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To keep my life and honour unassail'd.
Sweet Echo, sweetest Nymph, that liv'st unseen
Within thy aery shell,
By slow Meander's margent green, And in the violet-embroider'd vale,
Where the love-lorn nightingale Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well; Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair
That likest thy Narcissus are?
O, if thou have
Tell me but where,
So may'st thou be translated to the skies,
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 lulld 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
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
them. Lady. How easy my misfortune is to hit! 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.
Elder Brother. Unmuffle, ye faint stars; and
thou, fair moon,