PROLOGUE. OUR ftedfaft bard, to his own genius true, Still bad bis mufe, fit audience find, though few." He too was fcorn'd, and to Britannia's fhame, Such Milton was: 'Tis ours to bring him forth, And yours to vindicate neglected worth. Such heav'n-taught numbers should be more than read, Attend the ftrains; and fhould fome meaner phrafe *Paradife Loft, Book VII. Ver. 31. A 3 DRA COM US. The lines diftinguished by inverted comas, thus,' are omitted in the reprefentation. ·B ACT I. The firft SCENE difeovers a wild wood. The firft Attendant Spirit enters. EFORE the ftarry threshold of Jove's court My manfion is, where thofe immortal shapes Of bright aërial fpirits live infpher'd In regions mild of calm and ferene air, • Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot, Which men call earth, and with low-thoughted care • Confin'd and pefter'd in this pinfold here, Strive to keep up a frail and fev'rish being, • Unmindful of the crown that virtue gives, After this mortal change, to her true fervants. · Amongst the enthron'd gods on fainted feats. • Yet fome there are, that by due steps afpire To lay their just hands on that golden key, That opes the palace of eternity: To fuch my errand is: and but for fuch, I would not foil these pure ambrofial weeds ⚫ Which streaks the midnight gloom, and hither darts < The The gentle Philadel: but fwift as thought He comes The fecond Attendant Spirit defcends. Sec. Spirit. On no appointed task thou seeft me now: But as returning from Elyfian bow'rs (Whither from mortal coil a foul I wafted) Along this boundless fea of waving air I fteer'd my flight, betwixt the gloomy fhade Of thefe thick boughs thy radiant form I fpy'd Gliding, as ftreams the moon through dusky clouds ; Inftant I ftoop'd my wing, and downward fped To learn thy errand, and with thine to join · My kindred aid, from mortals ne'er with-held, • When virtue on the brink of peril stands, [here. Firft Spirit. Then mark th' occafion that demands it Neptune, I need not tell, befides the fway Of ev'ry falt flood and each ebbing stream, Took in by lot 'twixt high and nether Jove • Imperial rule of all the fea-girt ifles, That, like to rich and various gems, inlay • The unadorned bofom of the deep, Which he, to grace his tributary gods, By courfe commits to feveral government, And gives them leave to wear their faphire crowns, And wield their little tridents: but this ifle, • The greatest and the beft of all the main, He quarters to his blue-hair'd deities; And all this tract that fronts the falling fun A noble peer of mickle truft and power Has in his charge, with temper'd awe to guide An old and haughty nation, proud in arms. Sec. Spirit. Does any danger threat his legal sway, From bold fedition, or close-ambush'd treason ? Firft Spirit. No danger thence. But to his lofty feat, Which borders on the verge of this wild vale, His blooming offspring, nurs'd in princely lore, 'Are coming to attend their father's state, And new entrusted fceptre, and their way Lies through the perplex'd paths of this drear wood, • The 'The nodding horror of whofe fhady brows Sec. Spirit. What peril can their in nocence affail • Firft Spirit. Attend my words. No place but harbours danger: • In ev'ry region virtue finds a foe. Bacchus, that firft from out the purple grape • Crush'd the sweet poifon of mifufed wine, After the Tuscan mariners transform'd, Coafting the Tyrhenne fhore, as the winds lifted, On Circe's ifland fell: (who knows not Circe, The daughter of the fun, whofe charmed cup • Whoever tafted, loft his upright shape, And downward fell into a grov'ling fwine?) This nymph, that gaz'd upon his cluft'ring locks, With ivy-berries wreath'd, and his blithe youth, Had by him, ere he parted thence, a fon Much like his father, but his mother more, Whom therefore the brought up, and Comus nam'd. Sec. Spirit. Ill-omen'd birth to virtue and her fons ! • First Spirit. He ripe and frolic of his full-grown age, 'Roving the Celtic and Iberian fields, At laft betakes him to this ominous wood, And in thick fhelter of black fhades imbower'd • Excels his mother at her mighty art, Off'ring to ev'ry weary traveller His orient liquor in a chrystal glass, • To quench the drought of Phoebus; which as they tafte, (For most do taste through fond intemp'rate thirft) Soon as the potion works, their human countenance, Th' exprefs refemblance of the gods, is chang'd • Into fome brutish form of wolf or bear, Or ounce, or tiger, hog, or bearded goat, Yet when he walks his tempting rounds, the forcerer "By magic pow'r their human face reftores, And outward beauty to delude the fight. • Seca |