1637
                                     COMUS
                                 by John Milton
COMUS
                                Comus

                  A Mask Presented at Ludlow-Castle,
                               1634 &c.

                             The Persons
       The attendant Spirit afterwards in the habit of Thyrsis.
                              The Lady.
                       1. Brother. 2. Brother.
                         Comus with his crew.
                          Sabrina the Nymph.

               The cheif persons which presented, were
                           The Lord Bracly,
                   Mr. Thomas Egerton his Brother,
                       The Lady Alice Egerton.

                The first Scene discovers a wilde Wood
                The attendant Spirit descends or enters

        BEFORE the starry threshold of Joves Court
        My mansion is, where those immortal shapes
        Of bright aereal Spirits live insphear'd
        In Regions milde of calm and serene Ayr,
        Above the smoak and stirr of this dim spot,
        Which men call Earth, and with low-thoughted care
        Confin'd, and pester'd in this pin-fold here,
        Strive to keep up a frail, and Feaverish being
        Unmindfull of the crown that Vertue gives
        After this mortal change, to her true Servants
        Amongst the enthron'd gods on Sainted seats.
        Yet som there be that by due steps aspire
        To lay their just hands on that Golden Key
        That ope's 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 neather Jove,
        Imperial rule of all the Sea-girt Iles
        That like to rich, and various gemms inlay
        The unadorned boosom of the Deep,
        Which he to grace his tributary gods
        By course commits to severall government,
        And gives them leave to wear their Saphire crowns,
        And weild their little tridents, but this Ile
        The greatest, and the best of all the main
        He quarters to his blu-hair'd deities,
        And all this tract that fronts the falling Sun
        A noble Peer of mickle trust, and power
        Has in his charge, with temper'd awe to guide
        An old, and haughty Nation proud in Arms:
        Where his fair off-spring nurs't in Princely lore,
        Are coming to attend their Fathers state,
        And new-entrusted Scepter, but their way
        Lies through the perplex't paths of this drear Wood,
        The nodding horror of whose shady brows
        Threats the forlorn and wandring Passinger.
        And here their tender age might suffer perill,
        But that by quick command from Soveran Jove
        I was dispatcht for their defence, and guard;
        And listen why for I will tell ye now
        What never yet was heard in Tale or Song
        From old, or modern Bard in Hall, or Bowr.
          Bacchus that first from out the purple Grape,
        Crush't the sweet poyson of mis-used Wine
        After the Tuscan Mariners transform'd
        Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listed,
        On Circes Iland fell (who knows not Circe
        The daughter of the Sun? Whose charmed Cup
        Whoever tasted, lost his upright shape,
        And downward fell into a groveling Swine)
        This Nymph that gaz'd upon his clustring locks,
        With Ivy berries wreath' d, and his blithe youth,
        Had by him, ere he parted thence, a Son
        Much like his Father, but his Mother more,
        Whom therfore she brought up and Comus nam'd,
        Who ripe, and frolick of his full grown age,
        Roaving the Celtick, and Iberian fields,
        At last betakes him to this ominous Wood,
        And in thick shelter of black shades imbowr'd,
        Excells his Mother at her mighty Art,
        Offring to every weary Travailer,
        His orient liquor in a Crystal Glasse,
        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 som brutish form of Woolf, 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 then before
        And all their friends, and native home forget