And turns 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. Br. 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. Br. Methought so too; what should it be? El. Br.
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. Br. Heaven keep my sister! Again, again, and near! 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.
Spir. What voice is that? my young lord? speak again. Sec. Br. O brother, 'tis my father's shepherd, sure. El. Br. Thyrsis, whose artful strains have oft delay'd The huddling brook to hear his madrigal,
And sweeten'd every musk-rose of the dale? How camest thou here, good swain? hath any ram Slipt 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? Spir. 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 ?
El. Br. To tell thee sadly, shepherd, without blame,
Or our neglect, we lost her as we came.
Spir. Aye me unhappy! then my fears are true.
El. Br. What fears, good Thyrsis? Pr'ythee briefly show. Spir. I'll tell thee: '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 navel 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 learnt Tending my flocks hard by i' 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 Hecate
In their obscured haunts of inmost 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 then 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 honeysuckle, and began, Rapt in a pleasing fit of melancholy, To meditate my rural minstrelsy, Till fancy had her fill; but, ere a close, The wonted roar was up amidst the woods, And fill'd the air with barbarous dissonance; At which I ceased, and listen'd them awhile, Till an unusual stop of sudden silence Gave respite to the drowsy-flighted steeds, That draw the litter of close-curtain'd sleep; At last a soft and solemn-breathing sound Rose like a steam of rich distill'd perfumes, And stole upon the air, that even silence Was took ere she was aware, and wish'd she might Deny her nature, and be never more
Still to be so displaced. I was all ear,
And took in strains that might create a soul Under the ribs of death: but, O! ere long, Too well I did perceive it was the voice Of my most honour'd lady, your dear sister. Amazed I stood, harrow'd with grief and fear, And, O poor hapless nightingale, thought I, How sweet thou sing'st, how near the deadly snare! Then down the lawns I ran with headlong haste, Through paths and turnings often trod by day, Till guided by mine ear, I found the place, Where that damn'd wizard, hid in sly disguise (For so by certain signs I knew), had met
Already, ere my best speed could prevent, The aidless innocent lady, his wish'd prey, Who gently ask'd if he had seen such two, Supposing him some neighbour villager. Longer I durst not stay, but soon I guess'd Ye were the two she meant; with that I sprung Into swift flight, till I had found you here; But farther know I not.
O night and shades! How are ye join'd with hell in triple knot Against the unarm'd weakness of one virgin, Alone and helpless! Is this the confidence You gave me, brother?
Lean on it safely; not a period
Shall be unsaid for me; against the threats
Of malice, or of sorcery, or that power
Which erring men call chance, this I hold firm: Virtue may be assail'd, but never hurt, Surprised by unjust force, but not enthrall'd;
Yea, even that, which mischief meant most harm, Shall in the happy trial prove most glory: But evil on itself shall back recoil,
And mix no more with goodness; when at last Gather'd like scum, and settled to itself,
It shall be in eternal restless change Self-fed, and self-consumed; if this fail,
The pillar'd firmament is rottenness,
And earth's base built on stubble. But come, let's on. Against the opposing will and arm of Heaven.
May never this just sword be lifted up;
But for that damn'd magician, let him be girt With all the grisly legions that troop
Under the sooty flag of Acheron,
Harpies and Hydras, or all the monstrous forms
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