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Comus. Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment? Sure something holy lodges in that breast, And with these raptures moves the vocal air To testify his hidden residence. How sweetly did they float upon the wings Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night, At every fall smoothing the raven-down Of darkness, till it smil'd! I have oft heard My mother Circe with the Syrens three, Amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades, Culling their potent herbs and baleful drugs; Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul, And lap it in Elysium : Scylla wept, And.chid her barking waves into attention, And fell Charybdis murmur'd soft applause : Yet they in pleasing slumber lull'd the sense, And in sweet madness robb’d it of itself; But such a sacred and home-felt delight, Such sober certainty of waking bliss, I never heard till now. I'll speak to her, And she shall be my queen. Hail, foreign wonder! Whom certain these rough shades did never breed, Unless the Goddess that in rural shrine Dwell'st here with Pan, or Sylvan ; by blest song
Forbidding every bleak unkindly, fog
any boast of skill, but extreme shift How to regain my sever'd company, Compelli'd me to awake the courteous Echo To give me answer from her mossy
couch. Comus. What chance, good Lady, hath bereft
you thus ?
Lady. Dim darkness, and his leafy labyrinth. Comus. Could that divide you from near usher
ing guides ? Lady. They left me weary on a grassy turf. Comus. By falshood, or discourtesy, or why? Lady. To seek i’ the valley some cool friendly
spring Comus. And left your fair side all unguarded,
Lady? Lady. They were but twain, and purpos'd quick
return. Comus. Perhaps forestalling night prevented
them, Lady. How easy my misfortune is to bit! Comus. Imports their loss, beside the present Lady. No less than if I should my Brothers lose. Comus. Were they of manly prime, or youthful
bloom? Lady. As smooth as Hebe's their unrazor'd lips. Comus. Two such I saw, what time the la
Comus. Due west it rises from this shrubby point.
Lady. To find out that, good Shepherd, I suppose In such a scant allowance of star-light, Would overtask the best land pilot's art, Without the sure guess of well-practis'd feet.
Comus. I know each lane, and every alley green, Dingle, or bushy dell of this wild wood,
And every bosky bourn from side to side,
Shepherd, I take thy word
Enter the two BROTHERS.
thou, fair moon,
Or, if your influence be quite damm’d-up
Or, if our eyes
exquisite To cast the fashion of uncertain evils : For grant they be so, while they rest unknown,