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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

To touch the prosp'rous growth of this tall wood.
Lady. Nay, gentle shepherd, ill is lost that praise
That is address'd to unattending ears;
Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift
How to regain my sever'd company,
Compell'd me to awake the courteous echo

To give me answer from her mossy couch. [thus? Comus. What chance, good lady, hath bereft you Lady. Dim darkness and this leafy labyrinth. Comus. Could that divide you from near-ushering guides?

return.

Lady. They left me weary on a grassy turf. Comus. By falsehood, or discourtesy, or why? Lady.To seek i'th'valley some cool friendly spring. Comus. And left your fair side all unguarded, lady? Lady. They were but twain, and purpos'd quick [them. Comus. Perhaps forestalling night prevented Lady. How easy my misfortune is to hit! [need? Comus. Imports their loss, besides 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 labour'd ox
In his loose traces from the furrow came,
And the swinkt hedger at his supper sat ;
I saw them under a green mantling vine
That crawls along the side of yon small hill,
Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots;
Their port was more than human, as they stood;
I took it for a faëry vision

Of some gay creatures of the element,
That in the colours of the rainbow live,

And play i' th' plighted clouds. I was awe-struck,
And as I pass'd I worshipt; if those you seek,
It were a journey like the path to Heav'n,
To help you find them.

Lady. Gentle villager,

What readiest way would bring me to the place?
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 over-task 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,
My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood;
And if your stray-attendants be yet lodg'd,
Or shroud within these limits, I shall know
Ere morrow wake, or the low-roosted lark
From her thatched pallat rouse; if otherwise
I can conduct you, lady, to a low

But loyal cottage, where you may be safe
Till further quest.

Lady. Shepherd, I take thy word,
And trust thy honest offer'd courtesy,

Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds
With smoky rafters, than in tap'stry halls
And courts of princes, where it first was nam'd,
And yet is most pretended: in a place
Less warranted than this, or less secure,

I cannot be, that I should fear to change it.
Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial
To my proportion'd strength. Shepherd, lead on.
The two Brothers.

E. Bro. Unmuffle ye faint stars, and thou fair moon,
That wont'st to love the traveller's benizon,
Stoop thy pale visage through an amber cloud,
And disinherit Chaos, that reigns here
In double night of darkness and of shades;
Or if your influence be quite damm'd up
With black usurping mists, some gentle taper,
Though a rush candle from the wicker hole
Of some clay habitation, visit us
With thy long levell'd rule of streaming light,
And thou shalt be our star of Arcady,
Or Tyrian Cynosure.

Y. Bro. Or if our eyes

Be barr'd that happiness, might we but hear
The folded flocks penn'd in their wattled cotes,
Or sound of past'ral reed with oaten stops,
Or whistle from the lodge, or village cock
Count the night watches to his feathery dames,
"Twould be some solace yet, some little cheering
In this close dungeon of innumerous boughs.
But O that hapless virgin, our lost sister,
Where may she wander now, whither betake her,
From the chill dew, amongst rude burs and thistles?
Perhaps some cold bank is her bolster now,
Or 'gainst the rugged bark of some broad elm
Leans her unpillow'd head fraught with sad fears.
What if in wild amazement and affright,
Or, while we speak, within the direful grasp
Of savage hunger, or of savage heat?

E. Bro. Peace, brother, be not over-exquisite
To cast the fashion of uncertain evils:
For grant they be so, while they rest unknown,
What need a man forestall his date of grief,
And run to meet what he would most avoid?
Or if they be but false alarms of fear,
How bitter is such self-delusion?

I do not think my sister so to seek,

Or so unprincipled in Virtue's book,

And the sweet peace that goodness bosoms ever,
As that the single want of light and noise

(Not being in danger, as I trust she is not)
Could stir the constant mood of her calm thoughts,
And put them into misbecoming plight.

Virtue could see to do what virtue would

By her own radiant light, though sun and moon
Were in the flat sea sunk. And wisdom's self
Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude,
Where with her best nurse Contemplation
She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings,
That in the various bustle of resort

Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impair'd.
He that has light within his own clear breast

Instead shall double ours upon our heads. No more be mention'd then of violence Against ourselves, and wilful barrenness, That cuts us off from hope, and savours only Rancour and pride, impatience and despite, Reluctance against God and his just yoke Laid on our necks. Remember with what mild And gracious temper he both heard and judg'd Without wrath or reviling; we expected Immediate dissolution, which we thought Was meant by death that day, when lo, to thee Pains only in child-bearing were foretold, And bringing forth, soon recompens'd with joy, Fruit of thy womb: on me the curse aslope Glanc'd on the ground; with labour I must earn My bread; what harm? Idleness had been worse; My labour will sustain me; and lest cold Or heat should injure us, his timely care Hath unbesought provided, and his hands Cloth'd us unworthy, pitying while he judg'd; How much more, if we pray him, will his ear Be open, and his heart to pity incline, And teach us further by what means to shun The inclement seasons, rain, ice, hail, and snow? Which now the sky with various face begins To shew us in this mountain, while the winds Blow moist and keen, shattering the graceful locks Of these fair spreading trees; which bids us seek Some better shroud, some better warmth to cherish Our lips benumb'd, ere this diurnal star Leave cold the night, how we his gather'd beams Reflected, may with matter sere foment, Or by collision of two bodies grind The air attrite to fire, as late the clouds Justling or push'd with winds rude in their shock Tine the slant lightning, whose thwart flame driven Kindles the gummy bark of fir or pine, And sends a comfortable heat from far, Which might supply the sun: such fire to use, And what may else be remedy or cure To evils which our own misdeeds have wrought, He will instruct us praying, and of grace Beseeching him, so as we need not fear To pass commodiously this life sustain'd By him with many comforts, till we end In dust, our final rest and native home. What better can we do, than to the place Repairing where he judg'd us, prostrate fall Before him reverent, and there confess Humbly our faults, and pardon beg, with tears Watering the ground, and with our sighs the air Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign Of sorrow unfeign'd, and humiliation meek? Undoubtedly he will relent and turn From his displeasure; in whose look serene, When angry most he seem'd and most severe, What else but favour, grace, and mercy shone?

[down

So spake our Father penitent, nor Eve Felt less remorse: they forthwith to the place Repairing where he judg'd them, prostrate fell Before him reverent, and both confess'd

Humbly their faults, and pardon begg'd with tears
Watering the ground, and with their sighs the air
Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign
Of sorrow unfeign'd, and humiliation meek.

SENTENCE PRONOUNCED ON ADAM
AND EVE.
Meanwhile

To re-salute the world with sacred light
Leucothea wak'd, and with fresh dews imbalm'd
The earth, when Adam, and first matron Eve
Had ended now their orisons, and found
Strength added from above, new hope to spring
Out of despair, joy, but with fear yet link'd;
Which thus to Eve his welcome words renew'd:
Eve, easily may faith admit, that all

The good which we enjoy from Heav'n descends;
But that from us aught should ascend to Heaven
So prevalent as to concern the mind

Of God high-blest, or to incline his will,
Hard to belief may seem; yet this will prayer,
Or one short sigh of human breath, upborne
Ev'n to the seat of God. For since I sought
By pray'r th' offended Deity to appease,
Kneel'd and before him humbled all my heart,
Methought I saw him placable and mild,
Bending his ear; persuasion in me grew
That I was heard with favour; peace return'd
Home to my breast, and to my memory
His promise, that thy seed shall bruise our foe;
Which then not minded in dismay, yet now
Assures me that the bitterness of death
Is past, and we shall live. Whence hail to thee,
Eve rightly call'd Mother of all Mankind,
Mother of all things living, since by thee
Man is to live, and all things live for man.

To whom thus Eve with sad demeanor meek.
Ill worthy I such title should belong
To me transgressor, who for thee ordain'd
A help, became thy snare; to me reproach
Rather belongs, distrust and all dispraise:
But infinite in pardon was my Judge,
That I who first brought death on all, am grac'd
The source of life; next favourable thou,
Who highly thus t' entitle me vouchsafʼst,
Far other name deserving. But the field
To labour calls us now with sweat impos'd,
Tho' after sleepless night; for see the morn,
All unconcern'd with our unrest, begins
Her rosy progress smiling; let us forth,
I never from thy side henceforth to stray,
Where'er our day's work lies, though now injoin'd
Laborious, till day droop; while here we dwell,
What can be toilsome in these pleasant walks?
Here let us live, tho' in fall'n state, content.

So spake, so wish'd much humbled Eve, but Fate Subscrib'd not; Nature first gave signs, impress'd On bird, beast, air, air suddenly eclips'd After short blush of morn; nigh in her sight The bird of Jove stoop'd from his airy tour,

Two birds of gayest plume before him drove;
Down from a hill the beast that reigns in woods,
First hunter then, pursu'd a gentle brace,
Goodliest of all the forest, hart and hind;
Direct to th' eastern gate was bent their flight.
Adam observ'd, and with his eyes the chace
Pursuing, not unmov'd, to Eve thus spake:
O Eve, some further change awaits us nigh,
Which Heav'n by these mute signs in Nature shews,
Forerunners of his purpose, or to warn
Us haply too secure of our discharge
From penalty because from death releas'd
Some days; how long, and what till then our life,
Who knows, or more than this, that we are dust,
And thither must return, and be no more?
Why else this double object in our sight
Of flight pursu'd in th' air, and o'er the ground,
One way the self-same hour? why in the east
Darkness ere day's mid-course, and morning-light
More orient in yon western cloud that draws
O'er the blue firmament a radiant white,
And slow descends,with something heav'nly fraught?
He err'd not; for by this the heav'nly bands
Down from a sky of jasper lighted now
In paradise, and on a hill made halt,
A glorious apparition, had not doubt

And carnal fear that day dimm'd Adam's eye.
Not that more glorious, when the angels met
Jacob in Mahanaim, where he saw

The field pavilion'd with his guardians bright;
Nor that which on the flaming mount appear'd
In Dothan, cover'd with a camp of fire,
Against the Syrian king, who, to surprise
One man, assassin-like had levied war,
War unproclaim'd. The princely Hierarch

In their bright stand there left his pow'rs to seize
Possession of the garden; he alone,
To find where Adam shelter'd took his way,
Not unperceiv'd of Adam, who to Eve,
While the great visitant approach'd, thus spake:
Eve, now expect great tidings, which perhaps
Of us will soon determine, or impose
New laws to be observ'd; for I descry
From yonder blazing cloud that veils the hill,
One of the heav'nly host, and by his gait
None of the meanest, some great potentate,
Or of the thrones above, such majesty
Invests him coming; yet not terrible,
That I should fear, nor sociably mild,
As Raphael, that I should much confide,
But solemn and sublime, whom not t' offend,
With reverence I must meet, and thou retire.
He ended; and th' Archangel soon drew nigh,
Not in his shape celestial, but as man
Clad to meet man; over his lucid arms
A military vest of purple flow'd
Livelier than Melibaan, or the grain
Of Sarra, worn by kings and heroes old
In time of truce; Iris had dipt the woof,
His starry helm unbuckled shew'd him prime
In manhood, where youth ended; by his side,

As in a glist'ring zodiac, hung the sword, Satan's dire dread, and in his hand the spear. Adam bow'd low; he kingly from his state Inclin'd not; but his coming thus declar'd:

Adam, Heav'n's high behest no preface needs: Sufficient that thy pray'rs are heard, and Death, Then due by sentence when thou didst transgress, Defeated of his seizure many days

Giv'n thee of grace, wherein thou may'st repent,
And one bad act with many deeds well done
May'st cover; well may then thy Lord appeas'd
Redeem thee quite from Death's rapacious claim;
But longer in this paradise to dwell

Permits not; to remove thee I am come,
And send thee from the garden forth to till
The ground whence thou wast taken, fitter soil.
He added not, for Adam at the news
Heart-struck with chilling gripe of sorrow stood,
That all his senses bound; Eve, who unseen
Yet all had heard, with audible lament
Discover'd soon the place of her retire.

O unexpected stroke, worse than of death!
Must I thus leave thee, Paradise? thus leave
Thee, native soil, these happy walks and shades,
Fit haunt of Gods? where I had hope to spend,
Quiet though sad, the respite of that day
That must be mortal to us both. O flowers,
That never will in other climate grow,
My early visitation, and my last

At even, which I bred up with tender hand
From the first opening bud, and give ye names,
Who now shall rear ye to the sun, or rank
Your tribes, and water from th' ambrosial fount?
Thee lastly, nuptial bow'r, by me adorn'd
With what to sight or smell was sweet, from thee
How shall I part, and whither wander down
Into a lower world, to this obscure

And wild? how shall we breathe in other air
Less pure, accustom'd to immortal fruits?

Whom thus the angel interrupted mild:
Lament not, Eve, but patiently resign
What justly thou hast lost: nor set thy heart,
Thus over-fond, on that which is not thine;
Thy going is not lonely; with thee goes
Thy husband; him to follow thou art bound;
Where he abides, think there thy native soil.

Adam by this from the cold sudden damp
Recovering, and his scatter'd spirits return'd,
To Michael thus his humble words address'd.

Celestial, whether among the thrones, or nam'd
Of them the highest, for such of shape may seem
Prince above princes, gently hast thou told
Thy message, which might else in telling wound,
And in performing end us; what besides

Of sorrow and dejection and despair
Our frailty can sustain, thy tidings bring,
Departure from this happy place, our sweet
Recess, and only consolation left
Familiar to our eyes, all places else
Inhospitable appear, and desolate,

Nor knowing us nor known; and if by pray'r

Incessant I could hope to change the will
Of him who all things can, I would not cease
To weary him with my assiduous cries:
But pray'r against his absolute decree
No more avails than breath against the wind,
Blown stifling back on him that breathes it forth:
Therefore to his great bidding I submit.
This most afflicts me, that departing hence,
As from his face I shall be hid, depriv'd
His blessed count'nance; here I could frequent
With worship place by place where he vouchsaf'd
Presence divine, and to my sons relate,

On this mount he appear'd, under this tree
Stood visible, among these pines his voice

I heard, here with him at this fountain talk'd:
So many grateful altars I would rear

Of grassy turf, and pile up every stone
Of lustre from the brook, in memory,
Or monument to ages, and thereon

Offer sweet-smelling gums, and fruits, and flowers:
In yonder nether world where shall I seek
His bright appearances, or footsteps trace?
For though I fled him angry, yet recall'd
To life prolong'd and promis'd race, I now
Gladly behold though but his utmost skirts
Of glory, and far off his steps adore.

To whom thus Michael, with regard benign:
Adam, thou know'st Heav'n his, and all the earth,
Not this rock only; his omnipresence fills
Land, sea, and air, and every kind that lives,
Fomented by his virtual pow'r, and warm'd:
All th' earth he gave thee to possess and rule,
No despicable gift; surmise not then
His presence to these narrow bounds confin'd
Of Paradise or Eden: this had been

Perhaps thy capital seat, from whence had spread
All generations, and had hither come
From all the ends of th' earth, to celebrate
And reverence thee, their great progenitor.
But this pre-eminence thou hast lost, brought down
To dwell on even ground now with thy sons:
Yet doubt not but in valley and in plain
God is as here, and will be found alike
Present, and of his presence many a sign
Still following thee, still compassing thee round
With goodness and paternal love, his face
Express, and of his steps the track divine.
Which that thou may'st believe, and be confirm'd
Ere thou from hence depart, know I am sent
To shew thee what shall come in future days
To thee and to thy offspring; good with bad
Expect to hear, supernal grace contending
With sinfulness of man; thereby to learn
True patience, and to temper joy with fear
And pious sorrow, equally inur'd
By moderation either state to bear,
Prosperous or adverse: so shalt thou lead
Safest thy life, and best prepar'd endure
Thy mortal passage when it comes. Ascend
This hill; let Eve (for I have drench'd her eyes)
Here sleep below, while thou to foresight wak'st;
As once thou slept'st, while she to life was form'd.

ADAM AND EVE DRIVEN OUT OF
PARADISE.

He ended, and thus Adam last reply'd:
How soon hath thy prediction, Seer blest,
Measur'd this transient world, the race of time,
Till time stand fix'd? beyond is all abyss,
Eternity, whose end no eye can reach.
Greatly instructed I shall hence depart,
Greatly in peace of thought, and have my fill
Of knowledge, what this vessel can contain;
Beyond which was my folly to aspire.
Henceforth I learn, that to obey is best,
And love with fear the only God, to walk
As in his presence, ever to observe
His providence, and on him sole depend,
Merciful over all his works, with good
Still overcoming evil, and by small
Accomplishing great things, by things deem'd weak
Subverting worldly strong, and worldly wise
By simply meek: that suffering for truth's sake
Is fortitude to highest victory,

And to the faithful death the gate of life;
Taught this by his example whom I now
Acknowledge my Redeemer ever blest.

To whom thus also th' angel last reply'd:
Thus having learn'd, thou hast attain'd the sum
Of wisdom; hope no higher, though all the stars
Thou knew'st by name, and all th' ethereal powers,
All secrets of the deep, all Nature's works,
Or works of God in Heav'n, air, earth, or sea,
And all the riches of this world enjoy❜dst,
And all the rule, one empire; only add
Deeds to thy knowledge answerable, add faith,
Add virtue, patience, temperance, add love,
By name to come call'd Charity, the soul
Of all the rest: then wilt thou not be loth
To leave this Paradise, but shalt possess
A paradise within thee, happier far.
Let us descend now therefore from this top
Of speculation; for the hour precise
Exacts our parting hence; and see the guards,
By me incamp'd on yonder hill, expect
Their motion, at whose front a flaming sword,
In signal of remove, waves fiercely round;
We may no longer stay: go, waken Eve;
Her also I with gentle dreams have calm'd
Portending, good, and all her spirits compos'd
To meek submission: thou at season fit
Let her with thee partake what thou hast heard,
Chiefly what may concern her faith to know,
The great deliverance by her seed to come
(For by the woman's seed) on all mankind:
That ye may live, which will be many days,
Both in one faith unanimous though sad,
With cause, for evils past, yet much more cheer'd
With meditation on the happy end.

He ended; and they both descend the hill:
Descended, Adam to the bower where Eve
Lay sleeping ran before, but found her wak'd;
And thus with words not sad she him receiv'd.

Whence thou return'st, and whither went'st I For God is also in sleep, and dreams advise, [know;

Which he hath sent propitious, some great good
Presaging, since with sorrow and heart's distress
Wearied I fell asleep: but now lead on,
In me is no delay; with thee to go,
Is to stay here; without thee here to stay,
Is to go hence unwilling; thou to me

Art all things under Heav'n, all places thou,
Who for my wilful crime art banish'd hence.
This further consolation yet secure

I carry hence; though all by me is lost,
Such favour I unworthy am vouchsaf'd,
By me the promis'd seed shall all restore.

So spake our mother Eve, and Adam heard
Well pleas'd, but answer'd not; for now too nigh
Th' Archangel stood, and from the other hill
To their fix'd station, all in bright array
The cherubim descended; on the ground
Gliding meteorous, as evening mist
Ris'n from a river o'er the marish glides,
And gathers ground fast at the lab’rer's heel
Homeward returning. High in front advanc'd,
The brandish'd sword of God before them blaz'd
Fierce as a comet; which with torrid heat,
And vapour as the Lybian air adust,
Began to parch that temp'rate clime; whereat
In either hand the hast'ning angel caught
Our ling'ring parents, and to the eastern gate
Led them direct, and down the cliff as fast
To the subjected plain; then disappear'd.
They looking back, all th' eastern side beheld
Of Paradise, so late their happy seat,
Wav'd over by that flaming brand, the gate
With dreadful faces throng'd and fiery arms:
Some natural tears they dropt, but wip'd them soon;
The world was all before them, where to choose
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide:
They hand in hand, with wand'ring steps and slow,
Through Eden took their solitary way.

FROM PARADISE REGAINED.—THE
POWER OF BEAUTY.

Set women in his eye, and in his walk,
Among the daughters of men the fairest found;
Many are in each region passing fair
As the noon sky; more like to goddesses
Than mortal creatures, graceful and discreet,
Expert in amorous arts, enchanting tongues
Persuasive, virgin majesty with mild
And sweet allay'd, yet terrible t' approach,
Skill'd to retire, and in retiring draw
Hearts after them, tangled in amorous nets.
Such object hath the power to soft'n and tame
Severest temper, smooth the rugged'st brow,
Enerve, and with voluptuous hope dissolve,
Draw out with credulous desire, and lead
At will the manliest, resolutest breast,
As the magnetic hardest iron draws.
Women, when nothing else, beguil'd the heart
Of wisest Solomon, and made him build,
And made him bow to the gods of his wives.
To whom quick answer Satan thus return'd:

Belial, in much uneven scale thou weigh'st
All others by thyself; because of old
Thou thyself doat'st on womankind, admiring
Their shape, their colour, and attractive grace,
None are, thou think'st, but taken with such toys.
Before the flood, thou with thy lusty crew,
False titled sons of God, roaming the earth,
Cast wanton eyes on the daughters of men,
And coupled with them, and begot a race.
Have we not seen, or by relation heard,
In courts and regal chambers how thou lurk'st,
In wood or grove, by mossy fountain side,
In valley or green meadow, to way-lay
Some beauty rare, Calisto, Clymene,
Daphne, or Semele, Antiopa,

Or Amymone, Syrinx, many more,

Too long; then lay'st thy scapes on names ador'd,
Apollo, Neptune, Jupiter, or Pan,

Satyr, or Faun, or Sylvan? But these haunts
Delight not all; among the sons of men,

How many have with a smile made small account
Of beauty and her lures, easily scorn'd
All her assaults, on worthier things intent?
Remember that Pellean conqueror,

A youth, how all the beauties of the East
He slightly view'd, and slightly overpass'd;
How he surnam'd of Africa dismiss'd
In his prime youth the fair Iberian maid;
For Solomon, he liv'd at ease, and full
Of honour, wealth, high fare, aim'd not beyond
Higher design than to enjoy his state;
Thence to the bait of women lay expos'd:
But he whom we attempt is wiser far
Than Solomon, of more exalted mind,
Made and set wholly on th' accomplishment
Of greatest things; what woman will you find,
Tho' of this age the wonder and the fame,
On whom his leisure will vouchsafe an eye
Of foul desire? Or should she confident,
As sitting queen ador'd on Beauty's throne,
Descend with all her winning charms begirt
Tenamour, as the zone of Venus once
Wrought that effect on Jove, so fables tell;
How would one look from his majestic brow,
Seated as on the top of Virtue's hill,
Discount'nance her despis'd, and put to rout
All her array; her female pride deject,
Or turn to reverent awe; for Beauty stands
In th' admiration only of weak minds
Led captive; cease t' admire, and all her plumes
Fall flat and shrink into a trivial toy,
At every sudden slighting quite abash'd:
Therefore with manlier objects we must try
His constancy, with such as have more shew
Of worth, of honour, glory, and popular praise;
Rocks whereon greatest men have oftest wreck'd.

DESCRIPTION of greece. To whom the Fiend with fear abash'd reply'd: Be not so sore offended, Son of God, Though sons of God both angels are and men,

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