Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Ralph Waldo Emerson, comp. (1803–1882). Parnassus: An Anthology of Poetry. 1880.

Comus, a Mask

John Milton (1608–1674)

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

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,

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,

I would not soil these pure ambrosial weeds

With the rank vapors 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

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,

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

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,

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,

But that by quick command from sovereign 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.

Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape

Crushed the sweet poison of misusèd wine,

After the Tuscan mariners transformed,

Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listed,

On Circé’s island fell: who knows not Circé,

The daughter 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,

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 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,

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 favored of high Jove

Chances to pass through this adventurous glade,

Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star

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

Of this occasion. But I hear the tread

Of hateful steps; I must be viewless now.

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

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 odors, dropping wine.

Rigor now has gone to bed,

And Advice with scrupulous head,

Strict Age, and sour Severity,

With their grave saws in slumber lie.

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,

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,

’Tis only daylight that makes sin,

Which these dun shades will ne’er report.

Hail, Goddess of nocturnal sport,

Dark-veil’d Cotytto! t’whom the secret flame

Of midnight torches burns; mysterious dame,

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 rid’st with Hecate, and befriend

Us thy vowed priests, till utmost end

Of all thy dues be done, and none left out,

Ere the babbling eastern scout,

The nice Morn, on the Indian steep

From her cabined loophole peep,

And to the telltale sun descry

Our concealed solemnity.

Come, knit hands, and beat the ground

In a light fantastic round.

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,

And to my wily trains; I shall ere long

Be well stocked with as fair a herd as grazed

About my mother Circé. Thus I hurl

My dazzling spells into the spungy 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,

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.

This way the noise was, if mine ear be true,

My best guide now; methought it was the sound

Of riot and ill-managed merriment,

Such as the jocund flute, or gamesome pipe

Stirs up among the loose unlettered 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 rudeness, and swilled insolence

Of such late wassailers; yet O! where else

Shall I inform my unacquainted feet

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 favor of these pines,

Stepped, as they said, 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 Even,

Like a sad votarist in palmer’s weed,

Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phœbus’ wain.

But where they are, and why they came not back,

Is now the labor of my thoughts; ’tis likeliest

They had engaged their wandering steps too far;

And envious darkness, ere they could return,

Had stole them from me: else, O thievish Night,

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 traveller?

This is the place, as well as I may guess,

Whence even now the tumult of loud mirth

Was rife, and perfect in my listening ear,

Yet nought but single darkness do I find.

What might this be? A thousand fantasies

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

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!

I see ye visibly, and now believe

That he, the Supreme Good, t’whom all things ill

Are but as slavish officers of vengeance,

Would send a glistering guardian, if need were,

To keep my life and honor unassailed.

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:

I cannot halloo to my brothers, but

Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest

I’ll venture, for my new enlivened spirits

Prompt me; and they perhaps are not far off.

Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv’st unseen

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;

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.

Sweet queen of parley, daughter of the sphere!

So mayst thou be translated to the skies,

And give resounding grace to all heaven’s harmonies.

Com.—Can any mortal mixture of earth’s mould

Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment?

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,

At every fall smoothing the raven down

Of darkness till it smiled! I have oft heard

My mother Circé with the Sirens three,

Amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades,

Culling their potent herbs, and baleful drugs,

Who, as they sung, would take the prisoned soul,

And lap it in Elysium; Scylla wept,

And chid her barking waves into attention,

And fell Charybdis murmured soft applause:

Yet they in pleasing slumber lulled the sense,

And in sweet madness robbed it of itself;

But such a sacred and homefelt 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!

Whom certain these rough shades did never breed,

Unless the goddess that in rural 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 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

To give me answer from her mossy couch.

Com.—What chance, good Lady, hath bereft you thus?

Lady.—Dim darkness, and this leafy labyrinth.

Com.—Could that divide you from near-ushering guides?

Lady.—They left me weary on a grassy turf.

Com.—By falsehood, or discourtesy, or why?

Lady.—To seek i’ the valley some cool friendly spring.

Com.—And left your fair side all unguarded, Lady?

Lady.—They were but twain, and purposed quick return.

Com.—Perhaps forestalling night prevented them.

Lady.—How easy my misfortune is to hit!

Com.—Imports their loss beside the present need?

Lady.—No less than if I should my brothers lose.

Com.—Were they of manly prime, or youthful bloom?

Lady.—As smooth as Hebe’s their unrazored lips.

Com.—Two such I saw, what time the labored 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,

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 colors of the rainbow live,

And play i’ the plighted clouds. I was awestruck,

And as I passed, I worshipped: if those you seek,

It were a journey like the path to heaven

To help you find them.

Lady.—Gentle Villager,

What readiest way would bring me to that place?

Com.—Due west it rises from this shrubby point.

Lady.—To find that out, good shepherd, I suppose

In such a scant allowance of starlight,

Would overtask the best land-pilot’s art,

Without the sure guess of well-practised feet.

Com.—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 neighborhood;

And if your stray attendants 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

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

With smoky rafters, than in tap’stry 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.

Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial

To my proportioned strength. Shepherd, lead on.

1 Br.—Unmuffle, ye faint stars, and thou, fair moon,

That wont’st to love the traveller’s benison,

Stoop thy pale visage through an amber cloud,

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

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.

2 Br.—Or if our eyes

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,

’Twould be some solace yet, some little cheering

In this close dungeon of innumerous boughs.

But O that hapless virgin, our lost sister!

Where may she wander now, whither betake her

From the chill dew, among rude burrs and thistles?

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

Of savage hunger, or of savage heat?

1 Br.—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,

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,

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.

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,

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:

But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts,

Benighted walks under the mid-day sun;

Himself is his own dungeon.

2 Br.—’Tis most true,

That musing meditation most affects

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 roll a hermit of his weeds,

His few books, or his beads, or maple dish,

Or do his gray hairs any violence?

But beauty, like the fair Hesperian tree

Laden with blooming gold, had need the guard

Of dragon watch with unenchanted eye,

To save her blossoms, and defend her fruit

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,

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

Of our unowned sister.

1 Br.—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

Does arbitrate the event, my nature is

That I incline 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

Which you remember not.

2 Br.—What hidden strength,

Unless the strength of Heaven, if you mean that?

1 Br.—I mean that too, but yet a hidden strength

Which, if Heaven gave it, may be termed her own;

’Tis chastity, my brother, chastity.

She that has that is clad in complete steel,

And like a quivered Nymph with arrows keen

May trace huge forests, and unharbored heaths,

Infamous hills, and sandy perilous wilds,

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,

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,

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

To testify the arms of chastity?

Hence had the huntress Dian her dread bow,

Fair silver-shafted queen, forever chaste,

Wherewith she tamed the brinded lioness

And spotted mountain pard, and set at nought

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 congealed stone,

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,

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

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,

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.

Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp

Oft seen in charnel vaults, and sepulchres,

Lingering and sitting by a new-made grave,

As loath to leave the body that it loved,

And linked itself by carnal sensuality

To a degenerate and degraded state.

2 Br.—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,

Where no crude surfeit reigns.

1 Br.—List, list, I hear

Some far off halloo break the silent air.

2 Br.—Methought so too: what should it be?

1 Br.—For certain

Either some one like us night-foundered here,

Or else some neighbor woodman, or, at worst,

Some roving robber calling to his fellows.

2 Br.—Heaven keep my sister. Again, again, and near!

Best draw, and stand upon our guard.

1 Br.—I’ll halloo:

If he be friendly, he comes well; if not,

Defence is a good cause, and Heaven be for us.

That halloo I should know: what are you? speak;

Come not too near, you fall on iron stakes else.

Spir.—What voice is that? my young Lord? speak again.

2 Br.—O brother, ’tis my father’s shepherd, sure.

1 Br.—Thyrsis? Whose artful strains have oft delayed

The huddling brook to hear his madrigal,

And sweetened every muskrose of the dale.

How cam’st thou here, good swain? hath any ram

Slipt from the fold, or young kid lost his dam,

Or straggling wether the pent flock forsook?

How couldst thou find this dark sequestered nook?

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

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?

1 Br.—To tell thee sadly, Shepherd, without blame,

Or our neglect, we lost her as we came.

Spir.—Aye me unhappy! then my fears are true.

1 Br.—What fears, good Thyrsis? Prithee briefly show.

Spir.—I’ll tell ye; ’tis not vain or fabulous,

Though so esteemed 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 Circé born, great Comus,

Deep skilled in all his mother’s witcheries;

And here to every thirsty wanderer

By sly enticement gives his baneful cup,

With many murmurs mixed, whose pleasing poison

The visage quite transforms of him that drinks,

And the inglorious likeness of a beast

Fixes instead, unmoulding reason’s mintage

Charáctered in the face: this I have 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,

Doing abhorred rites to Hecate

In their obscured haunts of inmost bowers.

Yet have they many baits, and guileful spells,

T’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 savory 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 honey-suckle, 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 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 frighted steeds,

That draw the litter of close-curtained sleep;

At last a soft and solemn-breathing sound

Rose like a stream 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,

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 I did perceive it was the voice

Of my most honored Lady, your dear sister.

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,

Till guided by mine ear I found the place,

Where that damned 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 wished prey;

Who gently asked if he had seen such two,

Supposing him some neighbor 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,

But further know I not.

2 Br.—O night and shades,

How are ye joined with Hell in triple knot,

Against the unarmed weakness of one virgin,

Alone and helpless! Is this the confidence

You gave me, brother?

1 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 assailed, but never hurt,

Surprised by unjust force, but not inthralled;

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

Gathered like scum, and settled to itself,

It shall be in eternal restless change

Self-fed, and self-consumed: if this fail,

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

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 vent’rous 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.

1 Br.—Why prithee, 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 skilled

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 e’en to ecstasy,

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 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

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 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 reck’ning made,

Till now that this extremity compelled:

But now I find it true; for by this means

I knew the foul enchanter 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;

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 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.

1 Br.—Thyrsis, lead on apace, I’ll follow thee,

And some good Angel bear a shield before us.

Com.—Nay, Lady, sit; if I but wave this wand,

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

With all thy charms, although this corporal rind

Thou hast immanacled, while heaven sees good.

Com.—Why are you vext, 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 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.

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.

Lady.—’Twill not, false traitor,

’Twill not restore the truth and honesty

That thou hast banished from thy tongue with lies.

Was this the cottage, and the safe abode

Thou told’st me of? What grim aspects are these,

These ugly-headed monsters? Mercy guard me!

Hence with thy brewed enchantments, foul deceiver;

Hast thou betrayed my credulous innocence

With visored falsehood and base forgery?

And wouldst thou seek again to trap me here

With liquorish baits fit to insnare a brute?

Were it a draught for Juno when she banquets,

I would not taste thy treasonous offer; none

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.

Com.—O foolishness of men! that lend their ears

To those budge doctors of the Stoic fur,

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 odors, fruits, and flocks,

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

Be vacant of her plenty, in her own loins

She hutched the all worshipped ore, and precious gems,

To store her children with: if all the world

Should in a pet of temperance feed on pulse,

Drink the clear stream, and nothing wear but frieze,

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,

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

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

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,

Unsavory in the enjoyment of itself;

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;

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,

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 unlockt my lips

In this unhallowed air, but that this juggler

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,

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 laws,

And holy dictate of spare temperance:

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

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,

But with besotted base ingratitude

Crams, and blasphemes his feeder. Shall I go on?

Or have I said enough? To him that dares

Arm his profane tongue with contemptuous words

Against the sun-clad power of Chastity,

Fain would I something say, yet to what end?

Thou hast not ear, nor soul to apprehend

The sublime notion, and high mystery,

That must be uttered to unfold the sage

And serious doctrine of Virginity,

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;

Yet should I try, the uncontrolled 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,

Till all thy magic structures reared so high,

Were shattered into heaps o’er thy false head.

Com.—She fables not; I feel that I do fear

Her words set off by some superior power:

And though not mortal, yet a cold shuddering dew

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

Against the canon laws of our foundation;

I must not suffer this, yet ’tis 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,

Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste.—

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 backword mutters of dissevering power,

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,

The soothest shepherd that e’er 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,

That had the sceptre from his father Brute.

She, guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuit

Of her enraged stepdame Guendolen,

Commended her fair innocence to the flood,

They stayed her flight with his cross-flowing course.

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

In nectared lavers strewed with asphodel,

And through the porch and inlet of each sense

Dropped in ambrosial oils, till she revived,

And underwent a quick immortal change,

Made Goddess of the river: still she retains

Her maiden gentleness, and oft at eve

Visits the herds along the twilight meadows,

Helping all urchin blasts, and ill-luck signs

That the shrewd meddling elf delights to make,

Which she with precious vialled liquors heals;

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 daffodils,

And, as the old swain said, she can unlock

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,

And add the power of some adjuring verse.

Sabrina fair,

Listen where thou art sitting

Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave,

In twisted braids of lilies knitting

The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair;

Listen for dear honor’s sake,

Goddess of the silver lake,

Listen and save.

Listen and appear to us

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,

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,

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,

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,

Till thou our summons answered have.

Listen and save.

By the rushy-fringed bank,

Where grow the willow and the osier dank,

My sliding chariot stays,

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

O’er the cowslip’s velvet head,

That bends not as I tread;

Gentle Swain, at thy request

I am here.

Spir.—Goddess dear,

We implore thy powerful hand

To undo the charmèd band

Of true virgin here distressed,

Through the force, and through the wile

Of unblest enchanter vile.

Sabr.—Shepherd, ’tis my office best

To help ensnarèd chastity:

Brightest Lady, look on me;

Thus I sprinkle on thy breast

Drops that from my fountain pure

I have kept of precious cure,

Thrice upon thy finger’s tip,

Thrice upon thy rubied lip;

Next this marble venomed seat,

Smeared with gums of glutinous heat,

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.

Spir.—Virgin, daughter of Locrine,

Sprung of old Anchises’ line,

May thy brimmèd waves for this

Their full tribute never miss

From a thousand petty rills,

That tumble down the snowy hills:

Summer drouth, or singèd air

Never scorch thy tresses fair,

Nor wet October’s torrent flood

Thy molten crystal fill with mud;

May thy billows roll ashore

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.

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,

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,

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;

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.

Spir.—Back, Shepherds, back, enough your play,

Till next sunshine holiday;

Here be without duck or nod

Other trippings to be trod

Of lighter toes, and such court guise

As Mercury did first devise,

With the mincing Dryades,

On the lawns, and on the leas.

Noble Lord, and Lady bright,

I have brought ye new delight,

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

With a crown of deathless praise,

To triumph in victorious dance

O’er sensual folly, and intemperance.

Spir.—To the ocean now I fly,

And those happy climes that lie

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

That sing about the golden tree:

Along the crisped shades and bowers

Revels the spruce and jocund Spring,

The Graces, and the rosy-bosomed Hours,

Thither all their bounties bring;

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

Waters the odorous banks, that blow

Flowers of more mingled hue

Than her purfled scarf can show,

And drenches with Elysian dew,

(List mortals, if your ears be true)

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;

But far above in spangled sheen

Celestial Cupid, her famed son, advanced,

Holds his dear Psyche sweet entranced,

After her wandering labors long,

Till free consent the Gods among

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,

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.

Mortals, that would follow me,

Love Virtue, she alone is free;

She can teach ye how to climb

Higher than the sphery chime:

Or, if Virtue feeble were,

Heaven itself would stoop to her.