And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets,
Where no crude surfeit reigns.
El. Br. List, list, I hear
Some far off halla break the silent air.
Sec. Br. Methought so too; what should it be?
El. Br. For certain
Either some one, like us, night-founder'd here
Or else some neighbour woodman, or, at worst,
Some roving robber calling to his fellows.
Sec. Br. Heaven keep my sister! Again, again, Best draw, and stand upon our guard. [and near; El. Br. I'll halla;
If he be friendly, he comes well; if not,
Defence is a good cause, and Heaven be for us.
Enter the ATTENDANT SPIRIT, habited like a shepherd.
That halla I should know, what are you? speak;
Come not too near, you fall on iron stakes else. [again.
Spir. What voice is that? my young lord? speak
Sec. Br. O brother, 'tis my father's shepherd, sure.
El. Br. Thyrsis? Whose artful strains have oft de-
The huddling brook, to hear his madrigal,
And sweeten'd every muskrose of the dale;
How camest thou here, good swain? hath any ram
Slipp'd from the fold, or young kid lost his dam,
Or straggling wether the pent flock forsook?
How could'st thou find this dark sequester'd nook?
Spir. O my lov'd master's heir, & his next joy!
I came not here on such a trivial toy
As a stray'd ewe, or to pursue the stealth
Of pilfering wolf; 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?
El. Br. To tell thee, sadly, shepherd, without
Or our neglect, we lost her as we came.
Spir. Ay me unhappy! then my fears are true.
El. Br. What fears, good Thyrsis? Pr'ythee brief-
Spir. I'll tell ye; 'tis not vain or fabulous, [ly shew.
Though so esteem'd by shallow ignorance,
What the sage poets, taught by the heavenly Muse,
Storied of old, in high immortal verse,
Of dire chimeras, and enchanted isles,
And rifted rocks, whose entrance leads to Hell;
For such there be, but unbelief is blind.
Within the navel of this hideous wood,
Immured in cypress shades, a sorcerer dwells,
Of Bacchus and of Circe born, great Comus,
Deep skill'd in all his mother's witcheries;
And here, to every thirsty wanderer,
By sly enticement, gives his baneful cup,
With many murmurs mix'd, whose pleasing poison
The visage quite transforms of him that drinks,
And the inglorious likeness of a beast
Fixes instead, unmoulding Reason's mintage,
Character'd in the face: this have I learn'd
Tending my flocks hard by in 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,
Doing abhorred rites to Hecate,
In their obscured 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.
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
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,
And fill'd the air with barbarous dissonance;
At which I ceas'd, and listen'd them a while,
Till an unusual stop of sudden silence
Gave respite to the drowsy frighted steeds,
That draw the litter of close-curtain'd Sleep;
At last, a soft and solemn-breathing'sound
Rose like a steam of rich distill'd perfumes,
And stole upon the air, that even Silence
Was took ere she was 'ware, & wish'd she might
Deny her nature, and be never more
Still to be so displaced. I was all ear,
And took in strains that might create a soul
Under the ribs of Death: but O, ere long,
Too well did I perceive it was the voice
Of my most honour'd Lady, your dear sister.
Amazed I stood, harrow'd 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,
Till, guided by mine ear, I found the place,
Where that damn'd wizard, 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 wish'd prey;
Who gently ask'd if he had seen such two,
Supposing him some neighbouring villager.
Longer I durst not stay, but soon I guess'd
Ye were the two she meant; with that I sprung
Into swift flight, till I had found you here;
But further know I not.
Sec. Br. O night, and shades,
How are ye join'd with Hell, in triple knot,
Against the unarmed weakness of one virgin,
Alone, and helpless? Is this the confidence
You gave me, brother?
El. Br. 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,
Which erring men call Chance, this I hold firm,—
Virtue may be assail'd, but never hurt,*
Surprised 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 itself shall back recoil,
And mix no more with goodness, when at last,
Gather'd like scum, and settled to itself,
It shall be, in eternal restless change
Self-fed, and self-consumed: if this fail,
The pillar'd 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 damn'd magician, let him be girt
With all the grisly legions 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 return his purchase back,
Or drag him, by the curls, to a foul death,
Cursed as his life.
Spir. Alas! good venturous youth,
I love thy courage yet, and bold emprise;
But here thy sword can do thee little stead;
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.
El. Br. Why pr'ythee, shepherd,
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,
Of small regard to see to, yet well skill'd
In every virtuous plant, and healing herb,
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
Would sit, and hearken even to ecstacy,
And, in requital, ope his leathern scrip,
And show me simples of a thousand names,
Telling their strange and vigorous faculties :
Amongst the rest, a small unsightly root,
But of divine effect, he cull'd 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 esteem'd; and the dull swain
Treads on it daily, with his clouted shoon;
And yet more medicinal is it than that moly,
That Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave;
He call'd it hæmony, and gave it me,
And bade me keep it, as of sovereign use,
'Gainst all enchantments, mildew, blast, or damp,
Or ghastly furies' apparition.
I pursed it up, but little reckoning made,
Till now, that this extremity compell'd:
But now, I find it true; for, by this means,
I knew the foul enchanter, though disguised,
Enter'd 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;
Where if he be, with dauntless hardihood,
And brandish'd blade, rush on him, break his glass,
And shed the luscious liquor on the ground,
But seize his wand; though he and his cursed crew
Fierce sign of battle make, and menace high,
Or like the sons of Vulcan, vomit smoke,
Yet will they soon retire, if he but shrink.
El. Br. 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, table, spread with all dainties. Coмus appears with his rabble, and the LADY set in an enchanted chair, to whom he offers his glass, which she puts by, and goes about to rise.
Nay, lady, sit; if I but wave this wand, Your nerves are all chain'd up in alabaster, And you a statue; or, as Daphne was, Rootbound, that fled Apollo.
Lad. Fool, do not boast;
Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind, With all thy charms, although this corporal rhind, Thou hast immanacled, while Heaven sees good.
Com. Why are you vex'd, lady? why do you frown,
Here dwell no frowns, nor anger; from these gates
Sorrow flies far. See, here be all the pleasures,
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
With spirits of balm and fragrant sirops mix'd.
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.
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,
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,
And timely rest have wanted; but, fair virgin,
This will restore all soon.
Lad. 'Twill not, false traitor;
Twill not restore the truth and honesty,
That thou hast banish'd from thy tongue, with lies.
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