The Scene changes to a stately Palace set out with all manner of deliciousness; soft Musick, Tables spred with all dainties.
Comusappears with his rabble, and theLadyset 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 wave this wand,Your nerves are all chain’d up in Alablaster,And you a statue; or as Daphne was,Root-bound, that fled Apollo.
Lady
Fool, do not boast;Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mindeWith all thy charms, although this corporal rindeThou haste immanacl’d, while Heav’n sees good.
Comus
Why are you vext, Lady? why do you frown?Here dwell no frowns, nor anger; from these gatesSorrow flies farr. See, here be all the pleasuresThat fancy can beget on youthfull thoughts,When the fresh blood grows lively, and returnsBrisk as the April buds in Primrose-season.And first behold this cordial Julep hereThat flames and dances in his crystal bounds,With spirits of balm and fragrant Syrops mixt.Not that Nepenthes, which the wife of ThoneIn 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 lentFor 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 conditionBy 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.
Lady
’Twill not, false traitor;’Twill not restore the truth and honestyThat thou hast banish’t from thy tongue with lies.Was this the cottage, and the safe abodeThou told’st me of? What grim aspects are these,
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. . . as Daphne was,Root-bound, that fled Apollo.
These oughly-headed Monsters? Mercy guard me!Hence with thy brew’d inchantments, foul deceiver;Hast thou betrai’d my credulous innocenceWith visor’d falshood and base forgery,And wouldst thou seek again to trap me hereWith lickerish baits, fit to ensnare a brute?Were it a draft for Juno when she banquets,1 would not taste thy treasonous offer. NoneBut such as are good men can give good things;And that which is not good is not deliciousTo a well-govern’d and wise appetite.
Comus
O foolishnes of men! that lend their earsTo 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 forthWith 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 silkTo deck her Sons; and, that no corner mightBe vacant of her plenty, in her own loynsShe hutch’t th’all-worshipt ore and precious gems,To store her children with. If all the worldShould 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 diamondsWould so emblaze the forhead of the Deep,And so bestudd with Stars, that they belowWould grow inur’d to light, and com at lastTo gaze upon the Sun with shameless brows.List, Lady: be not coy, and be not cosen’dWith that same vaunted name, Virginity;Beauty is natures coyn, must not be hoorded,But must be currant; and the good thereofConsists in mutual and partak’n bliss,Unsavoury in th’injoyment of it self.If you let slip time, like a neglected roseIt withers on the stalk with languish’t head.Beauty is natures brag, and must be shownIn courts, at feasts, and high solemnities,Where most may wonder at the workmanship.It is for homely features to keep hom e;They had their name thence; course complexionsAnd cheeks of sorry grain will serve to plyThe 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.
Lady
I had not thought to have unlockt my lipsIn this unhallow’d air, but that this JuglerWould 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 riotousWith her abundance; she, good cateress,Means her provision onely to the good,That live according to her sober lawsAnd holy dictate of spare Temperance:If every just man that now pines with wantHad but a moderate and beseeming shareOf that which lewdly-pamper’d LuxuryNow heaps upon som few with vast excess,Natures full blessings would be well dispenc’tIn 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 gluttonyNe’re looks to Heav’n amidst his gorgeous feast,But with besotted base ingratitudeCramms, and blasphemes his feeder. Shall I go on?Or have I said anough? To him that daresArm his profane tongue with contemptuous wordsAgainst the Sun-clad power of ChastityFain would I somthing say; yet to what end?Thou hast nor Eare, nor Soul to apprehendThe sublime notion, and high mysteryThat must be utter’d to unfold the sageAnd serious doctrine of Virginity;And thou art worthy that thou shouldst not knowMore happiness then this thy present lot.Enjoy your deer Wit, and gay RhetorickThat hath so well been taught her dazling fence;Thou art not fit to hear thy self convinc’t:Yet should I try, the uncontrouled worthOf this pure cause would kindle my rap’t spiritsTo such 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 into heaps o’re thy false head.
Comus
She fables not; I feel that I do fearHer words, set off by som superior power;And though not mortal, yet a cold shuddring dewDips me all o’re; as when the wrath of JoveSpeaks thunder and the chains of ErebusTo som of Saturns crew. I must dissemble,And try her yet more strongly.—Com, no more;This is meer moral babble, and directAgainst the canon laws of our foundation.I must not suffer this; yet ’tis but the leesAnd setlings of a melancholy blood;But this will cure all streight; one sip of thisWill bathe the drooping spirits in delightBeyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste.
The Brothersrush in with Swords drawn, wrest his Glass out of his hand, and break it against the ground; his rout made signe oresistance, but are all driven in.
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The Brothersrush in with Swords drawn.
The attendantSpiritcomes in.
Spirit
What, have you let the false enchanter scape?O, ye mistook; ye should have snatcht his wandAnd bound him fast; without his rod revers’t,And backward mutters of dissevering power,We cannot free the Lady that sits hereIn stony fetters fixt and motionless;Yet stay, be not disturb’d; now I bethink me,Som other means I have which may be us’d,Which once of Meliboeus old I learnt,The soothest Shepherd that ere pip’t on plains.There is a gentle Nymph not farr from hence,That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn streamSabrina is her name; a Virgin pure;Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine,That had the Scepter from his father Brute.The guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuitOf her enraged stepdam Guendolen,Commended her fair innocence to the floodThat stay’d her flight with his cross-flowing course.The water Nymphs, that in the bottom plaid,Held up their pearled wrists and took her in,
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The water Nymphs, that in the bottom plaid,Held up their pearled wrists and took her in.
Bearing her straight to aged Nereus Hall;Who piteous of her woes, rear’d her lank head,And gave her to his daughters to imbatheIn nectar’d lavers strew’d with Asphodil,And through the porch and inlet of each senseDropt in Ambrosial Oils, till she reviv’d,And underwent a quick immortal change,Made Goddess of the River. Still she retainsHer maid’n gentlenes, and oft at EeveVisits the herds along the twilight meadows,Helping all urchin blasts, and ill luck signesThat the shrewd medling Elfe delights to make,Which she with pretious viold liquors heals.For which the Shepherds at their festivalsCarrol her goodnes lowd in rustick layes,And throw sweet garland wreaths into her streamOf pancies, pinks, and gaudy Daffadils.And, as the old Swain said, she can unlockThe clasping charm, and thaw the numming spell,If she be right invok’t in warbled Song;For maid’nhood she loves, and will be swiftTo aid a Virgin, such as was her self,In hard besetting need; this will I try,And adde the power of som adjuring verse.
SONG.
Sabrina fair,Listen where thou art sittingUnder the glassie, cool, translucent wave,In twisted braids of Lillies knittingThe loose train of thy amber-dropping hair;Listen for dear honour’s sake,Goddess of the silver lake,Listen, and save!
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Sabrina fairListen where thou art sitting.
Listen, and appear to usIn 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 danceUpon thy streams with wily glance;Rise, rise, and heave thy rosie headFrom thy coral-pav’n bed,And bridle in thy headlong wave,Till thou our summons answered have:Listen, and save!
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Fair Ligea.
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By all the Nymphs that nightly danceUpon thy streams with wily glance.
Sabrinarises, attended by water-Nymphs, 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 sheenOf Turkis blew, and Emrauld green,That in the channell strayes;Whilst from off the waters fleetThus I set my prindess feetO’re the Cowslips Velvet head,That bends not as I tread.Gende swain at thy requestI am here!
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Sabrinarises, attended by water-Nymphs
Spirit
Goddess dear,We implore thy powerful handTo undo the charmed bandOf true Virgin here distrest,Through the force and through the wileOf unblest inchanter vile.
Sabrina
Shepherd, ’tis my office bestTo help insnared chastity.Brightest Lady, look on me.Thus I sprinkle on thy brestDrops that from my fountain pureI have kept of pretious cure;Thrice 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 hourTo wait in Amphitrite’s bowr.
Sabrinadescends, and theLadyrises out of her seat.
Spirit
Virgin, daughter of Locrine,Sprung of old Anchises line,May thy brimmed waves for thisTheir full tribute never missFrom a thousand petty rillsThat tumble down the snowy hills;Summer drouth or singed airNever scorch thy tresses fair;Nor wet Octobers torrent floodThy molten crystal fill with mudd;May thy billows rowl ashoarThe beryl, and the golden ore;May thy lofty head be crown’dWith many a tower and terrass round,And here and there thy banks uponWith Groves of myrrhe and cinnamon.
Com, Lady, while Heaven lends us grace,Let us fly this cursed place,Lest the Sorcerer us inticeWith som other new device.Not a waste or needless soundTill we com to holier ground!I shall be your faithfull guideThrough this gloomy covert wide;And not many furlongs thenceIs your Fathers residence,Where this night are met in stateMany a friend to gratulateHis 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 thereWill double all their mirth and chere.Com let us haste, the Stars grow high,But night sits monarch yet in the mid sky.
The Scene changes, presentingLudlow Town, and the Presidents Castle; then com in Countrey-Dancers; after them the attendantSpirit, with theTwo Brothersand theLady.
SONG.
Spirit
Back, Shepherds, back! anough your playTill next Sun-shine holiday.Here be without duck or nod,Other trippings to be trodOf lighter toes; and such Court guiseAs Mercury did first deviseWith the mincing DryadesOn 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 grownThree 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 assaysWith a crown of deathless Praise,To triumph in victorious danceO’re sensual Folly and Intemperance.
The dances ended, theSpiritEpiloguizes.
Spirit
To the Ocean now I fly,And those happy climes that lyWhere day never shuts his eye,Up in the broad fields of the sky.There I suck the liquid ayrAll amidst the Gardens fairOf Hesperus, and his daughters threeThat sing about the golden tree:Along the crisped shades and bowresRevels the spruce and jocond Spring;The Graces, and the rosie-boosom’d HowresThither all their bounties bring.That there eternal Summer dwels,And West winds, with musky wingAbout the cedar’n alleys flingNard and Cassia’s balmy smels.Iris there, with humid bow,
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Iris there, with humid bow.
Waters the odorous banks that blowFlowers of more mingled hewThen 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 woundIn slumber soft; and on the groundSadly sits th’ Assyrian Queen.But far above, in spangled sheen,Celestial Cupid her fam’d son, advanc’t,Holds his dear Psyche, sweet intranc’tAfter her wandring labours long;Till free consent the gods amongMake her his eternal Bride;And from her fair unspotted sideTwo 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 runQuickly to the green earths end,Where the bow’d welkin slow doth bend;And from thence can soar as soonTo the corners of the Moon.Mortals that would follow me,Love vertue; she alone is free:She can teach ye how to climeHigher then the Spheary chime;Or, if Vertue feeble were,Heav’n it self would stoop to her.
THE END.
Printed in Great Britain by
The Cornwall Press, Ltd., Paris Garden,
Stamford Street, London, S.F. 1.
These oughly-headed Monsters? Mercy guard me!Hence with thy brew’d inchantments, foul deceiver;Hast thou betrai’d my credulous innocenceWith visor’d falshood and base forgery,And wouldst thou seek again to trap me hereWith lickerish baits, fit to ensnare a brute?Were it a draft for Juno when she banquets,1 would not taste thy treasonous offer. NoneBut such as are good men can give good things;And that which is not good is not deliciousTo a well-govern’d and wise appetite.
Bearing her straight to aged Nereus Hall;Who piteous of her woes, rear’d her lank head,And gave her to his daughters to imbatheIn nectar’d lavers strew’d with Asphodil,And through the porch and inlet of each senseDropt in Ambrosial Oils, till she reviv’d,And underwent a quick immortal change,Made Goddess of the River. Still she retainsHer maid’n gentlenes, and oft at EeveVisits the herds along the twilight meadows,Helping all urchin blasts, and ill luck signesThat the shrewd medling Elfe delights to make,Which she with pretious viold liquors heals.For which the Shepherds at their festivalsCarrol her goodnes lowd in rustick layes,And throw sweet garland wreaths into her streamOf pancies, pinks, and gaudy Daffadils.And, as the old Swain said, she can unlockThe clasping charm, and thaw the numming spell,If she be right invok’t in warbled Song;For maid’nhood she loves, and will be swiftTo aid a Virgin, such as was her self,In hard besetting need; this will I try,And adde the power of som adjuring verse.
Waters the odorous banks that blowFlowers of more mingled hewThen 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 woundIn slumber soft; and on the groundSadly sits th’ Assyrian Queen.But far above, in spangled sheen,Celestial Cupid her fam’d son, advanc’t,Holds his dear Psyche, sweet intranc’tAfter her wandring labours long;Till free consent the gods amongMake her his eternal Bride;And from her fair unspotted sideTwo 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 runQuickly to the green earths end,Where the bow’d welkin slow doth bend;And from thence can soar as soonTo the corners of the Moon. Mortals that would follow me,Love vertue; she alone is free:She can teach ye how to climeHigher then the Spheary chime;Or, if Vertue feeble were,Heav’n it self would stoop to her.
