Comus
Break off, break off! I feel the different pace
Of som chast footing neer about this ground.
Run to your shrouds within these Brakes and Trees;
Our number may affright. Som Virgin sure
(For so I can distinguish by mine Art)
Benighted in these Woods! Now to my charms,
And to my wily trains; I shall e’re long
Be well stock’t with as fair a herd as graz’d
About my Mother Circe. Thus I hurl
My dazling Spells into the spungy ayr,
Of power to cheat the eye with blear illusion,
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,
And well plac’t words of glozing courtesie,
Baited with reasons not unplausible,
Wind me into the easie-hearted man,
And hugg him into snares. When once her eye
Hath met the vertue of this Magick dust,
I shall appear som harmles Villager
Whom thrift keeps up about his Country gear.
But here she comes; I fairly step aside.
And hearken, if I may, her busines here.
Of som chast footing neer about this ground.
Run to your shrouds within these Brakes and Trees;
Our number may affright. Som Virgin sure
(For so I can distinguish by mine Art)
Benighted in these Woods! Now to my charms,
And to my wily trains; I shall e’re long
Be well stock’t with as fair a herd as graz’d
About my Mother Circe. Thus I hurl
My dazling Spells into the spungy ayr,
Of power to cheat the eye with blear illusion,
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,
And well plac’t words of glozing courtesie,
Baited with reasons not unplausible,
Wind me into the easie-hearted man,
And hugg him into snares. When once her eye
Hath met the vertue of this Magick dust,
I shall appear som harmles Villager
Whom thrift keeps up about his Country gear.
But here she comes; I fairly step aside.
And hearken, if I may, her busines here.
The Lady enters
This way the noise was, if mine ear be true,
My best guide now. Me thought it was the sound
Of Riot and ill manag’d Merriment,
Such as the jocond Flute or gamesom Pipe
Stirs up among the loose unleter’d Hinds,
When, for their teeming Flocks and granges full,
In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan,
And thank the gods amiss. I should be loath
To meet the rudenesse and swill’d insolence
Of such late Wassailers; yet O! where els
Shall I inform my unacquainted feet
In the blind mazes of this tangl’d Wood?
My Brothers, when they saw me wearied out
With this long way, resolving here to lodge
Under the spreading favour of these Pines,
Stept, as they se’d, to the next Thicket side
To bring me Berries, or such cooling fruit
As the kind hospitable Woods provide.
They left me then, when the gray-hooded Eev’n,
Like a sad Votarist in Palmers weed,
Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phœbus wain.
But where they are, and why they came not back,
Is now the labour of my thoughts; ’tis likeliest
They had ingag’d their wandring steps too far,
And envious darknes, e’re they could return,
Had stole them from me; els, O theevish Night,
Why shouldst thou, but for som 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 Travailer?
This is the place, as well as I may guess,
Whence eev’n now the tumult of loud Mirth
Was rife, and perfet in my list’ning ear;
Yet nought but single darknes do I find.
What might this be? A thousand fantasies
Begin to throng into my memory
Of calling shapes, and beckning shadows dire,
And airy tongues that syllable mens names
On Sands, and Shoars, and desert Wildernesses.
These thoughts may startle well, but not astound
The vertuous mind, that ever walks attended
By a strong siding champion, Conscience.
O, welcom, pure-ey’d Faith, white-handed Hope,
Thou hovering Angel girt with golden wings,
And thou unblemish’t form of Chastity!
I see ye visibly, and now beleeve
That he, the Supreme good, t’ whom all things ill
Are but as slavish officers of vengeance,
Would send a glistring Guardian, if need were,
To keep my life and honour unassail’d.
—Was I deceiv’d, 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.
I cannot hallow to my Brothers, but
Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest
Ile venter, for my new enliv’nd spirits
Prompt me; and they perhaps are not far off.
My best guide now. Me thought it was the sound
Of Riot and ill manag’d Merriment,
Such as the jocond Flute or gamesom Pipe
Stirs up among the loose unleter’d Hinds,
VI
The Lady enters
In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan,
And thank the gods amiss. I should be loath
To meet the rudenesse and swill’d insolence
Of such late Wassailers; yet O! where els
Shall I inform my unacquainted feet
In the blind mazes of this tangl’d Wood?
My Brothers, when they saw me wearied out
With this long way, resolving here to lodge
Under the spreading favour of these Pines,
Stept, as they se’d, to the next Thicket side
To bring me Berries, or such cooling fruit
As the kind hospitable Woods provide.
They left me then, when the gray-hooded Eev’n,
Like a sad Votarist in Palmers weed,
Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phœbus wain.
But where they are, and why they came not back,
Is now the labour of my thoughts; ’tis likeliest
They had ingag’d their wandring steps too far,
And envious darknes, e’re they could return,
Had stole them from me; els, O theevish Night,
Why shouldst thou, but for som 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 Travailer?
This is the place, as well as I may guess,
Whence eev’n now the tumult of loud Mirth
Was rife, and perfet in my list’ning ear;
Yet nought but single darknes do I find.
What might this be? A thousand fantasies
Begin to throng into my memory
Of calling shapes, and beckning shadows dire,
And airy tongues that syllable mens names
On Sands, and Shoars, and desert Wildernesses.
These thoughts may startle well, but not astound
The vertuous mind, that ever walks attended
By a strong siding champion, Conscience.
O, welcom, pure-ey’d Faith, white-handed Hope,
Thou hovering Angel girt with golden wings,
And thou unblemish’t form of Chastity!
I see ye visibly, and now beleeve
That he, the Supreme good, t’ whom all things ill
Are but as slavish officers of vengeance,
Would send a glistring Guardian, if need were,
To keep my life and honour unassail’d.
—Was I deceiv’d, 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,
VII
. . . 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 Travailer.
That nature hung in Heav’n, and fill’d their Lamps
With everlasting oil, to give due light
To the misled and lonely Travailer.
VIII
Calling shapes, and beckning shadows dire.
I cannot hallow to my Brothers, but
Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest
Ile venter, for my new enliv’nd spirits
Prompt me; and they perhaps are not far off.
SONG
Sweet Echo, sweetest Nymph, that liv’st unseen
Within thy airy shell,
By slow Meander’s margent green
And in the violet imbroider’d vale
Where the love-lorn Nightingale
Nightly to thee her sad Song mourneth well:
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle Pair
That likest thy Narcissus are?
O if thou have
Hid them in som flowry Cave,
Tell me but where,
Sweet Queen of Parly, Daughter of the Sphear!
So maist thou be translated to the skies,
And give resounding grace to all Heav’ns Harmonies!
Within thy airy shell,
By slow Meander’s margent green
And in the violet imbroider’d vale
Where the love-lorn Nightingale
Nightly to thee her sad Song mourneth well:
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle Pair
That likest thy Narcissus are?
O if thou have
Hid them in som flowry Cave,
Tell me but where,
Sweet Queen of Parly, Daughter of the Sphear!
So maist thou be translated to the skies,
And give resounding grace to all Heav’ns Harmonies!
IX
Sweet Echo.
Comus
Can any mortal mixture of Earths mould
Breath such Divine inchanting ravishment?
Sure, somthing holy lodges in that brest,
And with these raptures moves the vocal air
To testifie his hidd’n residence!
How sweetly did they float upon the wings
Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night,
At every fall smoothing the Raven doune
Of darknes till it smil’d! I have oft heard
My mother Circe with the Sirens three
Amid’st the flowry-kirtl’d Naiades,
Culling their Potent hearbs and balefull drugs;
Who, as they sung, would take the prison’d soul
And lap it in Elysium; Scylla wept
And chid her barking waves into attention,
And fell Charybdis murmur’d soft applause.
Yet they in pleasing slumber lull’d the sense
And in sweet madnes rob’d it of it self;
But such a sacred and home-felt delight,
Such sober certainty of waking bliss,
I never heard till now. Ile speak to her,
And she shall be my Queen.—Hail, forren wonder,
Whom certain these rough shades did never breed!
Unlesse the Goddes that in rurall shrine
Dwell’st here with Pan or Silvan, by blest Song
Forbidding every bleak unkindly Fog
To touch the prosperous growth of this tall Wood.
Breath such Divine inchanting ravishment?
Sure, somthing holy lodges in that brest,
And with these raptures moves the vocal air
To testifie his hidd’n residence!
How sweetly did they float upon the wings
Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night,
At every fall smoothing the Raven doune
Of darknes till it smil’d! I have oft heard
My mother Circe with the Sirens three
Amid’st the flowry-kirtl’d Naiades,
Culling their Potent hearbs and balefull drugs;
Who, as they sung, would take the prison’d soul
And lap it in Elysium; Scylla wept
And chid her barking waves into attention,
And fell Charybdis murmur’d soft applause.
Yet they in pleasing slumber lull’d the sense
And in sweet madnes rob’d it of it self;
But such a sacred and home-felt delight,
Such sober certainty of waking bliss,
I never heard till now. Ile speak to her,
And she shall be my Queen.—Hail, forren wonder,
Whom certain these rough shades did never breed!
Unlesse the Goddes that in rurall shrine
Dwell’st here with Pan or Silvan, by blest Song
Forbidding every bleak unkindly Fog
To touch the prosperous growth of this tall Wood.
Lady
Nay, gentle Shepherd, ill is lost that praise
That is addrest to unattending Ears.
Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift
How to regain my sever’d company,
Compell’d me to awake the courteous Echo
To give me answer from her mossie Couch.
That is addrest to unattending Ears.
Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift
How to regain my sever’d company,
Compell’d me to awake the courteous Echo
To give me answer from her mossie Couch.
X
The flowry-kirtl’d Naiades.
Comus
What chance, good Lady, hath bereft you thus?
Lady
Dim darknes and this leavy Labyrinth.
Comus
Could that divide you from neer-ushering guides?
Lady
They left me weary on a grassie terf.
Comus
By falsehood, or discourtesie, or why?
Lady
To seek i’th vally som cool friendly Spring.
Comus
And left your fair side all unguarded, Lady?
Lady
They were but twain, and purpos’d quick return.
Comus
Perhaps fore-stalling night prevented them.
Lady
How easie my misfortune is to hit!
Comus
Imports their loss, beside the present need?
Lady
Lady
No less then if I should my brothers loose.
Comus
Were they of manly prime, or youthful bloom?
Lady
As smooth as Hebe’s their unrazor’d lips.
Comus
Two such I saw, what time the labour’d Oxe
In his loose traces from the furrow came,
And the swink’t hedger at his Supper sate;
I saw them under a green mantling vine,
That crawls along the side of yon small hill,
Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots;
Their port was more then human, as they stood;
I took it for a faery vision
Of som gay creatures of the element,
That in the colours of the Rainbow live,
And play i’th plighted clouds. I was aw-strook,
And, as I past, I worshipt; if those you seek,
It were a journey like the path to Heav’n
To help you find them.
In his loose traces from the furrow came,
And the swink’t hedger at his Supper sate;
I saw them under a green mantling vine,
That crawls along the side of yon small hill,
Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots;
Their port was more then human, as they stood;
I took it for a faery vision
Of som gay creatures of the element,
That in the colours of the Rainbow live,
And play i’th plighted clouds. I was aw-strook,
And, as I past, I worshipt; if those you seek,
It were a journey like the path to Heav’n
To help you find them.
Lady
Gentle villager,
What readiest way would bring me to that place?
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-Pilots art
Without the sure guess of well-practiz’d feet.
In such a scant allowance of Star-light,
Would overtask the best Land-Pilots art
Without the sure guess of well-practiz’d feet.
Comus
I know each lane, and every alley green,
Dingle, or bushy dell, of this wilde Wood,
And every bosky bourn from side to side,
My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood:
And if your stray attendance be yet lodg’d,
Or shroud within these limits, I shall know
Ere morrow wake, or the low roosted lark
From her thatch’t pallat rowse; if otherwise,
I can conduct you, Lady, to a low
But loyal cottage, where you may be safe
Till further quest’.
Dingle, or bushy dell, of this wilde Wood,
And every bosky bourn from side to side,
My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood:
And if your stray attendance be yet lodg’d,
Or shroud within these limits, I shall know
Ere morrow wake, or the low roosted lark
From her thatch’t pallat rowse; if otherwise,
I can conduct you, Lady, to a low
But loyal cottage, where you may be safe
Till further quest’.
Lady
Shepherd, I take thy word,
And trust thy honest offer’d courtesie,
Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds
With smoaky rafters, then in tapstry Halls
And Courts of Princes, where it first was nam’d,
And yet is most pretended: In a place
Less warranted then this, or less secure,
I cannot be, that I should fear to change it.
Eie me, blest Providence, and square my triall
To my proportion’d strength! Shepherd, lead on.—
And trust thy honest offer’d courtesie,
Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds
With smoaky rafters, then in tapstry Halls
And Courts of Princes, where it first was nam’d,
And yet is most pretended: In a place
Less warranted then this, or less secure,
I cannot be, that I should fear to change it.
Eie me, blest Providence, and square my triall
To my proportion’d strength! Shepherd, lead on.—
[Exeunt
