A MASQUE PRESENTED AT LUDLOW CASTLE,1634,BEFORETHE EARL OF BRIDGEWATER,THEN PRESIDENT OF WALES.
The Persons The ATTENDANT SPIRIT,afterwards in the habit of THYRSIS.
COMUS,with his Crew.
The LADY.
FIRST BROTHER.
SECOND BROTHER.
SABRINA,the Nymph.
The Chief Persons which presented were:--
The Lord Brackley;
Mr.Thomas Egerton,his Brother;
The Lady Alice Egerton.
The first Scene discovers a wild wood.
The ATTENDANT SPIRIT descends or enters.
BEFORE the starry threshold of Jove's court My mansion is,where those immortal shapes Of bright aerial spirits live insphered 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 pinfold 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 and each ebbing stream,Took in by lot,'twixt high and nether Jove,Imperial rule of all the sea-girt 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 tract that fronts the falling sun A noble Peer of mickle 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 lore,Are coming to attend their father's state,And new-intrusted sceptre.But their way Lies through the perplexed paths of this drear wood,The nodding horror of whose shady brows Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger;And here their tender age might suffer peril,But that,by quick command from sovran Jove,I was despatched for their defence 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.
Bacchus,that first from out the purple grape Crushed the sweet poison of misused wine,After the Tuscan mariners transformed,Coasting the Tyrrhene shore,as the winds listed,On Circe's island fell.(Who knows not Circe,The daughter of the Sun,whose charmed 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 wreathed,and his blithe youth,Had by him,ere 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 imbowered,Excels his mother at her mighty art;Offering 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,The express resemblance of the gods,is changed Into some brutish form of wolf or bear,Or ounce or tiger,hog,or bearded goat,All other parts remaining as they were.
And they,so 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 favoured of high Jove Chances to pass through this adventurous glade,Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star I shoot from heaven,to give him safe convoy,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-dittied song,Well knows to still the wild winds when they roar,And hush the waving woods;nor of less faith And in this office of his mountain watch Likeliest,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 rout 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 slope 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.
Braid your locks with rosy twine,Dropping odours,dropping wine.
Rigour now is gone to bed;
And Advice with scrupulous head,Strict Age,and sour Severity,With their grave saws,in slumber lie.
We,that are of purer fire,Imitate the starry quire,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 morrice move;And on the tawny sands and shelves Trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.
By dimpled brook and fountain-brim,The wood-nymphs,decked with daisies 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 rights begin;
'T is only daylight that makes sin,Which these dun shades will ne'er report.