" And rifted rocks, whose entrance leads to hell; "For such there be; but unbelief is blind.

E. Bro. "Proceed, good Shepherd! I am all attention."

" F." Spi. Within the navel of this hideous wood, Immur'd in cypress shades, a sorcerer dwells, 200 Of Bacchus and of Circe born, great Comus, Deep skill'd in all his mother's witcheries, And wanton as his father;

" And here to ev'ry thirsty wanderer " By sly enticements gives his baneful cup, "With many murmurs mix'd, whose pleasing poison "The visage quite transforms of him that drinks,

" And the inglorious likeness of a beast
"Fixes instead, unmoulding reason's mintage
"Character'd in the face." This have I learnt

210

Tending my flock hard by, "i' th' hilly crofts "That brow 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 Hecate

"In their obscured haunts and inmost bow'rs."
Yet have they many baits and guileful spells,
And beauty's tempting semblance can put on
T' inveigle and invite th' unwary sense
"Of them that pass unweeting by the way."
But hark! the beaten timbrel's jarring sound
And wild tumultuous mirth proclaim their presence;
Onward they move; " and see! a blazing torch

D

220

" Gleams thro' the shade," and this way guides their

steps.

Let us withdraw a while and watch their motions.

[They retire.

Enter Comus' Crew revelling, and by turns caressing each other, till they observe the Two Brothers; then the Elder Brother advances and speaks.

E. Bro. What are you, speak, that thus in wanton riot And midnight revelry, like drunken Bacchanals, Invade the silence of these lonely shades ?

F. Wom. Ye godlike youths! "whose radiant forms excel

"The blooming grace of Maia's winged son,"
Bless the propitious star that led you to us;
We are the happiest of the race of mortals,
Of freedom, mirth, and joy, the only heirs:
But you shall share them with us; for this cup,
This nectar'd cup, the sweet assurance gives
Of present and the pledge of future bliss.

230

[She offers them the cup, which they both put by.

SONG. By a Man.

By the gayly circling glass
We can see how minutes pass,
By the hollow cask are told
How the waining night grows old.
Soon, too soon, the busy day
Drives us from our sport and play:
What have we with day to do?
Sons of care't was made for you.

240

E. Bro. Forbear, nor offer us the poison'd sweets

That thus have render'd thee thy sex's shame,
All sense of honour banish'd from thy breast.

"SONG.

" Fame's an echo, prattling double,
"An empty, airy, glitt'ring, bubble;
“ A breath can swell a breath can sink it,
“ The wise not worth their keeping think it.

"Why then, why such toil and pain
“Fame's uncertain smiles to gain?
" Like her sister Fortune blind,
"To the best she's oft' unkind,
“ And the worst her favour find.

250

E. Bro. " By her own sentence Virtue stands ab

solv'd,

"Nor asks an echo from the tongues of men "To tell what hourly to herself she proves. "Who wants his own no other praise enjoys; "His ear receives it as a fulsome tale

260

"To which his heart in secret gives the lie: "Nay, slander'd innocence must feel a peace, "An inward peace, which flatter'd guilt ne'er knew." F. Wom. Oh! how unseemly shews in blooming

youth

Such grey severity!

But come with us,

We to the bow'r of bliss will guide your steps;
There you shall taste the joys that Nature sheds

On the gay spring of life, youth's flow'ry prime,
From morn to noon, from noon to dewy eve,
Each rising hour by rising pleasures mark'd.

SONG. By a Woman in a pastoral habit.

Would you taste the noon-tide air,
To yon' fragrant bow'r repair,
Where woven with the poplar bough
The mantling vine will shelter you.

Down each side a fountain flows,
Tinkling, murm'ring, as it goes,
Lightly o'er the mossy ground,
Sultry Phœbus scorching round.

Round the languid herds and sheep
Stretch'd o'er sunny hillocks sleep,
While on the hyacinth and rose
The fair does all alone repose.

All alone and in her arms
Your breast may beat to love's alarms,
Till bless'd and blessing you shall own
The joys of love are joys alone.

270

280

E. Bro. "How low sinks beauty when by vice de

bas'd!

"How fair that form if virtue dwelt within !
"But from this shameless advocate of shame
"To me the warbled song harsh discord grates.

290

Y. Bro. "Short is the course of ev'ry lawless pleasure;

" Grief like a shade on all its footsteps waits,
"Scarce visible in joy's meridian height,
"But downward as its blaze declining speeds
"The dwarfish shadow to a giant spreads."

F. Wom. No more; these formal maxims misbecome

E. Bro. How can your impious tongues profane the