COMUS DEDICATION OF THE ANONYMOUS EDITION PUBLISHED BY LAWES IN 1637 "To the Right Honourable John, Lord Viscount Brackley, son and heir-apparent to the Earl of Bridgewater, &c." "MY LORD, This Poem, which received its first occasion of birth from yourself and other of your noble family, and much honour from your own person in the performance, now return again to make a final dedication of itself to you. Although not openly acknowledged by the Author, yet it is a legitimate offspring, so lovely and so much desired that the often copying of it hath tired my pen to give my several friends satisfaction, and brought me to a necessity of producing it to the public view, and now to offer it up, in all rightful devotion, to those fair hopes and rare endowments of your much-promising youth, which give a full assurance to all that know you of a future excellence. Live, sweet Lord, to be the honour of your name; and receive this as your own from the hands of him who hath by many favours been long obliged to your most honoured Parents, and, as in this representation your attendant Thyrsis, so now in all real expression "Your faithful and most humble Servant, THE PERSONS THE ATTENDANT SPIRIT, afterwards in the habit of THYRSIS. THE LADY. "H. LAWES." 90 And in this office of his mountain watch Likeliest, and nearest to the present aid 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 Now the top of heaven doth hold; His glowing axle doth allay And the slope Sun his upward beam Meanwhile, welcome joy and feast, Braid your locks with rosy twine, Dropping odours, dropping wine. Rigour now is gone to bed; And Advice with scrupulous head, 100 That crawls along the side of yon small hill, 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, And, as I passed, I worshiped. If those you seek, It were a journey like the path to Heaven Lady. 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, Without the sure guess of well-practised feet. 310 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 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 other wise, |