Laden with blooming gold, had need 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 unsunn'd heaps
Of misers' 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 recks me not:
I fear the dread events that dog them both,
Lest some ill-greeting touch attempt the person
Of our unowned sister,
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' event, my nature is
That I incline to hope, rather than fear,
And gladly banish squint suspicion.
My sister is not so defenceless left
As you imagine: she has a hidden strength,
you remember not.
Unless the strength of Heaven, if you mean that? FIRST B. I mean that too, but yet a hidden
Which, if Heaven gave it, may be term'd her own; 'Tis chastity, my Brother! chastity:
She, that has that, is clad in complete steel; And, like a quiver'd Nymph with arrows keen, May trace huge forests, and unharbour'd heaths, 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 grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid shades,
She may pass on with unblench'd 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 fen,
Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost
That breaks his magic chains at curfew time,
No goblin, or swart faery of the mine,
Hath hurtful power o'er 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 Dian her dread bow,
Fair silver-shafted queen, for ever chaste,
Wherewith she tamed the brinded lioness
And spotted mountain pard; but set at nought
The frivolous bolt of Cupid: gods and men
Fear'd her stern frown, and she was queen o' the
woods.
What was that snaky-headed Gorgon shield,
That wise Miverva wore, unconquer'd virgin,
Wherewith she freezed her foes to congeal'd stone,
But rigid looks of chaste austerity,
And noble grace, that dash'd 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 lackey 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 the' outward shape,
The unpolluted temple of the mind,
And turn 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,
Lets in defilement to the inward parts,
The soul grows clotted by contagion,
Imbodies, and imbrutes, till she quite lose
The divine property of her first being.
Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp,
Oft seen in charnel vaults and sepulchres
Lingering, and sitting by a new made grave.
As loth to leave the body that it loved,
And link'd itself by carnal sensuality
To a degenerate and degraded state.
SEC. B. How charming is divine philosophy! Not harsh, and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, But musical as is Apollo's lute;
And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets,
Where no crude surfeit reigns.
Some far-off halloo break the silent air.
SEC. B. Methought so too; what should it be? FIRST B. For certain Either some one, like us, night-founder'd here, Or else some neighbour woodman; or, at worst, Some roving robber calling to his fellows.
SEC. B. Heaven keep my sister! Again, again,
Best draw, and stand upon our guard.
If he be friendly, he comes well: if not, Defence is a good cause, and Heaven be for us.
Enter the ATTENDANT SPIRIT, habited like a shepherd.
That halloo I should know. What are you? Speak! Come not too near, you fall on iron stakes else. SPI. What voice is that? my young Lord? speak
SEC. B. O Brother! 'tis my father's shepherd,
[oft delay'd
FIRST B. Thyrsis? whose artful strains have
The huddling brook to hear his madrigal,
And sweeten'd every muskrose of the dale?
How camest thou here, good Swain? Hath any ram
Slipp'd from the fold, or young kid lost his dam,
Or straggling wether the pent flock forsook?
How couldst thou find this dark sequester'd nook?
SPI. O my loved master's heir, and his next joy!
I came not here on such a trivial toy
As a stray'd ewe, 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, O my virgin Lady! where is she?
How chance she is not in your company?
FIRST B. To tell thee sadly, Shepherd! without Or our neglect, we lost her as we came. [blame, SPI. Ah me unhappy! then my fears are true. FIRST B. What fears, good Thyrsis? Pr'ythee, briefly show,
SPI. I'll tell ye: 'tis not vain or fabulous (Though so esteem'd by shallow ignorance), What the sage poets, taught by the' heavenly Muse,
Storied of old, in high immortal verse,
Of dire chimeras, and enchanted isles,
And rifted rocks whose entrance leads to hell;
For such there be; but unbelief is blind.
Within the naval of this hideous wood,
Immured in cypress shades a sorcerer dwells,
Of Bacchus and of Circe born, great Comus,
Deep skill'd in all his mother's witcheries;
And here to every thirsty wanderer
By sly enticement 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 learn'd
Tending my flocks hard by in the 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 Hecaté
In their obscured haunts of inward bowers.
Yet have they many baits, and guileful spells,
To' inveigle and invite the' unwary sense
Of them that pass unweeting by the way.
This evening late, by when the chewing flocks
Had ta'en their supper on the savoury herb
Of knot-grass dew-besprent, and were in fold,
I sat me down to watch upon a bank
With ivy canopied, and interwove
With flaunting honey-suckle, and began,
Wrapp'd in a pleasing fit of melancholy,
To meditate my rural minstrelsy,
Till fancy had her fill; but, ere the close,
The wonted roar was up amidst the woods,
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