Of that which lewdly-pampered Luxury 
Now heaps upon some few with vast excess, 
Nature’s full blessings would be well-dispensed         790
In unsuperfluous even proportion, 
And she no whit encumbered with her store; 
And then the Giver would be better thanked, 
His praise due paid: for swinish Gluttony 
Ne’er looks to Heaven amidst his gorgeous feast,         795
But with besotted base ingratitude 
Crams and blasphemes his Feeder. Shall I go on? 
Or have I said enow? to him that dares 
Arm his profane tongue with contemptuous words 
Against the sun-clad power of Chastity         800
Fain would I something say;-yet to what end? 
Thou hast nor ear, nor soul, to apprehend 
The sublime notion and high mystery 
That must be uttered to unfold the sage 
And serious doctrine of Virginity;         805
And thou art worthy that thou shouldst not know 
More happiness than this thy present lot. 
Enjoy your dear Wit, and gay Rhetoric, 
That hath so well been taught her dazzling fence; 
Thou art not fit to hear thyself convinced.         810
Yet, should I try, the uncontrollèd worth 
Of this pure cause would kindle my rapt spirits 
To such a flame of sacred vehemence 
That dumb things would be moved to sympathize, 
And the brute Earth would lend her nerves, and shake,         815
Till all thy magic structures, reared so high, 
Were shattered into heaps o’er thy false head. 
  Comus. She fables not. I feel that I do fear 
Her words set of by some superior power; 
And, though not mortal, yet a cold shuddering dew         820
Dips me all o’er, as when the wrath of Jove 
Speaks thunder and the chains of Erebus 
To some of Saturn’s crew. I must dissemble, 
And try her yet more strongly.—Come, no more! 
This is mere moral babble, and direct         825
Against the canon laws of our foundation. 
I must not suffer this; yet ’t is but the lees 
And settlings of a melancholy blood. 
But this will cure all straight; one sip of this 
Will bathe the drooping spirits in delight         830
Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste… 
 
         The BROTHERS rush in with swords drawn, wrest his glass out of his hand, and break it against the ground: his rout make sign of resistance, but are all driven in. The ATTENDANT SPIRIT comes in.

  Spir. What! have you let the false Enchanter scape? 
O ye mistook; ye should have snatched his wand, 
And bound him fast. Without his rod reversed, 
And backward mutters of dissevering power,         835
We cannot free the Lady that sits here 
In stony fetters fixed and motionless. 
Yet stay: be not disturbed; now I bethink me, 
Some other means I have which may be used, 
Which once of Melibœus old I learnt,         840
The soothest Shepherd that ere piped on plains. 
  There is a gentle Nymph not far from hence, 
That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream: 
Sabrina is her name: a virgin pure; 
Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine,         845
That had the sceptre from his father Brute. 
She, guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuit 
Of her enragèd stepdame, Guendolen, 
Commended her fair innocence to the flood 
That stayed her flight with his cross-flowing course.         850
The water-Nymphs, that in the bottom played, 
Held up their pearlèd wrists, and took her in, 
Bearing her straight to aged Nereus’ hall; 
Who, piteous of her woes, reared her lank head, 
And gave her to his daughters to imbathe         855
In nectared lavers strewed with asphodil, 
And through the porch and inlet of each sense 
Dropt in ambrosial oils, till she revived. 
And underwent a quick immortal change, 
Made Goddess of the river. Still she retains         860
Her maiden gentleness, and oft at eve 
Visits the herds along with twilight meadows, 
Helping all urchin blasts, and ill-luck signs 
That the shrewd meddling Elf delights to make, 
Which she with pretious vialed liquors heals:         865
For which the Shepherds, at their festivals, 
Carol her goodness loud in rustic lays, 
And throw sweet garland wreaths into her stream, 
Of pansies, pinks, and gaudy daffadils. 
And, as the old Swain said, she can unlock         870
The clasping charm, and thaw the numbing spell, 
If she be right invoked in warbled song; 
For maidenhood she loves, and will be swift 
To aid a virgin, such as was herself, 
In hard-besetting need. This will I try,         875
And add the power of some adjuring verse. 
 
SONG

Sabrina fair, 
  Listen where thou art sitting 
Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave, 
  In twisted braids of lilies knitting         880
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair; 
  Listen for dear honour’s sake, 
  Goddess of the silver lake, 
    Listen and save! 
 
Listen, and appear to us,         885
In name of great Oceanus, 
By the earth-shaking Neptune’s mace 
And Tethys’ grave majestic pace; 
By hoary Nereus’ wrinkled look, 
And the Carpathian wizard’s hook;         890
By scaly Triton’s winding shell, 
And old soothsaying Glaucus’ spell; 
By Leucothea’s lovely hands, 
And her son that rules the strands; 
By Thetis’ tinsel-slippered feet,         895
And the songs of Sirens sweet; 
By dead Parthenope’s dear tomb, 
And fair Ligea’s golden comb, 
Wherewith she sits on diamond rocks 
Sleeking her soft alluring locks;         900
By all the nymphs that nightly dance 
Upon thy streams with wily glance; 
Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head 
From thy coral-paven bed, 
And bridle in thy headlong wave,         905
Till thou our summons answered have. 
                              Listen and save! 
 
         SABRINA rises, attended by Water-nymphs, and sings.

By the rushy-fringèd bank, 
Where grows the willow and the oiser dank, 
  My sliding chariot stays,         910
Thick set with agate, and the azurn sheen 
Of turkis blue, and emerald green, 
  That in the channel strays: 
Whilst from off the waters fleet 
Thus I set my printless feet         915
O’er the cowslip’s velvet head, 
  That bends not as I tread. 
Gentle swain, at thy request 
  I am here! 
 
  Spir. Goddess dear,         920
We implore thy powerful hand 
To undo the charmed band 
Of true virgin here distressed 
Through the force and through the wile 
Of unblessed enchanter vile.         925
  Sabr. Shepherd, ’t is my office best 
To help insnarèd Chastity, 
Brightest Lady, look on me. 
Thus I sprinkle on thy breast 
Drops that from my fountain pure         930
I have kept of pretious cure; 
Thrice upon thy finger’s tip, 
Thrice upon thy rubied lip: 
Next this marble venomed seat, 
Smeared with gums of glutinous heat,         935
I touch with chaste palms moist and cold. 
Now the spell hath lost his hold; 
And I must haste ere morning hour 
To wait in Amphitrite’s bower. 
 
         SABRINA descends, and the LADY rises out of her seat.

  Spir. Virgin, daughter of Locrine,         940
Sprung of old Anchises’ line, 
May thy brimmed waves for this 
Their full tribute never miss 
From a thousand petty rills, 
That tumble down the snowy hills:         945
Summer drouth or singed air 
Never scorch thy tresses fair, 
Nor wet October’s torrent flood 
Thy molten crystal fill with mud; 
May thy billows roll ashore         950
The beryl and the golden ore; 
May thy lofty head be crowned 
With many a tower and terrace round, 
And here and there thy banks upon 
With groves of myrrh and cinnamon.         955
  Come, Lady; while Heaven lends us grace, 
Let us fly this cursed place, 
Lest the Sorcerer us entice 
With some other new device. 
Not a waste or needless sound         960
Till we come to holier ground. 
I shall be your faithful guide 
Through this gloomy covert wide; 
And not many furlongs thence 
Is your Father’s residence,         965
Where this night are met in state 
Many a friend to gratulate 
His wished presence, and beside 
All the Swains that there abide 
With jigs and rural dance resort.         970
We shall catch them at their sport, 
And our sudden coming there 
Will double all their mirth and cheer. 
Come, let us haste; the stars grow high, 
But Night sits monarch yet in the mid sky.         975
 
         The Scene changes, presenting Ludlow Town, and the President’s Castle: then come in Country Dancers; after them the ATTENDANT SPIRIT, with the two BROTHERS and the LADY.

 
SONG

  Spir. Back, Shepherds, back! Enough your play 
Till next sun-shine holiday. 
Here be, without duck or nod, 
Other trippings to be trod 
Of lighter toes, and such court guise         980
As Mercury did first devise 
With the mincing Dryades 
On the lawns and on the leas. 
 
         This second Song presents them to their Father and Mother.

  Noble Lord and Lady bright, 
I have brought ye new delight.         985
Here behold so goodly grown 
Three fair branches of your own. 
Heaven hath timely tried their youth, 
Their faith, their patience, and their truth, 
And sent them here through hard assays         990
With a crown of deathless praise, 
To triumph in victorious dance 
O’er sensual Folly and Intemperance. 
 
         The dances ended, the SPIRIT epiloguizes.

  Spir. To the ocean now I fly, 
And those happy climes that lie         995
Where day never shuts his eye, 
Up in the broad fields of the sky. 
There I suck the liquid air, 
All amidst the Gardens fair 
Of Hesperus, and his daughters three         1000
That sing about the Golden Tree. 
Along the crispèd shades and bowers 
Revels the spruce and jocond Spring; 
The Graces and the rosy-bosomed Hours 
Thither all their bounties bring.         1005
There eternal Summer dwells, 
And west winds with musky wing 
About the cedarn alleys fling 
Nard and cassia’s balmy smells. 
Iris there with humid bow         1010
Waters the odorous banks, that blow 
Flowers of more mingled hue 
Than her purfled scarf can shew, 
And drenches with Elysian dew 
(List mortals, if your ears be true)         1015
Beds of hyacinth and roses, 
Where young Adonis oft reposes, 
Waxing well of his deep wound 
In slumber soft, and on the ground 
Sadly sits the Assyrian queen;         1020
But far above in spangled sheen 
Celestial Cupid, her famed son, advanced, 
Holds his dear Psyche sweet intranced, 
After her wandring labours long, 
Till free consent the gods among         1025
Make her his eternal Bride, 
And from her fair unspotted side 
Two blissful twins are to be born, 
Youth and Joy; so Jove hath sworn. 
  But now my task is smoothly done,         1030
I can fly, or I can run 
Quickly to the green earth’s end, 
Where the bowed welkin slow doth bend, 
And from thence can soar as soon 
To the corners of the Moon.         1035
  Mortals, that would follow me, 
Love Virtue, she alone is free; 
She can teach ye how to climb 
Higher than the spheary chime: 
Or, if Virtue feeble were,         1040
Heaven itself would stoop to her.