EFORE the ftarry threshold of Jove's court
B My mannion is, where thofe immortal shapes
Of bright aereal spirits live infpher'd
In regions mild of calm and ferene air,
Above the fmoak and ftir of this dim spot,
Which men call Earth, and with low-thoughted care
Confin'd, and pefter'd in this pin-fold here,
Strive to keep up a frail and feverish 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 be that by due fteps aspire
To lay their juft hands on that golden key,
That ope's the palace of eternity:
To fuch my errand is; and but for fuch,
I would not foil thefe pure ambrofial weeds
With the rank vapours of this fin-worn mould.
But to my task. Neptune, 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 gemms inlay
The unadorned bofom of the deep,
Which he to grace his tributary gods
By courfe commits to several government,
And gives them leave to wear their saphire crowns,
And wield their little tridents; but this Ifle,
The greatest and the best of all the main,
He quarters to his blue-hair'd dieties,
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:
Where his fair offspring nurs'd in princely lore,
Are coming to attend their father's state,
And new-entrusted fceptre; but their way
Lies through the perplex'd paths of this drear wood,
The nodding horror of whofe fhady brows
Threats the forlorn and wandring paffenger;
And here their tender age might fuffer peril,
But that by quick command from fovereign Jove
I was dispatch'd for their defence and guard;
And liften 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 firft from out the purple grape
Crush'd the sweet poiton of misused wine,
After the Tufcan mariners transform'd,
Coasting the Tyrrhene fhore, as the winds lifted,
On Circe's ifland fell; (who knows not Circe
The daughter of the fun? whofe charmed cup
Whoever tasted, loft his upright shape,
And downward fell into a groveling swine)
This nymph that gaz'd upon his cluftring 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 fhe brought up, and Comus nam'd,
Who 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 imbowr'd
Excells his mother at her mighty art,
Off'ring to every weary traveller
His orient liquor in a crystal glass,
To quench the drouth of Phoebus, which as they taste
(For most do taste through fond intemperate thirst)
Soon as the potion works, their human count'nance,
Th' express resemblance of the gods, is chang'd
Into fome brutish form of wolf, or bear,
Or ounce, or tiger, hog, or bearded goat,
All other parts remaining as they were;
And they, fo 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 favour'd of high Jove
Chances to pafs through this adventrous glade,
Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star
I shoot from heav'n, to give him fafe convoy,
As now I do : But first I must put
These my sky robes fpun out of Iris wooff,
And take the weeds and likeness of a fwain
That to the fervice of this houfe belongs,
Who with his foft pipe, and fmooth-dittied fong,
Well knows to fill the wild winds when they roar,
And hush the waving woods, nor of less faith,
And in this office of his mountain watch,
Likelicft, and nearest to the present aid
Of this occafion. But I hear the tread
Of hateful fteps. I must be view less now.
Comus enters with a charming rod in one hand, his glas in the other; with him a rout of monsters, headed like fundry forts of wild beafts, but otherwife like men and women, their apparel glift'ring; they come in making a riotous and unruly naife, with torches in their bands.
COMUS. The ftar that bids the shepherd fold,
Now the top of heav'n doth hold,
And the gilded car of day
His glowing axle doth allay
In the fteep Atlantic stream,
And the flope fun his upward beam
Shoots against the dufky pole,
Pacing toward the other goal
Of his chamber in the eaft.
Mean while welcome joy, and feast,
Midnight fhout, and revelry,
Tipfy dance, and jollity.
Braid your locks with rofy twine,
Dropping odours, dropping wine.
Rigour now is gone to bed,
And Advice with fcrupulous head;
Strict Age, and four Severity,
With their grave faws in flumber lie.
We that are of purer fire
Imitate the ftarry quire,
Who in their nightly watchful spheres,
Lead in fwift round the months and years.
The founds and feas, with all their finny drove,
Now to the moon in wavering morrice move;
And on the tawny fands and fhelves,
Trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.
By dimpled brook, and fountain brim,
The wood-nymphs deck'd with daisies trim,
Their merry wakes and paftimes keep :
What hath night to do with fleep?
Night hath better sweets to prove,
Venus now wakes, and wak'ns Love.
Come let us our rites begin,
'Tis only day-light that makes fin,
Which thefe dun fhades will ne'er report.
Hail Goddess of nocturnal fport,
Dark vail'd Cotytto, t' whom the fecret filame
Of midnight torches burns; myfterious dame,
That ne'er art call'd, but when the dragon womb
Of Stygian darknefs fpits her thickest gloom,
And makes one blot of all the air,
Stay thy cloudy ebon chair,
Wherein thou rid'ft with Hecat', and befriend
Us thy vow'd priefts, till utmost end
Of all thy dues be done, and none left out,
Ere the blabbing eastern scout,
The nice morn on th' Indian steep
From her cabbin'd loophole peep,
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