 Comus, Hamas, by John Milton. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Thomas Copeland. Hamas presented at Vladlow Castle, 1634, etc. The Persons The Attendant's Spirit, afterwards in the Habit of Thorses. Comus, with his crew. The Lady First Brother, Second Brother Sabrina the Nymph The Chief Persons, which presented were the Lord Brackley, Mr. Thomas Edgerton's brother, the Lady Alice Edgerton. The first scene discovers a wild wood. The Attendant's Spirit descends or enters. Spirit Before the starry threshold of Jovescourt by mansion is, where those immortal shapes of bright aereal spirits live in spirit, 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 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 servants amongst the enthroned 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 vapours of this sin-worn mould. But to my task. Neptune, besides the sway of every salt flood in each ebbing stream, took in by lot twist high and nether-jove imperial rule of all the Seagirt Isles, that like to rich and various gems inlay the unadorned 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 track that fronts the falling sun, the noble peer of nickel 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 law, are coming to attend their father's state and new entrusted sector. But their way lies through the perplexed paths of this drear wood, the nodding hoarder 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 dispatched for the defense 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. Bulkas, at first from out the purple grape, crushed the sweet poison of misused wine, after the Tuscan mariners transformed, coasting the Tyrion shore as the winds listed, on Cersei's island fell, who knows not Cersei the daughter of the sun, whose charmant 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 reed, and his blithe youth had by him, and 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 emboured excels his mother at her mighty heart, offering to every weary traveller his orient liquor in a crystal glass, to quench the drought of Phoebus, which as they taste, who most do taste, through fond intemperate thirst, soon as the potion works their human countenance, the express resemblance of the gods, is changed into some brutish form of wolf, or bear, or ounce, or tiger, hog, or beaded goat, all other parts remaining as they were, and they, so perfect as 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 essential stye. Therefore, when any favoured of Hy-Jove chances to pass through this adventurous glade, swift as the sparkle of a glancing star I shoot from heaven, to give him safe convoi, 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-ditted song, well knows to still the wild winds when they roar, and hush the waving woods, marvellous faith, and in this office of his mountain watch, like least and nearest to the present aid of this occasion. But I hear the tread of hateful steps. I must be viewless now. Comus enters with a charming rod in one hand, his glass in the other, with him a route of monsters headed like sundry sorts of wild beasts, but otherwise like men and women, their apparel glistering, they come in making a riotous and unruly noise with torches in their hands. Comus, the star that bids the shepherd fold, now the top of heaven doth hold, and the gilded car of day his glowing axle doth allay in the steep Atlantic stream, and the sloped 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. Drade your locks with rosy twine, dropping odours, dropping wine. Rigor now is gone to bed and at vice, with strupulous head, strict age and sour severity with their grave saws in slumber lie. We that are a purifier imitate the starry choir, 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 moorish smooth, and on the tawny sands and shelves trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves, like dimpled brook and fountain brim, the wood nymphs decked with daisy's 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, it is only daylight that makes sin, which these done shades will ne'er report. Hail, goddess of nocturnal sport, dark veiled Cotito, to whom the secret flame of midnight torches burns, mysterious dame, that ne'er art called but when the dragon-womb of stidge and darkness spets her thickest gloom, and makes one blot of all the air. Stay thy cloudy ebb and share wherein thou rites with Eckart, and befriend us thy vowed priests, till utmost end of all thy dews be done, and none left out ere the blabbing eastern scout the nice smorn on the Indian steep from her cabin loophole peep, and to the tell-tale sun describe our concealed solemnity. Come, knit hands and beat the ground in a light fantastic round, the measure. Break off, break off! I feel the different pace of some chaste footing near about this ground. Run to your shrouds, within these breaks and trees, a number may affright. Some virgin sure was 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 stalked, with as fair a herd as grazed about by mother Cersei. Thus I hear my dazzling spells into the spongy air, of power to cheat the eye with blear illusion, and give it false presentments, lest the place and my quaint habits breed astonishment, and put the damsel to suspicious flight, which must not be, for that's against my cause. I, under fair pretence of friendly ends and well-placed words of glowsing courtesy, baited with reasons not unplausible, wind me into the easy heart of 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 harken if I may, her business here. The lady enters. Lady. This way the noise was, if my near be true, my best guide now. We thought it was the sound of riot and ill-managed merriment, such as the jock and flutter game some pipe stirs up among the loose and lettered hines, when for their teeming flocks and granges full, in wanton dance they praise the bounteous pan, and thank the gods amnest. I should be loath to meet the rootness and swill insolence of such late wasslers, yet, oh, where else shall I inform my unappointed 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 favour 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 grey hooded even, like a sad voterist in Palmer's weed, rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus Wayne. But where they are, and why they came not back, is now the labour of my thoughts. To his likelius they had engaged their wandering steps too far, and envious darkness ere they could return had stole them from me. Elzothivish knight, why shouldst thou, but for some phallonious 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 blout mirth was rife and perfect in my listening ear, yet not 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, purite 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, 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 hallow to my brothers, but such noises I can make to be heard farthest out of enter, for my new and liven spirits prompt me, and they perhaps are not far off. Song, sweet echo, sweetest nymph that lives unseen within thy airy shell, by slow meanders, margin green, and in the vile it embroidered veil, where the lovelorn nightingale, nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well. Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair, that like a stein are scissors on? O, if thou have hid them in some flowery cave, tell me but where, sweet queen of party, daughter of the sphere, so mayst thou be translated to the skies, and give resounding grace to all heaven's harmonies. Comus, can any mortal mixture of earth's mould breathe such divine and chanting ravishment? Sure, something wholly 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 often heard my mother's sursy, with the silence three, amidst the flowery curdled niadies, culling their potent herbs and baleful drugs, who as they sung would take the prison soul and lap it in illusion. Silla wept, and chid her barking waves into attention, and fell caribdis, murmured soft applause. Yet they, in pleasing slumber, lulled the sense, and in sweet madness roped it of itself. But such a sacred and home-felt delight, such sober certainty a 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 dwells here with Pan or Sylvan had lest song forbidding every bleak unkindly fall 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. Thomas, what chance could lady hath bereft you thus, lady? Dim darkness and this heavy labyrinth. Thomas, could that divide you from near ushering guides? Lady, they left me weary on a grassy turf, called it, by falsehood, what is courtesy or why? Lady, to seek in valley some cool friendly spring. Thomas, and left your fair side all unguarded, lady? Lady, they were betwain and purposed quick return. Thomas, perhaps forestalling night, prevented them. Lady, how easy my misfortune is to hit. Thomas, imports their loss beside the present need? Lady, no less than if I should my brothers lose. Thomas, were they a manly prime or youthful blue? Lady, as smooth as he be as their unraised nips. Thomas, too such I saw, what time the labour ox in his loose traces from the furrow came, and the sweet hedger at his uppercase ate. I saw them under a green mantling vine that crawls along the side of yon small hill, plucking bright clusters from the tender shoots. Their port was more than human as they stood. I took it for a fairy vision of some gay creatures of the element that in the colours of the rainbow live, and play it 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 readyest way would bring me to that place? Thomas, due west it rises from this shrubby point. Lady, to find out that good shepherd, I suppose, in such a scant allowance of starlight, would overtask the best land-pilots art, without the sure guess of well-practiced feet. Thomas, I know each lane at every alley green, dingle or bushy dell of this wildwood, and every bosque born from side to side, my daily walks and ancient neighborhood. And if your stray attendance be yet lodged, or shrouded within these limits, I shall know Ermar awake, or the low-roasted lark from her thatched pallet-rouse, if otherwise I can conduct you, lady, to a loath but loyal cottage, where you may be safe to a 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 tapestry 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. I need blessed providence, and square my trial to my proportion's strength. Shepherd, lead on. The two brothers, elder brother, Unmuffle ye faint stars, and thou fair moon that wants to love the traveller's venison, stoop thy pale visage through an amber cloud, and disinherit chaos that rains here in double night of darkness and of shades. Or, if your influence be quite damned 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-level rule of streaming light, and thou shalt be our star of Arcady, Oterian sign of shore. Second brother, or if our eyes be barred that happiness might we but hear the folded flocks, penned in their watered coats, or sound of pastoral reed with open stops, or whistle from the lodge, or village cock count the night watches to his feathery dames. It would be some solace yet, some little cheering in this close dungeon of innumerous boughs. But, oh, that hapless virgin our lost sister, where may she wander now, whether but take her from the chilled dew amongst rude burrs and thistles. Perhaps some cold bank is her bolster now, against the rugged bark of some broad elm leans her unpillowed head, fraught with sad fears. But, if in wild amazement and a fright, or while we speak within the direful grasp of savage hunger, or of savage heat, elder brother, 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 for stall 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, was 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 salt sea sunk, and wisdom 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 too ruffled, and sometimes impaired. He that has light within his own dear breast may sit in the center and enjoy bright day, but he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts, benighted walks under the midday sun, himself is his own dungeon. Second brother, it is 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 rob a hermit of his weeds, his few books, or his beads, or maple dish, or do his grey hairs any violence? But beauty, like the fair Hesperian tree laden with blooming gold, had knead 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 rags me not. I fear the dread events that dog them both, lest some ill-greeting touch attempt the person of our unowned sister. Elder brother, 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 vent, my nature is that I incline to hope rather than fear, and gladly banish squint suspiciously. My sister is not so defenseless left as you imagine. She has a hidden strength which you remember not, second brother. What hidden strength, unless the strength of heaven, if you mean that? Elder brother. I mean that, too, but yet a hidden strength which, if heaven gave it, may be termed her own. It is 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 eaves, infamous hills and sandy perilous wilds, where, through the sacred rays of chastity, no savage fierce, bandit or mountaineer, will dare to soil her virgin purity. Yea, there where very desolation dwells, by drops and caverns, shagged with horrid shades, she may pass on with unblanched 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 fin, blue meager hag or stubborn unlaid ghost that breaks his magic chains at curfew time, no goblin or swart fairy of the mine hath hurtful power or 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 die on her dread bow, fair silver shafted queen for ever chased, wherewith she tamed the brinded lioness and spotted mountain part, but said it not the frivolous bolt of Cupid, gods and men feared her stern frown, and she was queen of the woods. What was that snakey-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 lacky 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 thou poor chain, 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 that's in defilement to the inward parts, the soul grows clotted by contagion, embodies and imbrutes till she quite looms the divine property of her first being. Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp off seen in charnal 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 sensualty to a degenerate and degraded state. Second, brother, how charming is divine velocity, not harsh and crappity as Delful suppose, but musical as his Apollo's lute, and a perpetual feast of nectared sweets where no crude surfeit rains. Elder, brother, list, list, I hear some far off hallow, break the silent air. Second, brother, may thought so too what should it be? Elder, brother, for certain either someone like us night-founded here, or else some neighbour woodman, or at worst some roving robber calling to his fellows. Second, brother, heaven keep my sister again, again, and near, best draw and stand upon our guard. Elder, brother, I'll hallow. If it be friendly, he comes well. If not, defense is a good cause, and heaven be for us. Enter the attendant spirit, habited like a shepherd. That hallow I should know. What are you? Speak. Come not too near, you fallen iron stakes else. Spirit, what voice is that? My young lord, speak again. Second, brother, oh, brother, it is my father Shepherd sure. Elder, brother, Thursis, whose artful strains have off-delayed the huddling brook to hear his madrigal, and sweetened every muskros of the dale. How camest thou here, good swain? hath any ram slipped from the fold, or young kid lost his dam, or straggling weather the pent-flop for sook? How couldst thou find this dark sequestered nook? Spirit, oh, my love master's heir and his next joy, I came not here on such a trivial toy as astrayed you, 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, oh, my virgin lady, where is she? How chants she is not in your company? Elder, brother, to tell thee sadly, Shepherd, without blame or out-neglect, we lost her as we came. Spirit, I, me, unhappy, then my fears are true. Elder, brother, what fears, good thurses? Prithee, briefly shoo! Spirit, I'll tell ye, it is not vain or fabulous, though so esteemed by shallow ignorance, what the sage poets, taught by thevenly muse, storied of old in high immortal verse of dire carmures and enchanted aisles, 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 sorcery dwells of Bacchus and of Circeborn, 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, unmolding reason's mintage charactered in the face. This, have I learned, tending my flocks hard by at hilly crafts, that growl 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 hecatee in their obscured haunts and inmost bowers. Yet have they many baits and guileful spells to invagle and invite the unwary scents of them that pass unwitting, by the way. This evening, late, by them the chewing flocks obtain their supper on their savoury herb of not-grass, dubious-print, and were enfold, I sat me down to watch upon a bank with ivy canopy, and interwoave with flaunting honeysuckle, and began, wrapped in a pleasing fit of melancholy, to meditate my rural minstrelsy till fancy had her fill. But ere close the wanted roar was up amidst the woods, and filled the ere 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 curtain's sleep. At last a soft and solemn breathing sound rose like a steam of rich distilled perfumes, and stole upon the ere, that even silence was took ere she was where, 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, oh, ere long too well I did perceive it was the voice of my most honoured lady, your dear sister. Amazed I stood, harrowed with grief and fear, and, oh, poor hapless nightingale thought I, how sweet thou sings'd, how near the deadly snare! Then down the lawns I ran with headlong haste, through paths and turnings, often trot by day, till guided by my 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 abeless, innocent lady his wished prey, who gently asked if he had seen such too, supposing him some neighbour 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 I know not. Second brother, oh night and shades, how are ye joined with hell in triple not against an arm and weakness of one virgin alone and helpless? Is this the confidence you gave me, brother? Elder brother, 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 earring men call chance, this I hold firm. Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt, surprised by unjust force, but not enthralled, 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 settle 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 posing 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, for all the monstrous forms twixed Africa and Ind, I'll find him out and force him to restore his purchase back, or drag him by the curls to a foul death cursed as his life. Spirit, alas, good ventrous youth, I love thy courage yet, and bold in prize, 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. Elder brother, why, prithee shepherd, how durst thou then thyself approach so near as to make this relation? Spirit, care and utmost shifts how to secure the lady from suprisal, 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 into ecstasy, and in requital ope his leathern script, and show me symbols of a thousand names, telling their strange and vigorous faculties. Amongst the rest a small, unsightly root but of divine effect he called 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 swaying treads on it daily with his clouted shoe, and yet more medicinal is than that moly that Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave. He called it hymeny and gave it me, and bad me keep it as of sovereign use against all enchantments, mildew blasts, or damp, or ghastly fury's apparition. I pursed it up, but little reckoning 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 hardy-hood 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 fear sign a battle-make and menace high, or like the sons of Vulcan vomit smoke, yet will they soon retire if he but shrink. Elder brother, Thursus lead on apace, I'll follow thee, and some good angel bear a shield before us. The scene changes to a stately palace, set out with all manner of deliciousness, soft music, tables spread with all dainties. Comus appears with his rabble, and the lady set in an enchanted 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 chained up in alabaster, and you a statue, or a staffney 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 emanacled, while heaven sees good. Comus, why are you vexed, 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 be get 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 Thon in Egypt gave to Jove-born Eleanor 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 deity 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've received on other terms, scorning the unexempt condition by which all mortal frail he must subsist, refreshment after toil, ease after pain, that have been tired all day without her past and timely rest have wanted. But, fair virgin, this will restore all soon. Lady, to a not false traitor, to a not restore the truth and honesty that thou hast banished from thy tongue with lies, was this the cottage and the safer boat thou toldst me of? What grim aspects are these, these ugly-headed monsters, mercy guard me? Hence, with thy brood enchantments, foul deceit, has 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 ensnare a brute? Worry to draught foot Juno when she banquets, I would not taste thy treasonous offer. None but such as our good men can give good things, and that which is not good is not delicious to a well-governed and wise appetite. Comeless. Oh, foolishness of men that lend their ears to those budged 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 fool 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 said 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 though worshiped 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 where but freeze, 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 niggered of his wealth, and live like nature's bastards, not her sons, who would be quite so charged with her own weight, and strangle with her waste fertility. The earth combered, and the winged air darked with blooms, the herds would over multitude their lords, the sea or fraught with swell, and unsought diamonds would so emblaze the forehead of the deep, and so bested 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 cousined with that same vaunted name virginity. Beauty as 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 as nature's brag, and must be shown in courts at feasts and high selenities, where most may wonder at the workmanship. It is for homely features to keep home, they have their name thence. Course complexions and cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply the sampler and to tease the husset's wool. What need a vermal tinctured lip for that? Love darting eyes or tresses like the moor. There was another meaning in these gifts. Think what, and be advised. You are but young yet. Lady, I had not thought to have unlocked my lips in this unhallowed air, but that this juggler would think to charm my judgment as mine eyes, abduding false rules pranked in reasons, God. I hate when vice can bolt her arguments, and virtue has no tongue to check her pride. Imposter, 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 be seeming 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-wit, encumbered with her store, and then the giver would be better thanked, his praise dupaid, for swineish gluttony ne'er looks to heaven amidst his gorgeous feast, but with besotted bass in gratitude 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, feign I would something say, yet to what end? Thou hast nor 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 that 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 uncontroded 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, or shattered into heaps o'er thy false head. Comus, 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 with the chains of Erebus to some of Saturn's crew, I must assemble and try her yet more strongly. Come, no more, this is mere moral babble, and direct it against the canon laws of our foundation. I must not suffer this, yet it is but the leaves and settlings of a melancholy blood, but this would cure all straight. One sip of this will bathe the drooping spirits in delight beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste. The brothers rush in with swords drawn, rest his glass out of his hand, and break it against the ground. His rout makes sign of resistance, but are all driven in. The attendant spirit comes in. Spirit. What? Have you let the false enchanter escape? Oh, you mistook! You should have snatched his wand and bound him fast. Without his rod reversed and backward mutters of deceiving power, we cannot free the lady that sits here in stony fetters fixed and motionless. Yet, stay, be not disturbed. I now rethink me some other means I have which may be used, which once of melody as old I learnt the soothest shepherd that air piped on plains. There is a gentle nymph not far from hence, that with moist curbs weighs the smooth seven stream. Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure. While only she was the daughter of Lucrine that had the scepter from his father brooked. The guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuit of her enraged step-dam Gwendolyn, commended her fair innocence to the flood that stayed her flight with his cross-flowing course. The water-nymphs that in the bottom played held up their pearlid 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 imbave 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 vile liquors, heals, for which the shepherds at their festivals carol her goodness loud in rustic lays, and throw sweet garland wreaths into her stream, apances, pinks, and gaudy daffodils. And, as the old swain said, she can unlock the clasping charms 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-bassetting need. This will I try, and add the power of some aduring verse. Song 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 say, listen, and appear to us in name of great oceanus, by the earth shaking Neptune's mace, and Thetis' grave majestic pace, by hoary ne'erious wrinkled look, and the Carpathian wizard's oak, by scaly Triton's winding shell, and old soothsaying glocus spell, by Leucotheus' lovely hands, and her sun that rules the strands, by Thetis' tinsel-slippered feet, and the songs of siren sweet, by dead Parthenope's dear tomb, and Fair Lygeus' golden comb, wherewith she sits on diamond rocks, sleaking her soft alluring locks, by all the nymphs that nightly dance upon thy streams with widey glance, rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head from thy coral-pavent bed, and bridle in thy headlong wave till thou our summons answered have. Listen, and say, Sabrina rises, attended by water nymphs, and sings, Sabrina, by the rushy-fringed banquet grows the willow in the ozure dank, my sliding chariot stays, thick set with agate and the azure and sheen of turkish blue and emerald green that in the channel strays. Whilst from off the water's fleet, thus I set my printless feet o'er the cow-slip's velvet head, that bends not as I tread, gentle swain at thy request, I am here, spirit. Goddess dear, we implore thy powerful hand to undo the charming band of true virgin here distressed, through the force and through the while of unblessed and chanter vile. Sabrina, shepherd, it is my office best to help in steric chastity. Bright as lady, look on me. Thus I sprinkle on thy breast drops that from my fountain pure I have kept a precious cure, thrice upon thy fingers-tip, thrice upon thy rubied lip. Next, this marble-venom'd 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, dare mourning hour, to wait in Amfertiti's bower. Sabrina descends, and the lady rises out of her seat. Spirit. Virgin, daughter of Lucrine, sprung of old Encaissie's line, may thy brimmed waves for this their full tribute never miss. From a thousand petty reels that tumble down the snowy hills, summer drought for singed air never scorch thy tresses fair, nor wet October's torrent flood thy molten crystal fill with mud. May thy billows roll ashore with the barrel and the golden oar. 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 holy a 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. The scene changes, presenting Ludlow town and the precedent castle, then come in country dancers, after them the attendant spirit with the two brothers and the lady, song, spirit. Back, shepherds, back, enough your play till next sunshine holiday. Here be without duck or nod other trippings to betroth of lighter toes, and such court guise as Mercury did first devise with the mincing dryadies on the lawns and on the leaves. This second song presents them to their father and mother. Noble Lord and Lady Bright, I have brought you 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 or sensual folly and intemperance. The dances ended, the spirit epilogizes. Spirit, to the ocean now I fly and those happy climbs 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 jockened spring. The graces and the rosy bosomed hours thither all their bounties bring, that there eternal summer dwells, and west winds with musky wing about the cedern alleys fling gnarred and caches balmy smells. Iris there with humid bow waters the odorous banks that blow flowers of more mingled hue than her purple scarf and shoe. And drenches with elision 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 Syrian queen. The far above in spangled sheen Celestio Cupid, her famed son advanced, holds his dear psyche sweet and tranced after her wandering 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 Jo has 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 welcome slowed a 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. Notes 43, ye, you in 1673, 167, omitted, 1673, 168, 9, thus 1637, manuscript reads, but here she comes I fairly step aside and hearken if I may her business here. 1673 reads, and hearken if I may her business here, but here she comes I fairly step aside. 474, sensualty, sensuality, 1673, manuscript also reads sensualty as the meter requires. 493, father, so also 1673, manuscript reads, fathers. 547, meditate, meditate upon, 1673, 553, drowsy, frighted, manuscript reads, drowsy, flighted. 556, steam, stream, 1673, 580, further, further, 1673. 743, in the manuscript, which reads, if you let slip time like an neglected rose, a circle has been drawn around the an, but probably not by Milton. 780, enough, and now, 1673. End of a Mask On the death of a fair infant dying of a cough, by John Milton. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Thomas Copeland. This is the first of the poems added in the 1673 edition, written in the 17th year of the poet's life, Anoaitatis 17, on the death of a fair infant dying of a cough. Old fairest flower no sooner blown but blasted, soft, silken primrose fading timelessly. Summer's chief honor, if thou hadst outlasted bleak winter's force, that made thy blossom dry. For he, being amorous on that lovely dye that did thy cheek in vermo, thought to kiss, but killed alas, and then bewailed his fatal bliss. For since grim aquilove his charioteer by boisterous-rape Athenian damsel-got, he thought it touched his deity full near if likewise he some fair one wedded not, thereby to wipe away the infamous lot of long uncoupled bed, a childless elm, which amongst the wanton gods a foul reproach was held. So, mounting up in icy, pearled car through middle empire of the freezing air he wandered long, to thee he spied from far. There ended was his quest, there ceased his care. Down he descended from his snow-soft chair, but all unwares with his cold kind embrace unhoused thy virgin soul from her fair biting place. Yet art thou not inglorious in thy fate? For so Apollo, with unwitting hand, while om did slay his dearly-loved mate Young Hyacinth, born on Eurotus strand. Young Hyacinth, the pride of Spartan land, but then transformed him to a purple flower, a lack that so to change thee winter had no power. Yet can I not persuade me thou art dead, or that thy course corrupts in earth's dark room? Or that thy beauties lie in wormy bed, hid from the world in a low, delved tomb? Good heaven for pity, thee so strictly doomed? Oh, no, for something in thy face did shine above mortality that showed thou was divine. Resolve me, then, O soul most surely blessed, if so it be, that thou these plates dost hear. Tell me, bright spirit, for ere thou hoverest, whether above that high first moving sphere or in the illision fields of such there were. Oh, say me true, if thou wert mortal white, and why, from us, so quickly thou didst take thy flight? Where, thou, some star, which from the ruined roof of Shaked Olympus by mischance didst fall, which careful jove in nature's true behoof took up, and in fit place did reinstall? Or did of late earth's suns besiege the wall of Sheenee heaven, and thou some goddess fled amongst us here below to hide thy netted head? Or wert thou that just made, who once before foresook the hated earth? Oh, tell me sooth, and camest again to visit us once more? Or wert thou that sweet, smiling youth, or that crowned matron, sage, white-robed truth, or any other of that heavenly brood let down in cloudy throne to do the world some good? Note, 53, or wert thou, or wert thou mercy, injected by John Heskin, Christ's Church, Oxford University, from Ode on Nativity, stanza 15? Or wert thou of the golden-winged post, who, having clad thyself in human weed, to earth from thy prefixed seat didst post? And after short abode, fly back with speed, as if to show what creatures heaven doth breed, thereby to set the hearts of men on fire to scorn the sordid world, and unto heaven aspire? But, oh, why didst thou not stay here below to bless us with thy heaven-loved innocence, to slake his wrath, whom sin hath made our foe, to turn swift rushing black perdition hence, or drive away the slaughtering pestilence, to stand twixt us and our deserved smart? But thou canst best perform that office where thou art. Then, thou the mother of so sweet a child, her false imagined loss cease to lament, and wisely learn to curb thy sorrows wild. Think what a present thou to God has sent, and render him with patience what he lent. This, if thou do, he will at offspring give that till the world's last end shall make thy name to live. End of unafair infant dying of the calf. At a vacation exercise, by John Milton, this Libra Vox recording is in the public domain, recording by Thomas Copeland. In the nineteenth year of his age, Anoetatus XIX, at a vacation exercise in the college, part Latin, part English, the Latin speeches ended, the English thus began. Hail, native language, that by sinews we didst move my first endeavouring tongue to speak, and madest imperfect words with childish trips half unpronounced, slide through my infant lips, driving dumb silence from the portal door where he had mutely sate two years before. Here I salute thee, and thy pardon ask that now I use thee in my latter task. Small loss it is that thence can come unto thee. I know my tongue, but little grace can do thee. Thou needst not be ambitious to be first. Believe me, I have thither packed the worst, and if it happen as I did forecast, the denteous dishes shall be served up last. I pray thee then, deen I may not thy aid for this same small neglect that I have made, but haste thee straight to do me once a pleasure, and from thy wardrobe bring thy chiefest treasure. Not those newfangled toys and trimming sleight, which takes our late fantastics with delight, but call those richest robes and gaste attire which deepest spirits and choicest witch desire. I have some naked thoughts that rove about and loudly knock to have their passage out, and weary of their place, do only stay till thou hast decked them in thy best array, that so they may without suspect or fears fly swiftly to this fair assembly's ears. Yet I had rather, if I were to choose, thy service in some graver subject use, such as may make thee search thy coffers round before thou clothe my fancy and fit sound, such where the deep transported mind may soar above the wheeling poles and at heaven's door look in, and see each blissful deity how he before the thunderous throne doth lie, listening to what unshawn Apollo sings tooth-touch of golden wires, while he be brings immortal nectar to her kingly sire. Then passing through the spheres of watchful fire and misty regions of wide air next under, and hills of snow, and lofts of pilot thunder, may tell at length how green-eyed Neptune graves in heaven's defiance mustering all his waves. Then sing of secret things that came to pass when beldam nature in her cradle was, and last of kings and queens and heroes old, such as the wise Demonicus once told in solemn songs at King Alcino's feast, while sad Ulysses so, and all the rest are held with his melodious harmony in willing chains and sweet captivity. But thy, my wandering muse, how the distray expectance calls thee now another way, how nosed it must be now thy only bent to keep in compass of thy predicament. Then quick about thy purpose business come, that to the next I may resign my ruin. Then Ains is represented as father of the predicaments his ten sons, whereof the eldest stood for substance with his cannons, which Ains thus speaking explains, Good luck befriendly son, for at thy birth the fairy ladies danced upon the earth. Thy drowsy nurse hath sworn she did them spy come tripping to the room without its lie, and sweetly singing round about thy bed, stew all their blessings on thy sleeping head. She heard them give thee this, that thou should still from eyes of mortals walk invisible. Yet there is something that doth force my fear, for once it was my dismal hap to hear a civil old bow bent with crooked age, that far events full wisely could presage, and in times long and dark prospective glass foresaw what future days should bring to pass. Your son, said she, nor can you it prevent, shall subject be too many an accident. Or all his brethren, he shall reign as king, yet everyone shall make him underling, and those that cannot live from him asunder ungratefully shall strive to keep him under. In work and excellence he shall outgo them, yet being above them he shall be below them. From others he shall stand in need of nothing, yet on his brothers shall depend for clothing. To find a foe it shall not be his hap, and peace shall lull him in her flowery lap. Yet shall he live in strife, and at his door devouring war shall never cease to roar. Yay, it shall be his natural property to harbour those that are at enmity. What power, what force, what mighty spell, if not your learned hands, can loose this Gordian knot. The next quantity and quality spake in prose. Then relation was called by his name. Rivers arise, whether thou be the son of utmost tweed, or ooze, or gulfy dun, or Trent, who like some earth-born giant spreads his thirty arms along than dented needs, or sullen mole that runneth underneath, or seven swift guilty of maiden's death, or rocky avon, or a sejili, or coldly time, or ancient hallowed deed, or humble loud that keeps the Scythian's name, or medway smooth, or royal-towered tape. The rest was prose. End of Atavication Exercise