Miltons Comus | Page 8

of the Sun, whose charmèd 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,?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,?To quench the drouth of Phoebus; 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,?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 adventurous 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,?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?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,?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,?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 rights begin;?'Tis 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?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?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,?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,?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 here.
_The LADY enters._
_Lady._ This way the noise was, if