1117 lines
52 KiB
Plaintext
1117 lines
52 KiB
Plaintext
1637
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COMUS
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by John Milton
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COMUS
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Comus
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A Mask Presented at Ludlow-Castle,
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1634 &c.
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The Persons
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The attendant Spirit afterwards in the habit of Thyrsis.
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The Lady.
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1. Brother. 2. Brother.
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Comus with his crew.
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Sabrina the Nymph.
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The cheif persons which presented, were
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The Lord Bracly,
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Mr. Thomas Egerton his Brother,
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The Lady Alice Egerton.
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The first Scene discovers a wilde Wood
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The attendant Spirit descends or enters
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BEFORE the starry threshold of Joves Court
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My mansion is, where those immortal shapes
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Of bright aereal Spirits live insphear'd
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In Regions milde of calm and serene Ayr,
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Above the smoak and stirr of this dim spot,
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Which men call Earth, and with low-thoughted care
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Confin'd, and pester'd in this pin-fold here,
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Strive to keep up a frail, and Feaverish being
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Unmindfull of the crown that Vertue gives
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After this mortal change, to her true Servants
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Amongst the enthron'd gods on Sainted seats.
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Yet som there be that by due steps aspire
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To lay their just hands on that Golden Key
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That ope's the Palace of Eternity:
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To such my errand is, and but for such,
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I would not soil these pure Ambrosial weeds,
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With the rank vapours of this Sin-worn mould.
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But to my task. Neptune besides the sway
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Of every salt Flood, and each ebbing Stream,
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Took in by lot 'twixt high, and neather Jove,
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Imperial rule of all the Sea-girt Iles
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That like to rich, and various gemms inlay
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The unadorned boosom of the Deep,
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Which he to grace his tributary gods
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By course commits to severall government,
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And gives them leave to wear their Saphire crowns,
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And weild their little tridents, but this Ile
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The greatest, and the best of all the main
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He quarters to his blu-hair'd deities,
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And all this tract that fronts the falling Sun
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A noble Peer of mickle trust, and power
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Has in his charge, with temper'd awe to guide
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An old, and haughty Nation proud in Arms:
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Where his fair off-spring nurs't in Princely lore,
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Are coming to attend their Fathers state,
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And new-entrusted Scepter, but their way
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Lies through the perplex't paths of this drear Wood,
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The nodding horror of whose shady brows
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Threats the forlorn and wandring Passinger.
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And here their tender age might suffer perill,
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But that by quick command from Soveran Jove
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I was dispatcht for their defence, and guard;
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And listen why for I will tell ye now
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What never yet was heard in Tale or Song
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From old, or modern Bard in Hall, or Bowr.
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Bacchus that first from out the purple Grape,
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Crush't the sweet poyson of mis-used Wine
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After the Tuscan Mariners transform'd
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Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listed,
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On Circes Iland fell (who knows not Circe
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The daughter of the Sun? Whose charmed Cup
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Whoever tasted, lost his upright shape,
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And downward fell into a groveling Swine)
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This Nymph that gaz'd upon his clustring locks,
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With Ivy berries wreath' d, and his blithe youth,
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Had by him, ere he parted thence, a Son
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Much like his Father, but his Mother more,
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Whom therfore she brought up and Comus nam'd,
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Who ripe, and frolick of his full grown age,
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Roaving the Celtick, and Iberian fields,
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At last betakes him to this ominous Wood,
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And in thick shelter of black shades imbowr'd,
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Excells his Mother at her mighty Art,
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Offring to every weary Travailer,
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His orient liquor in a Crystal Glasse,
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To quench the drouth of Phoebus, which as they taste
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(For most do taste through fond intemperate thirst)
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Soon as the Potion works, their human count'nance,
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Th' express resemblance of the gods, is chang'd
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Into som brutish form of Woolf, or Bear,
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Or Ounce, or Tiger, Hog, or bearded Goat,
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All other parts remaining as they were,
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And they, so perfect is their misery,
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Not once perceive their foul disfigurement,
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But boast themselves more comely then before
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And all their friends, and native home forget
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To roule with pleasure in a sensual stie.
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Therfore when any favour'd of high Jove,
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Chances to pass through this adventrous glade,
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Swift as the Sparkle of a glancing Star,
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I shoot from Heav'n to give him safe convoy,
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As now I do: But first I must put off
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These my skie robes spun out of Iris Wooff,
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And take the Weeds and likenes of a Swain,
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That to the service of this house belongs,
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Who with his soft Pipe, and smooth-dittied Song,
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Well knows to still the wilde winds when they roar,
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And hush the waving Woods, nor of lesse faith,
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And in this office of his Mountain watch,
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Likeliest, and neerest to the present ayd
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Of this occasion. But I hear the tread
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Of hatefull steps, I must be viewless now.
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Comus enters with a Charming Rod in one hand, his Glass in the
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other, with him a rout of Monsters, headed like sundry sorts of
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wilde Beasts, but otherwise like Men and Women, their Apparel
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glistring, they com in making a riotous and unruly noise, with Torches
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in their hands.
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Comus. The Star that bids the Shepherd fold,
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Now the top of Heav'n doth hold,
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And the gilded Car of Day,
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His glowing Axle doth allay
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In the steep Atlantick stream,
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And the slope Sun his upward beam
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Shoots against the dusky Pole,
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Pacing toward the other gole
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Of his Chamber in the East.
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Mean while welcom Joy, and Feast,
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Midnight shout, and revelry,
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Tipsie dance, and Jollity.
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Braid your Locks with rosie Twine
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Dropping odours, dropping Wine.
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Rigor now is gon to bed,
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And Advice with scrupulous head,
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Strict Age, and sowre Severity,
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With their grave Saws in slumber ly.
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We that are of purer fire
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Imitate the Starry Quire,
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Who in their nightly watchfull Sphears,
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Lead in swift round the Months and Years.
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The Sounds, and Seas with all their finny drove
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Now to the Moon in wavering Morrice move,
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And on the Tawny Sands and Shelves,
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Trip the pert Fairies and the dapper Elves;
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By dimpled Brook, and Fountain brim,
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The Wood-Nymphs deckt with Daisies trim,
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Their merry wakes and pastimes keep:
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What hath night to do with sleep?
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Night hath better sweets to prove,
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Venus now wakes, and wak'ns Love.
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Com let us our rights begin,
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'Tis onely day-light that makes Sin
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Which these dun shades will ne're report.
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Hail Goddesse of Nocturnal sport
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Dark vaild Cotytto, t' whom the secret flame
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Of mid-night Torches burns; mysterious Dame
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That ne're art call'd, but when the Dragon woom
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Of Stygian darknes spets her thickest gloom,
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And makes one blot of all the ayr,
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Stay thy cloudy Ebon chair,
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Wherin thou rid'st with Hecat', and befriend
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Us thy vow'd Priests, til utmost end
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Of all thy dues be done, and none left out,
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Ere the blabbing Eastern scout,
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The nice Morn on th' Indian steep
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From her cabin'd loop hole peep,
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And to the tel-tale Sun discry
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Our conceal'd Solemnity.
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Com, knit hands, and beat the ground,
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In a light fantastick round.
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The Measure
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Break off, break off, I feel the different pace,
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Of som chast footing neer about this ground.
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Run to your shrouds, within these Brakes and Trees,
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Our number may affright: Som Virgin sure
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(For so I can distinguish by mine Art)
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Benighted in these Woods. Now to my charms,
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And to my wily trains, I shall e're long
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Be well stock't with as fair a herd as graz'd
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About my Mother Circe. Thus I hurl
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My dazling Spells into the spungy ayr,
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Of power to cheat the eye with blear illusion,
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Ada give it false presentments, lest the place
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And my quaint habits breed astonishment,
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And put the Damsel to suspicious flight,
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Which must not be, for that's against my course;
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I under fair pretence of friendly ends,
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And well plac't words of glozing courtesie
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Baited with reasons not unplausible
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Wind me into the easie-hearted man,
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And hugg him into snares. When once her eye
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Hath met the vertue of this Magick dust,
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I shall appear som harmles Villager
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Whom thrift keeps up about his Country gear,
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But here she comes, I fairly step aside,
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And hearken, if I may, her busines here.
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The Lady enters
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This way the noise was, if mine ear be true,
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My best guide now, me thought it was the sound
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Of Riot, and ill manag'd Merriment,
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Such as the jocond Flute, or gamesom Pipe
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Stirs up among the loose unleter'd Hinds,
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When for their teeming Flocks, and granges full
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In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan,
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And thank the gods amiss. I should be loath
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To meet the rudenesse, and swill'd insolence
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Of such late Wassailers; yet O where els
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Shall I inform my unacquainted feet
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In the blind mazes of this tangl'd Wood?
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My Brothers when they saw me wearied out
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With this long way, resolving here to lodge
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Under the spreading favour of these Pines,
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Stept as they se'd to the next Thicket side
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To bring me Berries, or such cooling fruit
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As the kind hospitable Woods provide.
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They left me then, when the gray-hooded Eev'n
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Like a sad Votarist in Palmers weed
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Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus wain.
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But where they are, and why they came not back,
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Is now the labour of my thoughts, 'tis likeliest
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They had ingag'd their wandring steps too far,
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And envious darknes, e're they could return,
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Had stole them from me, els O theevish Night
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Why shouldst thou, but for som fellonious end,
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In thy dark lantern thus close up the Stars,
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That nature hung in Heav'n, and fill'd their Lamps
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With everlasting to give due light
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To the misled and lonely Travailer?
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This is the place, as well as I may guess,
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Whence eev'n now the tumult of loud Mirth
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Was rife, and perfet in my list'ning ear,
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Yet nought but single darknes do I find.
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What might this be? A thousand fantasies
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Begin to throng into my memory
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Of calling shapes, and beckning shadows dire,
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And airy tongues, that syllable mens names
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On Sands, and Shoars, and desert Wildernesses.
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These thoughts may startle well, but not astound
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The vertuous mind, that ever walks attended
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By a strong siding champion Conscience.-
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O welcom pure-ey'd Faith, white-handed Hope,
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Thou hovering Angel girt with golden wings,
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And thou unblemish't form of Chastity,
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I see ye visibly, and now beleeve
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That he, the Supreme good, t'whom all things ill
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Are but as slavish officers of vengeance,
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Would send a glistring Guardian if need were
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To keep my life and honour unassail'd.
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Was I deceiv'd, or did a sable cloud
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Turn forth her silver lining on the night?
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I did not err, there does a sable cloud
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Turn forth her silver lining on the night
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And casts a gleam over this tufted Grove.
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I cannot hallow to my Brothers, but
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Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest
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Ile venter, for my new enliv'nd spirits
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Prompt me; and they perhaps are not far off.
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SONG
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Sweet Echo, sweetest Nymph that livst unseen
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Within thy airy shell
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By slow Meander's margent green,
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And in the violet imbroider'd vale
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Where the love-lorn Nightingale
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Nightly to thee her sad Song mourneth well.
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Canst thou not tell me of a gentle Pair
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That likest thy Narcissus are?
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O if thou have
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Hid them in som flowry Cave,
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Tell me but where
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Sweet Queen of Parly, Daughter of the Sphear,
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So maist thou be translated to the skies,
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And give resounding grace to all Heavns Harmonies.
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Com. Can any mortal mixture of Earths mould
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Breath such Divine inchanting ravishment?
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Sure somthing holy lodges in that brest,
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And with these raptures moves the vocal air
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To testifie his hidd'n residence;
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How sweetly did they float upon the wings
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Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night
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At every fall smoothing the Raven doune
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Of darknes till it smil'd: have oft heard
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My mother Circe with the Sirens three,
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Amid'st the flowry-kirtl'd Naiades
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Culling their Potent hearbs, and balefull drugs,
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Who as they sung, would take the prison'd soul,
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And lap it in Elysium, Scylla wept,
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And chid her barking waves into attention,
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And fell Charybdis murmur'd soft applause:
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Yet they in pleasing slumber lull'd the sense,
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And in sweet madness rob'd it of it self,
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But such a sacred, and home-felt delight,
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Such sober certainty of waking bliss
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I never heard till now. Ile speak to her
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And she shall be my Queen. Hail forren wonder
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Whom certain these rough shades did never breed
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Unlesse the Goddes that in rurall shrine
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Dwell'st here with Pan, or Silvan, by blest Song
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Forbidding every bleak unkindly Fog
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To touch the prosperous growth of this tall Wood.
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La. Nay gentle Shepherd ill is lost that praise
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That is addrest to unattending Ears,
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Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift
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How to regain my sever'd company
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Compell'd me to awake the courteous Echo
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To give me answer from her mossie Couch.
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Co. What chance good Lady hath bereft you thus?
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La. Dim darknes, and this leavy Labyrinth.
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Co. Could that divide you from neer-ushering guides?
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La. They left me weary on a grassie terf.
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Co. By falshood, or discourtesie, or why?
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La. To seek i'th vally som cool friendly Spring.
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Co. And left your fair side all unguarded Lady?
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La. They were but twain, and purpos'd quick return.
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Co. Perhaps fore-stalling night prevented them.
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La. How easie my misfortune is to hit!
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Co. Imports their loss, beside the present need?
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La. No less then if I should my brothers loose.
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Co. Were they of manly prime, or youthful bloom?
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La. As smooth as Hebe's their unrazor'd lips.
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Co. Two such I saw, what time the labour'd Oxe
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In his loose traces from the furrow came,
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And the swink't hedger at his Supper sate;
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I saw them under a green mantling vine
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That crawls along the side of yon small hill,
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Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots,
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Their port was more then human, as they stood;
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I took it for a faery vision
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Of som gay creatures of the element
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That in the colours of the Rainbow live
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And play i'th plighted clouds. I was aw-strook,
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And as I past, I worshipt: if those you seek
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It were a journey like the path to Heav'n,
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To help you find them. La. Gentle villager
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What readiest way would bring me to that place?
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Co. Due west it rises from this shrubby point.
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La. To find out that, good Shepherd, I suppose,
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In such a scant allowance of Star-light,
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Would overtask the best Land-Pilots art,
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Without the sure guess of well-practiz'd feet.
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Co. I know each lane, and every alley green
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Dingle, or bushy dell of this wilde Wood,
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And every bosky bourn from side to side
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My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood,
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And if your stray attendance be yet lodg'd,
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Or shroud within these limits, I shall know
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Ere morrow wake, or the low roosted lark
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From her thatch't pallat rowse, if otherwise
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I can conduct you Lady to a low
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But loyal cottage, where you may be safe
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Till further quest'. La. Shepherd I take thy word,
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And trust thy honest offer'd courtesie,
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Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds
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With smoaky rafters, then in tapstry Halls
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And Courts of Princes, where it first was nam'd,
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And yet is most pretended: In a place
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Less warranted then this, or less secure
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I cannot be, that I should fear to change it.
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Eie me blest Providence, and square my triall
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To my proportion'd strength. Shepherd lead on.-
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The Two Brothers
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Eld. Bro. Unmuffle ye faint stars, and thou fair Moon
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That wontst to love the travailers benizon,
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Stoop thy pale visage through an amber cloud,
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And disinherit Chaos, that raigns here
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In double night of darknes, and of shades;
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Or if your influence be quite damm'd up
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With black usurping mists, som gentle taper
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Though a rush Candle from the wicker hole
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Of som clay habitation visit us
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With thy long levell'd rule of streaming light,
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And thou shalt be our star of Arcady,
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Or Tyrian Cynosure. 2.Bro. Or if our eyes
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Be barr'd that happines, might we but hear
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The folded flocks pen'd in their watled cotes,
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Or sound of pastoral reed with oaten stops,
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Or whistle from the Lodge, or village cock
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Count the night watches to his feathery Dames,
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'Twould be som solace yet, som little chearing
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In this close dungeon of innumerous bowes.
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But O that haples virgin our lost sister
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Where may she wander now, whether betake her
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From the chill dew, amongst rude burrs and thistles?
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Perhaps som cold bank is her boulster now
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Or'gainst the rugged bark of som broad Elm
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Leans her unpillow'd head fraught with sad fears.
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What if in wild amazement, and affright,
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Or while we speak within the direfull grasp
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Of Savage hunger, or of Savage heat?
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Eld. Bro. Peace brother, be not over-exquisite
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To cast the fashion of uncertain evils;
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For grant they be so, while they rest unknown,
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What need a man forestall his date of grief,
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And run to meet what he would most avoid?
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Or if they be but false alarms of Fear,
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How bitter is such self-delusion?
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I do not think my sister so to seek,
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Or so unprincipl'd in vertues book,
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And the sweet peace that goodnes boosoms ever,
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As that the single want of light and noise
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(Not being in danger, as I trust she is not)
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Could stir the constant mood of her calm thoughts,
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And put them into mis-becoming plight.
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Vertue could see to do what vertue would
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By her own radiant light, though Sun and Moon
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Were in the flat Sea sunk. And Wisdoms self
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Oft seeks to sweet retired Solitude,
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Where with her best nurse Contemplation
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She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings
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That in the various bussle of resort
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Were all to ruffl'd, and somtimes impair'd.
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He that has light within his own cleer brest
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May sit i'th center, and enjoy bright day,
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But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts
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Benighted walks under the mid-day Sun;
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Himself is his own dungeon.
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2. Bro. Tis most true
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That musing meditation most affects
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The pensive secrecy of desert cell,
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Far from the cheerfull haunt of men, and herds,
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And sits as safe as in a Senat house,
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For who would rob a Hermit of his Weeds,
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His few Books, or his Beads, or Maple Dish,
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Or do his gray hairs any violence?
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But beauty like the fair Hesperian Tree
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Laden with blooming gold, had need the guard
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Of dragon watch with uninchanted eye,
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To save her blossoms, and defend her fruit
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From the rash hand of bold Incontinence.
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You may as well spred out the unsun'd heaps
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Of Misers treasure by an out-laws den,
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And tell me it is safe, as bid me hope
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Danger will wink on Opportunity,
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And let a single helpless maiden pass
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Uninjur'd in this wilde surrounding wast.
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Of night, or lonelines it recks me not,
|
|
I fear the dred events that dog them both,
|
|
Lest som ill greeting touch attempt the person
|
|
Of our unowned sister.
|
|
Eld. Bro. I do not, brother,
|
|
Inferr, as if I thought my sisters state
|
|
Secure without all doubt, or controversie:
|
|
Yet where an equall poise of hope and fear
|
|
Does arbitrate th' event, my nature is
|
|
That I encline to hope, rather then 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. Bro. What hidden strength,
|
|
Unless the strength of Heav'n, if you mean that?
|
|
Eld. Bro. I mean that too, but yet a hidden strength
|
|
Which if Heav'n gave it, may be term'd her own:
|
|
'Tis chastity, my brother, chastity:
|
|
She that has that, is clad in compleat steel,
|
|
And like a quiver'd Nymph with Arrows keen
|
|
May trace huge Forests, and unharbour'd Heaths,
|
|
Infamous Hills, and sandy perilous wildes,
|
|
Where through the sacred rayes of Chastity,
|
|
No savage fierce, Bandite, or mountaneer
|
|
Will dare to soyl her Virgin purity,
|
|
Yea there, where very desolation dwels
|
|
By grots, and caverns shag'd with horrid shades,
|
|
She may pass on with unblench't majesty,
|
|
Be it not don in pride, or in presumption.
|
|
Som say no evil thing that walks by night
|
|
In fog, or fire, by lake, or moorish fen,
|
|
Blew meager Hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost,
|
|
That breaks his magick chains at curfeu time,
|
|
No goblin, or swart faery of the mine,
|
|
Hath hurtfull power o're true virginity.
|
|
Do ye beleeve me yet, or shall I call
|
|
Antiquity from the old Schools of Greece
|
|
To testifie the arms of Chastity?
|
|
Hence had the huntress Dian her dred bow
|
|
Fair silver-shafted Queen for ever chaste,
|
|
Wherwith she tam'd the brinded lioness
|
|
And spotted mountain pard, but set at nought
|
|
The frivolous bolt of Cupid, gods and men
|
|
Fear'd her stern frown, and she was queen oth' Woods.
|
|
What was that snaky-headed Gorgon sheild
|
|
That wise Minerva wore, unconquer'd Virgin,
|
|
Wherwith she freez'd her foes to congeal'd stone?
|
|
But rigid looks of Chast austerity,
|
|
And noble grace that dash't brute violence
|
|
With sudden adoration, and blank aw.
|
|
So dear to Heav'n is Saintly chastity,
|
|
That when a soul is found sincerely so,
|
|
A thousand liveried Angels lacky her,
|
|
Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt,
|
|
And in cleer dream, and solemn vision
|
|
Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear,
|
|
Till oft convers with heav'nly habitants
|
|
Begin to cast a beam on th' outward shape,
|
|
The unpolluted temple of the mind,
|
|
And turns it by degrees to the souls essence,
|
|
Till all be made immortal: but when lust
|
|
By unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk,
|
|
But most by leud and lavish act of sin,
|
|
Lets in defilement to the inward parts,
|
|
The soul grows clotted by contagion,
|
|
Imbodies, and imbrutes, till she quite loose
|
|
The divine property of her first being.
|
|
Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp
|
|
Oft seen in Charnell vaults, and Sepulchers
|
|
Lingering, and sitting by a new made grave,
|
|
As loath to leave the body that it lov'd,
|
|
And link't it self by carnal sensualty
|
|
To a degenerate and degraded state.
|
|
2.Bro. 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 nectar'd sweets,
|
|
Where no crude surfet raigns. Eld. Bro. List, list, I hear
|
|
Som far off hallow break the silent Air.
|
|
2.Bro. Me thought so too; what should it be?
|
|
Eld. Bro. For certain
|
|
Either som one like us night-founder'd here,
|
|
Or els som neighbour Wood-man, or at worst,
|
|
Som roaving Robber calling to his fellows.
|
|
2. Bro. Heav'n keep my sister, agen agen and neer,
|
|
Best draw, and stand upon our guard.
|
|
Eld. Bro. Ile hallow,
|
|
If he be friendly he comes well, if not,
|
|
Defence is a good cause, and Heav'n be for us.
|
|
|
|
The attendant Spirit habited like a Shepherd
|
|
|
|
That hallow I should know, what are you? speak;
|
|
Com not too neer, you fall on iron stakes else.
|
|
Spir. What voice is that, my young Lord? speak agen.
|
|
2. Bro. O brother, 'tis my father Shepherd sure.
|
|
Eld. Bro. Thyrsis? Whose artful strains have oft delaid
|
|
The huddling brook to hear his madrigal,
|
|
And sweeten'd every muskrose of the dale,
|
|
How cam'st thou here good Swain? hath any ram
|
|
Slip't from the fold, or young Kid lost his dam,
|
|
Or straggling weather the pen't flock forsook?
|
|
How couldst thou find this dark sequester'd nook?
|
|
Spir. O my lov'd masters heir, and his next joy,
|
|
I came not here on such a trivial toy
|
|
As a stray'd Ewe, or to pursue the stealth
|
|
Of pilfering Woolf, 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?
|
|
Eld. Bro. To tell thee sadly Shepherd, without blame,
|
|
Or our neglect, we lost her as we came.
|
|
Spir. Ay me unhappy then my fears are true.
|
|
Eld.Bro. What fears good Thyrsis? Prethee briefly shew.
|
|
Spir. Ile tell ye, 'tis not vain or fabulous,
|
|
(Though so esteem'd by shallow ignorance)
|
|
What the sage Poets taught by th' heav'nly Muse,
|
|
Storied of old in high immortal vers
|
|
Of dire Chimera's and inchanted Iles,
|
|
And rifted Rocks whose entrance leads to hell,
|
|
For such there be, but unbelief is blind.
|
|
Within the navil of this hideous Wood,
|
|
Immur'd in cypress shades a Sorcerer dwels
|
|
Of Bacchus, and of Circe born, great Comus,
|
|
Deep skill'd in all his mothers witcheries,
|
|
And here to every thirsty wanderer,
|
|
By sly enticement gives his banefull cup,
|
|
With many murmurs mixt, whose pleasing poison
|
|
The visage quite transforms of him that drinks,
|
|
And the inglorious likenes of a beast
|
|
Fixes instead, unmoulding reasons mintage
|
|
Character'd in the face; this have I learn't
|
|
Tending my flocks hard by i'th hilly crofts,
|
|
That brow this bottom glade, whence night by night
|
|
He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl
|
|
Like stabl'd wolves, or tigers at their prey,
|
|
Doing abhorred rites to Hecate
|
|
In their obscured haunts of inmost bowres.
|
|
Yet have they many baits, and guilefull spells
|
|
To inveigle and invite th' unwary sense
|
|
Of them that pass unweeting by the way.
|
|
This evening late by then the chewing flocks
|
|
Had ta'n their supper on the savoury Herb
|
|
Of Knot-grass dew-besprent, and were in fold,
|
|
I sate me down to watch upon a bank
|
|
With Ivy canopied, and interwove
|
|
With flaunting Hony-suckle, and began
|
|
Wrapt in a pleasing fit of melancholy
|
|
To meditate my rural minstrelsie,
|
|
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't, and listen'd them a while,
|
|
Till an unusuall stop of sudden silence
|
|
Gave respit to the drowsie 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 e're she was ware, and wish't she might
|
|
Deny her nature, and be never more
|
|
Still to be so displac't. I was all eare,
|
|
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 honour'd Lady, your dear sister.
|
|
Amaz'd I stood, harrow'd with grief and fear,
|
|
And O poor hapless Nightingale thought I,
|
|
How sweet thou sing'st, how neer the deadly snare!
|
|
Then down the Lawns I ran with headlong hast
|
|
Through paths, and turnings oft'n trod by day,
|
|
Till guided by mine ear I found the place
|
|
Where that damn'd wisard hid in sly disguise
|
|
(For so by certain signes I knew) had met
|
|
Already, ere my best speed could praevent,
|
|
The aidless innocent Lady his wish't prey,
|
|
Who gently ask't if he had seen such two,
|
|
Supposing him som neighbour villager;
|
|
Longer I durst not stay, but soon I guess't
|
|
Ye were the two she mean't, with that I sprung
|
|
Into swift flight, till I had found you here,
|
|
But furder know I not. 2.Bro. O night and shades,
|
|
How are ye joyn'd with hell in triple knot
|
|
Against th' unarmed weakness of one Virgin
|
|
Alone, and helpless! Is this the confidence
|
|
You gave me Brother? Eld. Bro. 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,
|
|
Vertue may be assail'd, but never hurt,
|
|
Surpriz'd 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 it self shall back recoyl,
|
|
And mix no more with goodness, when at last
|
|
Gather'd like scum, and setl'd to it self
|
|
It shall be in eternal restless change
|
|
Self-fed, and self-consum'd, if this fail,
|
|
The pillar'd firmament is rott'nness,
|
|
And earths base built on stubble. But com let's on.
|
|
Against th' opposing will and arm of Heav'n
|
|
May never this just sword be lifted up,
|
|
But for that damn'd magician, let him be girt
|
|
With all the greisly legions that troop
|
|
Under the sooty flag of Acheron,
|
|
Harpyies and Hydras, or all the monstrous forms
|
|
'Twixt Africa and Inde, Ile find him out,
|
|
And force him to restore his purchase back,
|
|
Or drag him by the curls, to a foul death,
|
|
Curs'd as his life.
|
|
Spir. Alas good ventrous youth,
|
|
I love thy courage yet, and bold Emprise,
|
|
But here thy sword can do thee little stead,
|
|
Farr other arms, and other weapons must
|
|
Be those that quell the might of hellish charms,
|
|
He with his bare wand can unthred thy joynts,
|
|
And crumble all thy sinews.
|
|
Eld. Bro. Why prethee Shepherd
|
|
How durst thou then thy self approach so neer
|
|
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 vertuous plant and healing herb
|
|
That spreds her verdant leaf to th' morning ray,
|
|
He lov'd me well, and oft would beg me sing,
|
|
Which when I did, he on the tender grass
|
|
Would sit, and hearken even to extasie,
|
|
And in requitall ope his leather'n scrip,
|
|
And shew 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 Countrey, as he said,
|
|
Bore a bright golden flowre, but not in this soyl:
|
|
Unknown, and like esteem'd, and the dull swayn
|
|
Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon,
|
|
And yet more med'cinal is it then that Moly
|
|
That Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave;
|
|
He call'd it Haemony, and gave it me,
|
|
And bad me keep it as of sov'ran use
|
|
'Gainst all inchantments, mildew blast, or damp
|
|
Or gastly furies apparition;
|
|
I purs't it up, but little reck'ning made,
|
|
Till now that this extremity compell'd,
|
|
But now I find it true; for by this means
|
|
I knew the foul inchanter though disguis'd,
|
|
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 necromancers hall;
|
|
Where if he be, with dauntless hardihood,
|
|
And brandish't blade rush on him, break his glass,
|
|
And shed the lushious liquor on the ground,
|
|
But sease his wand, though he and his curst crew
|
|
Feirce signe of battail make, and menace high,
|
|
Or like the sons of Vulcan vomit smoak,
|
|
Yet will they soon retire, if he but shrink.
|
|
Eld. Bro. Thyrsis lead on apace, Ile follow thee,
|
|
And som good angel bear a sheild before us.
|
|
|
|
The Scene changes to a stately Palace, set out with all manner of
|
|
deliciousness; soft Musick, Tables spred with all dainties. Comus
|
|
appears with his rabble, and the Lady set in an inchanted Chair, to
|
|
whom he offers his Glass, which she puts by, and goes about to rise.
|
|
|
|
Comus. 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
|
|
Root-bound, that fled Apollo.
|
|
La. Fool do not boast,
|
|
Thou canst not touch the freedom of my minde
|
|
With all thy charms, although this corporal rinde
|
|
Thou haste immanacl'd, while Heav'n sees good.
|
|
Co. Why are you vext Lady? why do you frown?
|
|
Here dwell no frowns, nor anger, from these gates
|
|
Sorrow flies farr: See here be all the pleasures
|
|
That fancy can beget on youthfull 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 Syrops mixt.
|
|
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 your self,
|
|
And to those dainty limms which nature lent
|
|
For gentle usage, and soft delicacy?
|
|
But you invert the cov'nants of her trust,
|
|
And harshly deal like an ill borrower
|
|
With that which you receiv'd on other terms,
|
|
Scorning the unexempt condition
|
|
By which all mortal frailty must subsist,
|
|
Refreshment after toil, ease after pain,
|
|
That have been tir'd all day without repast,
|
|
And timely rest have wanted, but fair Virgin
|
|
This will restore all soon.
|
|
La. 'Twill not false traitor,
|
|
'Twill not restore the truth and honesty
|
|
That thou hast banish't from thy tongue with lies,
|
|
Was this the cottage, and the safe abode
|
|
Thou told'st me of? What grim aspects are these,
|
|
These oughly-headed Monsters? Mercy guard me!
|
|
Hence with thy brew'd inchantments, foul deceiver,
|
|
Hast thou betrai'd my credulous innocence
|
|
With visor'd falshood, and base forgery,
|
|
And wouldst thou seek again to trap me here
|
|
With lickerish baits fit to ensnare a brute?
|
|
Were it a draft 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-govern'd and wise appetite.
|
|
Co. O foolishnes of men! that find their ears
|
|
To those budge doctors of the Stoick Furr,
|
|
And fetch their precepts from the Cynick Tub,
|
|
Praising the lean and sallow Abstinence.
|
|
Wherefore did Nature powre her bounties forth,
|
|
With such a full and unwithdrawing hand,
|
|
Covering the earth with odours, 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-hair'd silk
|
|
To deck her Sons, and that no corner might
|
|
Be vacant of her plenty, in her own loyns
|
|
She hutch't th' all-worshipt 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 Freize,
|
|
Th' all-giver would be unthank't, would be unprais'd,
|
|
Not half his riches known, and yet despis'd,
|
|
And we should serve him as a grudging master,
|
|
As a penurious niggard of his wealth,
|
|
And live like Natures bastards, not her sons,
|
|
Who would be quite surcharged with her own weight,
|
|
And strangl'd with her waste fertility;
|
|
Th' earth cumber'd, and the wing'd air dark't with plumes,
|
|
The herds would over-multitude their Lords,
|
|
The Sea o'refraught would swell, and th' unsought diamonds
|
|
Would so emblaze the forhead of the Deep,
|
|
And so bestudd with Stars, that they below
|
|
Would grow inur'd to light, and com at last
|
|
To gaze upon the Sun with shameless brows.
|
|
List Lady be not coy, and be not cosen'd
|
|
With that same vaunted name Virginity,
|
|
Beauty is natures coyn, must not be hoorded,
|
|
But must be currant, and the good thereof
|
|
Consists in mutual and partak'n bliss,
|
|
Unsavoury in th' injoyment of it self
|
|
If you let slip time, like a neglected rose
|
|
It withers on the stalk with languish't head.
|
|
Beauty is natures 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; course complexions
|
|
And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply
|
|
The sampler, and to teize the huswifes wooll.
|
|
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 adviz'd, you are but young yet.
|
|
La. I had not thought to have unlockt my lips
|
|
In this unhallow'd air, but that this Jugler
|
|
Would think to charm my judgement, as mine eyes,
|
|
Obtruding false rules pranckt in reasons garb.
|
|
I hate when vice can bolt her arguments,
|
|
And vertue 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 onely 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-pamper'd Luxury
|
|
Now heaps upon som few with vast excess,
|
|
Natures full blessings would be well dispenc't
|
|
In unsuperfluous eeven proportion,
|
|
And she no whit encomber'd with her store,
|
|
And then the giver would be better thank't,
|
|
His praise due paid, for swinish gluttony
|
|
Ne're looks to Heav'n amidst his gorgeous feast,
|
|
But with besotted base ingratitude
|
|
Cramms, and blasphemes his feeder. Shall I go on?
|
|
Or have I said anough? To him that dares
|
|
Arm his profane tongue with contemptuous words
|
|
Against the Sun-clad power of Chastity,
|
|
Fain would I somthing say, yet to what end?
|
|
Thou hast nor Eare, nor Soul to apprehend
|
|
The sublime notion, and high mystery
|
|
That must be utter'd to unfold the sage
|
|
And serious doctrine of Virginity,
|
|
And thou art worthy that thou shouldst not know
|
|
More happiness then this thy present lot.
|
|
Enjoy your deer Wit, and gay Rhetorick
|
|
That hath so well been taught her dazling fence,
|
|
Thou art not fit to hear thy self convinc't;
|
|
Yet should I try, the uncontrouled worth
|
|
Of this pure cause would kindle my rap't spirits
|
|
To of a flame of sacred vehemence,
|
|
That dumb things would be mov'd to sympathize,
|
|
And the brute Earth would lend her nerves, and shake,
|
|
Till all thy magick structures rear'd so high,
|
|
Were shatter'd heaps o're thy false head.
|
|
Co. She fables not, I feel that I do fear
|
|
Her words set off by som superior power;
|
|
And though not mortal, yet a cold shuddring dew
|
|
Dips me all o're, as when the wrath of Jove
|
|
Speaks thunder, and the chains of Erebus
|
|
To som of Saturns crew. I must dissemble,
|
|
And try her yet more strongly. Com, no more,
|
|
This is meer moral babble, and direct
|
|
Against the canon laws of our foundation;
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I must not suffer this, yet 'tis but the lees
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And setlings of a melancholy blood;
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But this will cure all streight, one sip of this
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|
Will bathe the drooping spirits in delight
|
|
Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste.-
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|
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The Brothers rush in with Swords drawn, wrest his Glass out of his
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hand, and break it against the ground; his rout make signe of
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resistance, but are all driven in; The attendant Spirit comes in
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|
|
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Spir. What, have you let the false enchanter scape?
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O ye mistook, ye should have snatcht his wand
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And bound him fast; without his rod revers't,
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|
And backward mutters of dissevering power,
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We cannot free the Lady that sits here
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In stony fetters fixt, and motionless;
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Yet stay, be not disturb'd, now I bethink me,
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Som other means I have which may be us'd,
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|
Which once of Meliboeus old I learnt
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The soothest Shepherd that ere pip't on plains.
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There is a gentle Nymph not farr from hence,
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That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream,
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Sabrina is her name, a Virgin pure,
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|
Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine,
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|
That had the Scepter from his father Brute.
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The guiltless damsel flying the mad pursuit
|
|
Of her enraged stepdam Guendolen,
|
|
Commended her innocence to the flood
|
|
That stay'd her flight with his cross-flowing course,
|
|
The water Nymphs that in the bottom plaid,
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|
Held up their pearled wrists and took her in,
|
|
Bearing her straight to aged Nereus Hall,
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|
Who piteous of her woes, rear'd her lank head,
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|
And gave her to his daughters to imbathe
|
|
In nectar'd lavers strew'd with Asphodil,
|
|
And through the porch and inlet of each sense
|
|
Dropt in Ambrosial Oils till she reviv'd,
|
|
And underwent a quick immortal change
|
|
Made Goddess of the River; still she retains
|
|
Her maid'n gentlenes, and oft at Eeve
|
|
Visits the herds along the twilight meadows,
|
|
Helping all urchin blasts, and ill luck signes
|
|
That the shrewd medling Elfe delights to make,
|
|
Which she with pretious viold liquors heals.
|
|
For which the Shepherds at their festivals
|
|
Carrol her goodnes lowd in rustick layes,
|
|
And throw sweet garland wreaths into her stream
|
|
Of pancies, pinks, and gaudy Daffadils.
|
|
And, as the old Swain said, she can unlock
|
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The clasping charm, and thaw the numming spell,
|
|
If she be right invok't in warbled Song,
|
|
For maid'nhood she loves, and will be swift
|
|
To aid a Virgin, such as was her self
|
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In hard besetting need, this will I try
|
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And adde the power of som adjuring verse.
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SONG.
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|
Sabrina fair
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|
Listen where thou art sitting
|
|
Under the glassie, cool, translucent wave,
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In twisted braids of Lillies knitting
|
|
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair,
|
|
Listen for dear honour'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 majestick pace,
|
|
By hoary Nereus wrincled look,
|
|
And the Carpathian wisards hook,
|
|
By scaly Tritons winding shell,
|
|
And old sooth-saying Glaucus spell,
|
|
By Leucothea's lovely hands,
|
|
And her son that rules the strands,
|
|
By Thetis tinsel-slipper'd feet,
|
|
And the Songs of Sirens sweet,
|
|
By dead Parthenope's dear tomb,
|
|
And fair Ligea's golden comb,
|
|
Wherwith 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 rosie head
|
|
From thy coral-pav'n bed,
|
|
And bridle in thy headlong wave,
|
|
Till thou our summons answered have.
|
|
Listen and save.
|
|
|
|
Sabrina rises, attended by water-Nymphes, and sings
|
|
|
|
By the rushy-fringed bank,
|
|
Where grows the Willow and the Osier dank,
|
|
My sliding Chariot stayes,
|
|
Thick set with Agat, and the azurn sheen
|
|
Of Turkis blew, and Emrauld green
|
|
That in the channell strayes,
|
|
Whilst from off the waters fleet
|
|
Thus I set my printless feet
|
|
O're the Cowslips 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 charmed band
|
|
Of true Virgin here distrest,
|
|
Through the force, and through the wile
|
|
Of unblest inchanter vile.
|
|
Sab. Shepherd 'tis my office best
|
|
To help insnared chastity;
|
|
Brightest Lady look on me,
|
|
Thus I sprinkle on thy brest
|
|
Drops that from my fountain pure,
|
|
I have kept of pretious cure,
|
|
Trice upon thy fingers tip,
|
|
Thrice upon thy rubied lip,
|
|
Next this marble venom'd seat
|
|
Smear'd with gumms of glutenous 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 bowr.
|
|
|
|
Sabrina descends, and the Lady rises out of her seat
|
|
|
|
Spir. Virgin, daughter of Locrine
|
|
Sprung of old Anchises line,
|
|
May thy brimmed waves for this
|
|
Their full tribute never miss
|
|
From a thousand petty rills,
|
|
That tumble down the snowy hills:
|
|
Summer drouth, or singed air
|
|
Never scorch thy tresses fair,
|
|
Nor wet Octobers torrent flood
|
|
Thy molten crystal fill with mudd,
|
|
May thy billows rowl ashoar
|
|
The beryl, and the golden ore,
|
|
May thy lofty head be crown'd
|
|
With many a tower and terrass round,
|
|
And here and there thy banks upon
|
|
With Groves of myrrhe, and cinnamon.
|
|
Com Lady while Heaven lends us grace,
|
|
Let us fly this cursed place,
|
|
Lest the Sorcerer us intice
|
|
With som other new device.
|
|
Not a waste, or needless sound
|
|
Till we com to holier ground,
|
|
I shall be your faithfull guide
|
|
Through this gloomy covert wide,
|
|
And not many furlongs thence
|
|
Is your Fathers residence,
|
|
Where this night are met in state
|
|
Many a friend to gratulate
|
|
His wish't presence, and beside
|
|
All the Swains that there abide,
|
|
With Jiggs, and rural dance resort,
|
|
We shall catch them at their sport,
|
|
And our sudden coming there
|
|
Will double all their mirth and chere;
|
|
Come let us haste, the Stars grow high,
|
|
But night sits monarch yet in the mid sky.
|
|
|
|
The Scene changes, presenting Ludlow Town and the Presidents Castle,
|
|
then com in Countrey-Dancers, after them the attendant Spirit, with
|
|
the two Brothers and the Lady
|
|
|
|
SONG
|
|
Spir. Back Shepherds, hack, anough your play,
|
|
Till next Sun-shine holiday,
|
|
Here be without duck or nod
|
|
Other trippings to he trod
|
|
Of lighter toes, and such Court guise
|
|
As Mercury did first devise
|
|
With the mincing Dryades
|
|
On the Lawns, and on the Leas.
|
|
|
|
This second Song presents them to their father and mother
|
|
|
|
Noble Lord, and Lady bright,
|
|
I have brought ye new delight,
|
|
Here behold so goodly grown
|
|
Three fair branches of your own,
|
|
Heav'n hath timely tri'd 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're sensual Folly, and Intemperance.
|
|
|
|
The dances ended, the Spirit Epiloguizes
|
|
|
|
Spir. To the Ocean now I fly,
|
|
And those happy climes that ly
|
|
Where day never shuts his eye,
|
|
Up in the broad fields of the sky:
|
|
There I suck the liquid ayr
|
|
All amidst the Gardens fair
|
|
Of Hesperus, and his daughters three
|
|
That sing about the golden tree:
|
|
Along the crisped shades and bowres
|
|
Revels the spruce and jocond Spring,
|
|
The Graces, and the rosie-boosom'd Howres,
|
|
Thither all their bounties bring,
|
|
That there eternal Summer dwels,
|
|
And West winds, with musky wing
|
|
About the cedar'n alleys fling
|
|
Nard, and Cassia's balmy smels.
|
|
Iris there with humid bow,
|
|
Waters the odorous banks that blow
|
|
Flowers of more mingled hew
|
|
Then her purfl'd scarf can shew,
|
|
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 th' Assyrian Queen;
|
|
But far above in spangled sheen
|
|
Celestial Cupid her fam'd son advanc't,
|
|
Holds his dear Psyche sweet intranc't
|
|
After her wandring labours 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 don,
|
|
I can fly, or I can run
|
|
Quickly to the green earths end,
|
|
Where the bow'd welkin slow doth bend,
|
|
And from thence can soar as soon
|
|
To the corners of the Moon.
|
|
Mortals that would follow me,
|
|
Love vertue, she alone is free,
|
|
She can teach ye how to clime
|
|
Higher then the Spheary chime;
|
|
Or if Vertue feeble were,
|
|
Heav'n it self would stoop to her.
|
|
|
|
-THE END-
|
|
.
|