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From old, or moderne bard, in hall, or bowre.
 * Bacchus, that firt from out the purple Grape

Cruh't the weet poyon of mi-ued Wine After the Tucan mariners transform'd Coating the Tyrrhene hore, as the winds lited, On Circes iland fell (who knowes not Circe The daughter of the Sun? whoe charmed Cup Whoever tated lot his upright hape, And downward fell into a grovling Swine) This Nymph, that gaz'd upon his clutring locks With Ivie berries wreath'd, and his blith youth, Had by him, ere he parted thence, a Son Much like his Father, but his mother more, Whom therefore he brought up, and Comus nam'd, Who ripe, and frolick of his full growne age Roaving the Celtick and Iberian fields At lat betakes him to this ominous wood, And in thick helter of black hades imbowr'd Excells his Mother at her mightie Art Offring to every wearie Travailer His orient liquor in a Chrytall glae To quench the drouth of Phœbus, which as they tat (For mot doe tat through fond intemperate thirt) Soone as the Potion works, their humane count'nance Th' exprer reemblance of the gods is chang'd Into ome brutih forme of Wolfe, or Beare Or Ounce, or Tiger, Hog, or bearded Goat, All other parts remaining as they were, And they, o perfect in their mierie, Not once perceive their foule disfigurement, But boat themelves more comely then before And all their friends; and native home forget Rh