Page:The Complete Poetical Works of John Milton.djvu/93

 COMUS

��5 1

��And then the Giver would be better

thanked,

His praise due paid: for swinish Gluttony Ne'er looks to Heaven amidst his gorgeous

feast,

But with besotted base ingratitude Crams, and blasphemes his Feeder. Shall

I go ou ?

Or have I said enow ? To him that dares Arm his profane tongue with contemptu- ous words 7 8i Against the sun-clad power of Chastity Fain would I something say ; yet to what

end?

Thou hast nor ear, nor soul, to apprehend The sublime notion and high mystery That must be uttered to unfold the sage And serious doctrine of Virginity; And thou art worthy that thou shouldst not

know

More happiness than this thy present lot. Enjoy your dear Wit, and gay Rhetoric, That hath so well been taught her dazzling fence; 79 i

Thou art not fit to hear thyself convinced. Yet, should I try, the uncontrolled worth Of this pure cause would kindle my rapt

spirits

To such a flame of sacred vehemence That dumb things would be moved to sym- pathize, And the brute Earth would lend her nerves,

and shake, Till all thy magic structures, reared so

high, Were shattered into heaps o'er thy false

head.

Comus. She fables not. I feel that I do fear 800

Her words set off by some superior power; And, though not mortal, yet a cold shud- dering dew

Dips me all o'er, as when the wrath of Jove Speaks thunder and the chains of Erebus To some of Saturn's crew. I must dissem- ble, And try her yet more strongly. Come,

no more !

This is mere moral babble, and direct Against the canon laws of our foundation. I must not suffer this ; yet 't is but the

lees

And settlings of a melancholy blood. 810 But this will cure all straight; one sip of this

��Will bathe the drooping spirits in delight Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste. ..

The BROTHERS rush in with swords drawn, wrest his glass out of his hand, and break it against the ground : his rout make sign of re- sistance, but are all driven in. The ATTEND- ANT SPIRIT comes in.

Spir. What ! have you let the false En- chanter scape ?

O ye mistook; ye should have snatched his wand,

And bound him fast. Without his rod re- versed,

And backward mutters of dissevering power,

We cannot free the Lady that sits here

In stony fetters fixed and motionless.

Yet stay: be not disturbed; now I bethink me, 820

Some other means I have which may be used,

Which once of Melibceus old I learnt,

The soothest Shepherd that ere piped on

plains.

There is a gentle Nymph not far from hence,

That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream:

Sabrina is her name: a virgin pure;

Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine,

That had the sceptre from his father Brute.

She, guiltless damsel, flying the mad pur- suit

Of her enraged stepdame, Guendolen, 830

Commended her fair innocence to the flood

That stayed her flight with his cross-flow- ing course.

The water-Nymphs, that in the bottom played,

Held up their pearled wrists, and took her in,

Bearing her straight to aged Nereus' hall;

AVho, piteous of her woes, reared her lank head,

And gave her to his daughters to imbathe

In nectared lavers strewed with asphodil,

And through the porch and inlet of each sense 839

Dropt in ambrosial oils, till she revived,

And underwent a quick immortal change,

Made Goddess of the river. Still she re- tains

Her maiden gentleness, and oft at eve

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