The Annotated Read Online

O if Jove’s will

Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay 223

Now timely224 sing, ere the rude225 bird of hate226

Foretell my hopeless doom, in some grove nigh,

As thou from year to year hast sung too late

For my relief, yet hadst no reason why.

Whether the muse or love call thee his mate,

Both them I serve, and of their train227 am I.

SONNET 7

1632

How soon hath time, the subtle 228 thief of youth,

Stol’n on his wing my three and twentieth year!

My hasting days fly on, with full career,229

But my late spring no bud or blossom show’th.

Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth

That I to manhood am arrived so near,

And inward ripeness doth much less appear,

That some more timely-happy spirits indu’th.230

Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,

It shall be still 231 in strictest measure ev’n 232

To that same lot,233 however mean 234 or high,

Towards which time leads me, and the will of Heav’n.

All is, if I have grace to use it so,

As ever in my great task-master’s eye.

SONNET 8

1642

Captain or colonel,235 or knight in arms,

Whose chance 236 on these defenseless doors may seize,237

If ever deed of honor did thee please

Guard them, and him within 238 protect from harms.

He can requite 239 thee, for he knows the charms

That call fame on such gentle240 acts as these,

And he can spread thy name o’er lands and seas,

Whatever clime the sun’s bright circle warms.

Lift not thy spear against the muses’ bow’r! 241

The great Emathian conqueror 242 bid spare

The house of Pindarus,243 when temple and tow’r

Went to the ground, and the repeated air 244

Of sad Electra’s poet 245 had the power

To save th’ Athenian walls from ruin bare.

SONNET 9

1643–45

Lady,246 that in the prime of earliest youth

Wisely hath shunned the broad way,247 and the green,

And with those few art eminently248 seen

That labor up the hill of Heav’nly truth,

The better part with Mary, and with Ruth,249

Chosen thou hast, and they that overween 250

And at thy growing virtues fret251 their spleen

No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth.252

Thy care253 is fixed, and zealously attends 254

To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light,

And hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be sure,

Thou, when the bridegroom with his feastful friends

Passes to bliss, at the mid hour of night,

Hast gained thy entrance, virgin wise and pure.

SONNET 10

1643–45

Daughter to that good earl,255 once president

Of England’s Council and her Treasury,

Who lived in both unstained with gold or fee,

And left them both, more in himself content,

Till the sad breaking of that Parliament

Broke him,256 as that dishonest victory

At Chaeronéa,257 fatal to liberty

Killed with report that old man, eloquent.258

Though later born than to have known the days

Wherein your father flourished, yet by you,

Madam, methinks I see him living yet,

So well your words his noble virtues praise

That all both judge you to relate 259 them true

And to possess them, honored Margaret.

SONNET 11

1645?

I did but prompt the age to quit their clogs 260

By the known rules of ancient liberty 261

When straight a barbarous noise environs 262 me

Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes, and dogs.

As when those hinds 263 that were transformed to frogs

Railed at Latona’s twin-born progeny,264

Which after held the sun and moon in fee.

But this is got by casting pearl to hogs,

That bawl for freedom, in their senseless mood,

And still265 revolt when truth would set them free.

Licence, they mean, when they cry “liberty,”

For who loves that must first be wise and good.

But from that mark how far they rove we see

For all this waste of wealth and loss of blood.

SONNET 12

1647?

A book was writ, of late, called Tetrachordon,266

And woven close both matter, form, and style.

The subject new, it walked the town a while,

Numb’ring good intellects—now seldom pored on.267

Cries the stall-reader, “Bless us! What a word on

A title page is this!” And some in file 268

Stand spelling false, while 269 one might walk to Mile-

End Green. Why is it harder, sirs, than Gordon,270

Colkitto,271 or MacDonnell,272 or Galasp? 273

Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek,

That would have made Quintilian 274 stare and gasp!

Thy age, like ours—O soul of Sir John Cheek!—275

Hated not learning worse than toad or asp,

When thou taught’st Cambridge, and King Edward, Greek.

SONNET 13

1646

Harry,276 whose tuneful and well-measured 277 song

First taught our English music how to span 278

Words with just 279 note and accent, not to scan

With Midas ears,280 committing281 short and long.

Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng,

With praise enough for envy to look wan.

To after age thou shalt be writ the man

That with smooth air282 couldst humor best our tongue.

Thou honor’st verse, and verse must lend her wing

To honor thee, the priest of Phoebus choir,

That tun’st their happiest lines, in hymn or story.

Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher

Than his Casella,283 whom he wooed to sing,

Met in the milder shades of Purgatory.

SONNET 14

1646

When faith and love, which parted from thee284 never,

Had ripened thy just soul to dwell with God,

Meekly thou didst resign this earthly load

Of death, called life, which us from life doth sever.

Thy works and alms, and all thy good endeavor,

Stayed not behind nor in the grave were trod,

But as faith pointed with her golden rod

Followed thee up to joy and bliss forever.

Love led them on, and faith, who knew them best—

Thy handmaids—clad them o’er with purple beams

And azure wings, that up they flew, so dressed,

And spoke the truth of thee in glorious themes285

Before the judge, who thenceforth bid thee rest

And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams.

SONNET 15

1648

Fairfax,286 whose name in arms through Europe rings,

Filling each mouth with envy, or with praise,

And all her jealous monarchs with amaze

And rumors loud, that daunt remotest kings,

Thy firm unshaken virtue ever brings

Victory home, though new rebellions raise

Their hydra heads, and the false North287 displays

Her broken league,288 to imp 289 her serpent wings:290

O yet a nobler task awaits thy hand,

For what can wars but endless wars still breed,

Till truth and right from violence be freed,

And public faith cleared from the shameful brand

Of public fraud. In vain doth valor bleed

While avarice and rapine291 share the land.

SONNET 16

1652

Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud

Not of war only, but detractions292 rude,293

Guided by faith and matchless fortitude

To peace and truth thy glorious way hath ploughed,

And on the neck of crownèd Fortune proud

Hast reared God’s trophies, and His work pursued,

While Darwen294 stream with blood of Scots embru’d,295

And Dunbar296 field resounds thy praises loud,

And Worcester’s297 laureat wreath, yet much remains

To conquer still. Peace hath her victories

No less renowned than war, new foes arise,

Threat’ning to bind our souls with secular chains!

Help us to save free conscience from the paw

Of hireling wolves, whose gospel is their maw.298

SONNET 17

1652

Vane,299 young in years but in sage counsel old,

Than whom a better senator ne’er held

The helm of Rome, when gowns,300

The fierce Epeirut 301 and th’ African 302 bold:

Whether to settle peace, or to unfold

The drift 303 of hollow304 states, hard to be spelled;305

Then to advise how war may best, upheld,

Move by her two main nerves, iron and gold,

In all her equipage;306 besides, to know

Both spiritual power and civil, what each means,

What severs each—thou hast learned, which few have done.

The bounds of either sword to thee we owe.

Therefore, on thy firm hand religion leans

In peace, and reckons thee her eldest son.

SONNET 18

1655

Avenge, O Lord, Thy slaughtered Saints,307 whose bones

Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold—

Ev’n them who kept Thy truth so pure of old,

When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones!

Forget not! In Thy book record 308 their groans,

Who were Thy sheep, and in their ancient fold 309

Slain by the bloody Piemontese, who rolled

Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans

The vales redoubled to the hills, and they

To Heav’n. Their martyred blood and ashes sow

O’er all th’ Italian fields where still doth sway

The triple tyrant,310 that from these may grow

A hundred-fold, who having learned Thy way

Early, may fly311 the Babylonian woe.312

SONNET 19

1655

When I consider how my life is spent,313

Ere 314 half my days in this dark world and wide,

And that one talent315 which is death to hide

Lodged with me, useless, though my soul more bent 316

To serve therewith my Maker, and present 317

My true account, lest He, returning,318 chide—319

“Doth God exact day labor, light denied?”

I fondly ask, but patience, to prevent

That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need

Either man’s work or His own gifts. Who best

Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best. His state

Is kingly. Thousands at His bidding speed

And post 320 o’er land and ocean, without rest.

They also serve who only stand and wait.”

SONNET 20

1655

Lawrence,321 of virtuous father, virtuous son,

Now that the fields are dank, and ways 322 are mire,323

Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire

Help waste a sullen 324 day, what 325 may be won

From the hard season326 gaining? 327 Time will run

On smoother, till Favonius 328 re-inspire

The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire

The lily and rose, that neither sowed nor spun.329

What neat 330 repast shall feast us, light and choice,

Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise

To hear the lute well touched, or artful voice

Warble immortal notes and Tuscan 331 air?

He who of those delights can judge, and spare 332

To interpose 333 them oft, is not unwise.

SONNET 21

1655

Cyriack! 334 Whose grandsire on the Royal Bench 335

Of British Themis,336 with no mean 337 applause

Pronounced 338 and in his volumes 339 taught our laws,

Which others at their Bar 340 so often wrench 341 —

Today deep thoughts resolve with me to drench 342

In mirth, that after no repenting draws.343

Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause,

And what the Swede344 intends, and what the French!

To measure life, learn thou betimes345 and know

Toward solid 346 good what leads the nearest way.

For other things, mild Heav’n a time ordains,

And disapproves that care, though wise in show,

That with superfluous burden loads the day

And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains!

SONNET 22

1655

Cyriack, this three years day these eyes, though clear

To outward view of blemish or of spot,

Bereft 347 of light their seeing have forgot,

Nor to their idle 348 orbs doth sight appear

Of sun, or moon, or star throughout the year,

Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not

Against Heav’n’s hand or will, nor bate 349 a jot 350

Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer

Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask?

The conscience, friend, t’ have lost them overplied 351

In liberty’s defense, my noble task,

Of which all Europe talks from side to side.

This thought might lead me through the world’s vain mask,

Content, though blind, had I no better guide.

SONNET 23

1656–58?

Methought I saw my late espousèd saint 352

Brought to me, like Alcestis,353 from the grave,

Who Jove’s great son to her glad husband gave,

Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint.

Mine as whom, washed from spot of child-bed taint,354

Purification in th’ old law 355 did save,

And such as yet once more I trust to have

Full sight of her in Heav’n, without restraint,356

Came vested 357 all in white, pure as her mind.

Her face was veiled, yet to my fancied sight

Love, sweetness, goodness in her person shined

So clear, as in no face with more delight.

But O, as to embrace me she inclined,358

I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night.

ON SHAKESPEARE

1630

What needs my Shakespeare, for his honored bones,

The labor of an age in pilèd stones,

Or that his hallowed relics should be hid

Under a star-ypointing pyramid?

Dear son of memory,359 great heir of fame,

What need’st thou such weak witness of thy name?

Thou in our wonder and astonishment

Hast built thyself a livelong monument!

For whilst to th’ shame of slow-endeavoring 360 art

Thy easy numbers 361 flow, and that each heart

Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued 362 book

Those Delphic363 lines with deep 364 impression 365 took,

Then thou our fancy, of itself bereaving,366

Dost make us marble 367 with too much conceiving,368

And so sepulchred 369 in such pomp 370 dost lie

That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.

ON THE UNIVERSITY CARRIER371

1631

who sickened in the time of his vacancy,372 being forbid to

go to London by reason of the Plague.

Here lies old Hobson.373 Death has broke his girt 374

And here, alas, hath laid him in the dirt,

Or else the ways 375 being foul, twenty to one

He’s here stuck in a slough,376 and overthrown.

’Twas such a shifter,377 that if truth were known,

Death was half glad when he had got him down,

For he had any time this ten years full 378

Dodged379 with him, betwixt Cambridge and The Bull.380

And surely, Death could never have prevailed

Had not his weekly course of carriage 381 failed,

But lately finding him so long at home,

And thinking now his journey’s end was come,

And that he had ta’en up his latest inn,

In the kind office of a chamberlain 382

Showed him his room where he must lodge that night,

Pulled off his boots, and took away the light.383

If any ask for him, it shall be said,

“Hobson has supped, and’s newly gone to bed.”

ANOTHER ON THE SAME

1631

Here lieth one who did most truly prove

That he could never die while he could move,

So hung 384 his destiny never to rot 385

While he might still jog on and keep his trot,

Made of sphere-metal,386 never to decay

Until his revolution387 was at stay.388

Time numbers389 motion, yet (without a crime

’Gainst old truth) motion numbered out his time,

And like an engine390 moved with wheel and weight,

His principles391 being ceased, he ended straight.392

Rest that gives all men life, gave him his death,

And too much breathing393 put him out of breath.

Nor were it contradiction to affirm

Too long vacation hastened on his term.394

Merely to drive the time away 395 he sickened,

Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be quickened.396

“Nay,” quoth he, on his swooning bed outstretched,

“If I may not carry, sure I’ll ne’er be fetched,397

But vow, though the cross doctors all stood hearers,

For one carrier put down398 to make six bearers.” 399

Ease was his chief disease, and to judge right

He died for heaviness400 that his cart went light.

His leisure 401 told him that his time was come,

And lack of load 402 made his life burdensome,

That 403 even to his last breath (there be that say’t)

As 404 he were pressed to death,405 he cried, “More weight!”

But had his doings lasted as they were

He had been an immortal carrier.406

Obedient to the moon, he spent his date 407

In course reciprocal,408 and had his fate

Linked to the mutual flowing of the seas,

Yet (strange to think) his wain409 was his increase.

His letters are delivered all and gone,

Only remains this superscription.410

AN EPITAPH ON THE MARCHIONESS OF WINCHESTER

1631

This rich marble doth inter 411

The honored wife of Winchester,412

A Viscount’s daughter,413 an Earl’s heir,414

Besides what her virtues fair

Added to her noble birth,

More than she could own from earth.

Summers three times eight save one

She had told 415 —alas, too soon,

And so short time of breath,

To house416 with darkness and with death.

Yet had the number of her days

Been as complete as was her praise,

Nature and Fate had had no strife

In giving limit to her life.

Her high birth and her graces sweet

Quickly found a lover meet;417

The virgin choir for her request

The god that sits at marriage feast.418

He at their invoking came

But with a scarce well-lighted flame,419

And in his garland as he stood

Ye might discern a cypress bud.420

Once had the early matrons run

To greet her of a lovely son,421

And now with second hope she goes,

And calls Lucina 422 to her throes.423

But whether by mischance or blame

Atropos 424 for Lucina came,

And with remorseless cruelty

Spoiled at once both fruit and tree:

The hapless babe before his birth

Had burial, yet not laid in earth,

And the languished mother’s womb

Was not long a living tomb.425

So have I seen some tender slip 426

Saved with care from winter’s nip,

The pride of her carnation train,427

Plucked up by some unheedy 428 swain429

Who only thought to crop 430 the flower

New shot up from vernal431 shower.

But the fair blossom hangs the head

Sideways as on a dying bed,

And those pearls of dew she wears

Prove to be presaging432 tears

Which the sad morn had let fall

On her hastening funeral.

Gentle lady, may thy grave

Peace and quiet ever have.

After this, thy travail sore,

Sweet rest seize thee evermore,

That to give the world increase

Shortened hast thy own life’s lease.

Here besides the sorrowing

That thy noble house doth bring,

Here be tears of perfect moan

Wept for thee in Helicon,433

And some flowers and some bays434

For thy hearse to strew the ways,435

Sent thee from the banks of Came,436

Devoted to thy virtuous name,

Whilst thou, bright Saint, high sitt’st in glory,

Next her much like to thee in story,

That fair Syrian shepherdess 437

Who after years of barrenness

The highly-favored Joseph bore

To him that served for her before,438

And at her next birth, much like thee,

Through pangs fled to felicity,439

Far within the bosom bright

Of blazing Majesty and Light.

There with thee, new-welcome Saint,

Like fortunes may her soul acquaint,

With thee there clad in radiant sheen,

No Marchioness, but now a Queen.

L’ALLEGRO440

1631?

Hence, loathèd melancholy,

Of Cerberus 441 and blackest midnight born,

In Stygian 442 cave forlorn

Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy!

Find out some uncouth 443 cell 444

Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous wings,

And the night-raven sings.

There under ebon shades and low-browed 445 rocks

As ragged as thy locks,

In dark Cimmerian446 desert ever dwell.

But come thou, goddess fair and free,

In Heaven yclept 447 Euphrosyne,448

And by men heart-easing mirth,

Whom lovely Venus at a birth

With two sister Graces more

To ivy-crownèd Bacchus bore—

Or whether (as some, sager, sing)

The frolic wind that breathes 449 the spring,

Zephyr with Aurora playing,

As he met her once a-Maying,

There on beds of violets blue

And fresh-blown roses washed in dew,

Filled her with thee, a daughter fair,

So buxom,450 blithe,451 and debonair.452

Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee

Jest and youthful jollity,

Quips and cranks,453 and wanton wiles,454

Nods, and becks,455 and wreathèd smiles

Such as hang on Hebe’s 456 cheek

And love to live in dimple sleek,

Sport 457 that wrinkled care derides,

And laughter, holding both its sides.

Come, and trip it as ye go

On the light-fantastic toe,

And in thy right hand lead with thee

The mountain nymph, sweet liberty.

And if I give thee honor due,

Mirth, admit me of thy crew

To live with her, and live with thee,

In unreprovèd 458 pleasures free,

To hear the lark begin his flight

And, singing, startle the dull 459 night

From his watch-tower in the skies,

Till the dappled 460 dawn doth rise,

Then to come, in spite of sorrow,

And at my window bid good-morrow

Through the sweet-briar, or the vine,

Or the twisted eglantine,

While the cock, with lively din,

Scatters the rear of darkness thin,461

And to the stack 462 or the barn door

Stoutly 463 fierce struts his dames before.464

Oft listening how the hounds and horn

Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn

From the side of some hoar 465 hill,

Through the high wood echoing shrill.

Sometime walking not unseen 466

By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green,

Right against the eastern gate

Where the great 467 sun begins his state,468

Robed in flames and amber light,

The clouds in thousand liveries 469 dight,470

While the ploughman, near at hand,

Whistles o’er the furrowed land,

And the milkmaid singeth blithe,

And the mower whets 471 his scythe,

And every shepherd tells his tale

Under the hawthorn in the dale.

Straight, mine eye hath caught new pleasures

Whilst the landscape round it measures,472

Russet 473 lawns, and fallows474 gray,

Where the nibbling flocks do stray,

Mountains on whose barren breast

The laboring clouds do often rest,

Meadows trim with daisies pied,475

Shallow brooks and rivers wide.

Towers and battlements 476 it sees,

Bosomed high in tufted trees,

Where perhaps some beauty 477 lies,478

The cynosure 479 of neighboring eyes.

Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes

From betwixt two agèd oaks,

Where Corydon and Thyrsis,480 met,

Are at their savory dinner set

Of herbs 481 and other country messes,482

Which the neat-handed 483 Phyllis dresses.484

And then in haste her bow’r 485 she leaves,

With Thestylis to bind 486 the sheaves,487

Or if the earlier season488 lead 489

To the tanned 490 haycock 491 in the mead,492

Sometimes with secure 493 delight

The upland 494 hamlets 495 will invite,

When the merry bells ring round,

And the jocund 496 rebecks497 sound

To many a youth and many a maid,

Dancing in the checkered shade,

And young and old come forth to play

On a sunshine holiday,

Till the livelong daylight fail.

Then to the spicy nut-brown ale,

With stories told of many a feat,

How fairy Mab498 the junkets 499 eat.

She was pinched and pulled, she said,

And he, by friar’s lantern led,

Tells how the drudging goblin sweat

To earn his cream-bowl, duly set,

When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,

His shadowy flail 500 hath threshed the corn 501

That ten day-laborers could not end,

Then lies him down (the lubber fend!)502

And, stretched out all the chimney’s length,

Basks at the fire his hairy strength,

And, crop-full,503 out of doors he flings,

Ere the first cock his matin504 rings.

Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,

By whispering winds soon lulled asleep.

Tow’red cities please us, then,

And the busy hum of men,

Where throngs of knights and barons bold

In weeds 505 of peace high triumphs506 hold,

With store 507 of ladies, whose bright eyes

Rain influence, and judge the prize

Of wit or arms, while both contend

To win her grace, whom all commend.

There let Hymen508 oft appear

In saffron509 robe, with taper 510 clear,

And pomp,511 and feast, and revelry,

With masque and antique pageantry,

Such sights as youthful poets dream

On summer eves by haunted stream.

Then to the well-trod stage anon,

If Jonson’s 512 learnèd sock be on,513

Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy’s 514 child,

Warble his native wood-notes wild.

And ever, against eating 515 cares,

Lap me in soft Lydian airs,516

Married to immortal verse,

Such as the meeting 517 soul may pierce

In notes, with many a winding bout 518

Of linkèd sweetness long drawn out,

With wanton 519 heed 520 and giddy 521 cunning,522

The melting voice through mazes running,

Untwisting all the chains that tie

The hidden soul of harmony,

That Orpheus 523 self may heave524 his head

From golden slumber on a bed

Of heaped Elysian 525 flowers, and hear

Such strains526 as would have won the ear

Of Pluto,527 to have quite set free

His half-regained Eurydice.528

These delights if thou canst give,

Mirth, with thee I mean to live.529

IL PENSEROSO530

1631?

Hence, vain deluding joys,

The brood of folly without father bred!

How little you bestead,531

Or fill the fixèd532 mind with all your toys! 533

Dwell in some idle brain,

And fancies fond534 with gaudy535 shapes possess

As thick and numberless

As the gay motes536 that people the sun beams,

Or likest hovering dreams,

The fickle pensioners 537 of Morpheus 538 train.

But hail thou, goddess, sage and holy,

Hail divinest Melancholy,

Whose saintly visage is too bright

To hit 539 the sense of human sight

And, therefore, to our weaker view

O’er laid with black, staid wisdom’s hue—

Black, but such as in esteem

Prince Memnon’s 540 sister might beseem,541

Or that starr’d Ethiope 542 Queen that strove

To set her beauty’s praise above

The sea nymphs, and their powers offended.

Yet thou art higher far descended,

Thee, bright-haired Vesta,543 long of yore

To solitary Saturn bore:

His daughter she (in Saturn’s reign

Such mixture was not held a stain),

Oft in glimmering bow’rs and glades

He met her, and in secret shades

Of woody Ida’s 544 inmost grove,

While yet there was no fear of Jove.

Come, pensive nun,545 devout and pure,

Sober, steadfast, and demure,546

All in a robe of darkest grain,547

Flowing with majestic train,

And sable 548 stole 549 of cypress lawn 550

Over thy decent 551 shoulders drawn!

Come, but keep thy wonted 552 state

With even step and musing gait,

And looks commercing 553 with the skies,

Thy rapt 554 soul sitting in thine eyes.

There held in holy passion still,

Forget thyself to marble, till

With a sad,555 leaden 556 downward cast557

Thou fix them 558 on the earth as fast.559

And join with thee calm peace, and quiet,

Spare 560 fast,561 that oft with gods doth diet,

And hears the Muses in a ring

Aye 562 round about Jove’s altar sing.

And add to these retired 563 leisure,

That in trim 564 gardens takes his pleasure.

But first, and chiefest, with thee bring

Him565 that yon soars on golden wing,

Guiding the fiery-wheelèd throne,566

The cherub Contemplation,567

And the mute silence hist 568 along,

’Less 569 Philomel 570 will deign a song

In her sweetest, saddest plight,571

Smoothing the rugged brow of night,

While Cynthia 572 checks573 her dragon yoke,574

Gently o’er th’ accustomed oak—

Sweet bird that shunn’st the noise of folly,

Most musical, most melancholy!

Thee, chantress,575 oft the woods among,

I woo 576 to hear thy even song,

And missing thee, I walk unseen

On the dry, smooth-shaven577 green,

To behold the wand’ring moon

Riding near her highest noon

Like one that had been led astray

Through the Heav’ns’ wide pathless way,

And oft, as if her head she bowed,

Stooping through a fleecy cloud.

Oft on a plat 578 of rising ground

I hear the far-off curfew sound

Over some wide-watered shore,

Swinging slow with sullen579 roar.

Or if the air will not permit,

Some still 580 removèd581 place will fit,

Where glowing embers through the room

Teach light to counterfeit a gloom,582

Far from all resort of mirth,

Save the cricket on the hearth,

Or the bellman’s 583 drowsy charm584

To bless the doors from nightly harm.

Or let my lamp, at midnight hour,

Be seen in some high lonely tow’r

Where I may oft out-watch the Bear,585

With thrice great Hermes,586 or unsphere

The spirit of Plato587 to unfold 588

What worlds, or what vast regions, hold

The immortal mind that hath forsook

Her mansion589 in this fleshly nook,590

And of those daemons591 that are found

In fire, air, flood, or under ground,

Whose power hath a true consent592

With planet, or with element.

Sometime let gorgeous593 tragedy

In sceptered 594 pall 595 come sweeping by,

Presenting Thebes’,596 or Pelops’ line,597

Or the tale of Troy divine.

Or what (though rare) of later age

Ennobled hath the buskined 598 stage.

But, O sad virgin, that thy power

Might raise Musaeus 599 from his bower,

Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing

Such notes as, warbled to the string,

Drew iron tears down Pluto’s cheek

And made Hell grant what love did seek.

Or call up him 600 that left half told

The story of Cambuscan bold,

Of Camball, and of Algarsife,601

And who had Canace to wife,

That owned the virtuous ring and glass,

And who had Canace to wife, That owned the virtuous ring and glass,

And of the wondrous horse of brass

On which the Tartar king did ride.

And if ought else, great bards beside

In sage and solemn tunes have sung

Of tourneys,602 and of trophies hung,

Of forests, and enchantments drear,

Where more is meant than meets the ear.603

Thus night oft see me in thy pale career,604

Till civil-suited 605 morn appear,

Not tricked 606 and frounced,607 as she was wont

With the Attic boy608 to hunt,

But kerchiefed in a comely cloud

While rocking winds are piping loud,

Or ushered with a shower still,

When the gust hath blown his fill,

Ending on the rustling leaves,

With minute drops from off the eaves.

And when the sun begins to fling

His flaring beams, me, goddess, bring

To archèd walks of twilight groves

And shadows brown that Sylvan609 loves

Of pine, or monumental oak,

Where the rude 610 ax, with heavèd 611 stroke,

Was never heard the nymphs to daunt

Or fright them from their hallowed haunt.612

There in close covert,613 by some brook,

Where no profaner614 eye may look,

Hide me from day’s garish615 eye,

While the bee, with honeyed thigh,

That at her flow’ry work doth sing,

And the waters murmuring

With such consort 616 as they keep,

Entice the dewy-feathered sleep.

And let some strange mysterious dream

Wave at his wings, in airy stream

Of lively portraiture displayed,

Softly on my eye-lids laid.

And as I wake, sweet music breathe

Above, about, or underneath,

Sent by some spirit to mortals good,

Or th’ unseen genius 617 of the wood.

But let my due618 feet never fail

To walk the studious cloisters’ pale 619

And love the high embowèd620 roof,

With antic pillars massy 621 -proof,

And storied 622 windows richly dight,623

Casting a dim religious light.

There let the pealing 624 organ blow

To the full voiced choir below,

In service high, and anthems clear,

As may with sweetness, through mine ear,

Dissolve me into ecstasies

And bring all Heav’n before mine eyes.

And may at last my weary age

Find out the peaceful hermitage,

The hairy gown and mossy cell

Where I may sit and rightly spell 625

Of every star that Heav’n doth shew,626

And every herb that sips the dew,

Till old experience do attain

To something like prophetic strain.

These pleasures, Melancholy, give,

And I with thee will choose to live.

ARCADES

1633–34?

Part of an entertainment presented to the Countess

Dowager of Darby, at Harefield, by some noble persons of

her family, who appear on the scene in pastoral habit,

moving toward the seat of state, with this song:

1. Song

Look, nymphs, and shepherds, look!

What sudden blaze of majesty

Is that which we from hence descry,627

Too divine to be mistook.

This, this is she

To whom our vows and wishes bend:

Here our solemn search hath end.

Fame, that her high worth to raise

Seemed erst so lavish and profuse,

We may justly now accuse

Of detraction from her praise.

Less than half we find expressed:

Envy bid conceal the rest.

Mark what radiant state she spreads

In circle round her shining throne,

Shooting her beams like silver threads!

This, this is she alone,

Sitting like a goddess bright

In the center of her light.

Might she the wise Latona 628 be,

Or the towered Cybele,629

Mother of a hundred gods?

Juno dares not give her odds.630

Who had thought this clime had held

A deity so unparall’ed?

As they come forward, the Genius of the Wood appears

and, turning toward them, says:

Gen. Stay, gentle 631 swains,632 for though in this disguise

I see bright honor sparkle through your eyes.

Of famous Arcady 633 ye are, and sprung

Of that renownèd flood 634 so often sung,

Divine Alphéus, who by secret sluice

Stole under seas, to meet his Arethuse.635

And ye the breathing roses of the wood,

Fair silver-buskined 636 nymphs as great and good,

I know this quest of yours, and free637 intent,

Was all in honor and devotion meant

To the great mistress of yon princely shrine,

Whom with low reverence I adore as mine,

And with all helpful service will comply

To further this night’s glad solemnity,

And lead ye where you may more near behold

What shallow-searching fame hath left untold,

Which I full oft, amidst these shades alone,

Have sat to wonder at and gaze upon.

For know, by lot 638 from Jove I am the pow’r

Of this fair wood and live in oaken bow’r

To nurse the saplings tall, and curl the grove

With ringlets quaint,639 and wanton 640 windings wove.

And all my plants I save from nightly ill

Of noisome 641 winds or blasting 642 vapors chill,

And from the boughs brush off the evil dew

And heal the harms, of 643 thwarting 644 thunder blew,

Or what the cross, dire-looking planet 645 smites,

Or hurtful worm with cankered 646 venom bites.

When evening gray doth rise, I fetch647 my round

Over the mount, and all this hallowed ground,

And early, ere the odorous breath of morn

Awakes the slumb’ring leaves, or tasseled horn 648

Shakes the high thicket, haste I all about,

Number649 my ranks,650 and visit every sprout

With puissant 651 words, and murmurs made to bless.

But else, in deep of night, when drowsiness

Hath locked up mortal sense, then listen I

To the celestial sirens’ harmony,

That sit upon the nine enfoldèd spheres

And sing to those that hold the vital shears 652

And turn the adamantine 653 spindle round,654

On which the fate of gods and men is wound.

Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie

To lull the daughters of Necessity

And keep unsteady 655 Nature to her law,

And the low656 world in measured 657 motion draw

After the heav’nly tune, which none can hear

Of human mould, with gross 658 unpurgèd 659 ear.

And yet such music worthiest were to blaze

The peerless height of her immortal praise,

Whose luster leads us, and for her most fit,

If my inferior hand or voice could hit

Inimitable sounds. Yet as we go

Whate’er the skill of lesser gods can show

I will assay,660 her worth to celebrate.

And so attend 661 ye toward her glittering state,

Where ye may all (that are of noble stem)662

Approach, and kiss her sacred vesture’s 663 hem.

2. Song

O’er the smooth enamelled 664 green

Where no print of step hath been,

Follow me as I sing

And touch the warbled string.

Under the shady roof

Of branching elm, star-proof,665

Follow me:

I will bring you where she sits,

Clad in splendor as befits

Her deity.

Such a rural queen

All Arcadia hath not seen.

3. Song

Nymphs and shepherds, dance no more

By sandy Ladon’s 666 lillied banks.

On old Lycaeus,667 or Cyllene 668 hoar,669

Trip no more in twilight ranks.

Though Erymanth670 your loss deplore

A better soil shall give you thanks.

From the stony Maenalus 671

Bring your flocks and live with us.

Here ye shall have greater grace

To serve the lady of this place.

Though Syrinx 672 your Pan’s mistress were,

Yet Syrinx well might wait on her.

Such a rural queen

All Arcadia hath not seen.

COMUS: A MASQUE673

1634; revised 1637

THE PERSONS

the attendant spirit, afterwards in the habit of Thyrsis

Comus, with his crew

the lady

brother 1 [older]

brother 2 [younger]

Sabrina, the nymph

The first scene discovers a wild wood. The attendant spirit

descends (or enters):

Before the starry threshold of Jove’s court

My mansion is, where those immortal shapes

Of bright aerial spirits live ensphered

In regions mild, of calm and serene air,

Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot

Which men call earth and, with low-thoughtèd care,

Confined and pestered in this pinfold 674 here,

Strive to keep up a frail and fev’rish being,

Unmindful of the crown that virtue gives,

After this mortal change, to her true servants,

Amongst the enthronèd gods, on sainted seats.

Yet some there be that by due steps aspire

To lay their just hands on that golden key

That opes the palace of eternity:

To such my errand is, and but for such

I would not soil these pure ambrosial weeds

With the rank vapors of this sin-worn mould.

But to my task. Neptune—besides the sway

Of every salt flood, and each ebbing stream—

Took in, by lot twixt high and nether Jove,675

Imperial rule of all the sea-girt isles

That, like to rich and various gems, inlay

The unadornèd bosom of the deep,

Which he, to grace his tributary gods,

By course676 commits to several government

And gives them leave to wear their sapphire crowns

And wield their little tridents. But this isle,

The greatest and the best of all the main,677

He quarters to his blue-haired deities,

And all this tract that fronts the falling sun

A noble peer, of mickle678 trust and power,

Has in his charge, with tempered679 awe680 to guide

An old and haughty nation, proud in arms,

Where his fair offspring, nursed in princely lore,

Are coming to attend their father’s state

And new-entrusted scepter. But their way

Lies through the perplex’d681 paths of this drear Wood,

The nodding horror of whose shady brows

Threats the forlorn and wand’ring passenger.

And here their tender age might suffer peril,

But that by quick command from sov’reign Jove

I was dispatched for their defence and guard.

And listen why, for I will tell you now

What never yet was heard in tale or song

From old or modern bard, in hall or bow’r.

Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape

Crushed the sweet poison of mis-used wine,

After the Tuscan mariners transformed,

Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listed

On Circe’s island fell (who knows not Circe,

The daughter of the sun? whose charmèd cup

Whoever tasted lost his upright shape

And downward fell, into a grovelling swine).

This nymph that gazed upon his682 clust’ring locks

With ivy berries wreathed, and his blithe youth,

Had by him, ere he parted thence, a son

Much like his father, but his mother more,

Whom therefore she brought up and Comus named,

Who ripe and frolic683 of 684 his full-grown age,

Roving the Celtic and Iberian fields,

At last betakes him to this ominous 685 Wood

And, in thick shelter of black shade embow’red,

Excells his mother at her mighty art,

Off ’ring to every weary traveller

His orient686 liquor, in a crystal glass,

To quench the drought of Phoebus, which as they taste

(For most do taste, through fond,687 intemperate thirst),

Soon as the potion works, their human count’nance—

Th’ express resemblance of the gods—is changed

Into some brutish form of wolf or bear

Or ounce,688 or tiger, hog, or bearded goat,

All other parts remaining as they were.

And they, so perfect is their misery,

Not once perceive their foul disfigurement,

But boast themselves more comely689 than before

And all their friends and native home forget,

To roll with pleasure in a sensual sty.

Therefore, when any favored of high Jove

Chances to pass through this advent’rous glade,

Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star

I shoot from Heav’n, to give him safe convoy—

As now I do. But first I must put off

These my sky robes, spun out of Iris690 woof,

And take the weeds691 and likeness of a swain692

That to the service of this house belongs,

Who with his soft pipe693 and smooth-dittied song

Well knows to still the wild winds when they roar,

And hush the waving woods, nor of less faith,

And in this office of his mountain watch

Likeliest and nearest to the present aid

Of this occasion.

But I hear the tread

Of hateful steps. I must be viewless, now.

Comus enters, with a charming694 rod in one hand, his glass

in the other. With him a rout 695 of monsters headed 696 like

sundry sorts of wild beasts, but otherwise like men and

women, their apparel glistening. They come in, making a

riotous and unruly noise, with torches in their hands.

COMUS. The star that bids697 the shepherd fold,698

Now the top of Heav’n doth hold,

And the gilded car of day

His glowing axle doth allay699

In the steep Atlantic stream,

And the slope700 sun his upward beam

Shoots against the dusky pole,

Pacing toward the other goal

Of his chamber in the east.

Meanwhile, welcome joy and feast,

Midnight shout and revelry,

Tipsy dance and jollity!

Braid your locks with rosy twine,701

Dropping 702 odors, dropping wine.

Rigor now is gone to bed,

And advice, with scrupulous head.

Strict age, and sour severity

With their grave saws703 in slumber lie.

We that are of purer fire

Imitate the starry choir

Who in their nightly watchful spheres

Lead in swift round the months and years.

The sounds704 and seas, with all their finny drove,705

Now to the moon in wavering morris706 move,

And on the tawny sands and shelves

Trip the pert707 fairies and the dapper 708 elves.

By dimpled709 brook and fountain brim

The wood nymphs, decked with daisies trim,

Their merry wakes710 and pastimes keep.

What has night to do with sleep?

Night has better sweets to prove:

Venus now wakes, and wakens love.

Come, let us our rites begin!

’Tis only daylight that makes sin—

Which these dun shades will ne’er report.

Hail, goddess of nocturnal sport,

Dark-veil’d Cotytto,711 t’whom the secret flame

Of midnight torches burns! Mysterious dame

That ne’er art called but712 when the dragon womb

Of Stygian darkness spits her thickest gloom

And makes one blot of all the air!

Stay thy cloudy ebon713 chair,

Wherein thou rid’st with Hecat,714 and befriend

Us, thy vowèd priests, till utmost end

Of all thy dues be done, and none left out,

Ere the blabbing715 eastern scout,716

The nice 717 morn on th’ Indian steep

From her cabined loop-hole peep,

And to the tell-tale sun descry718

Our conceal’d solemnity.

Come, knit hands and beat the ground

In a light fantastic round!

The measure.719

Break off, break off! I feel the different pace

Of some chaste footing near about this ground.

Run to your shrouds,720 within these brakes721 and trees:

Our number may affright. Some virgin, sure

(For so I can distinguish, by mine art),

Benighted722 in these woods. Now to my charms,

And to my wily trains.723 I shall ere long

Be well-stocked with as fair a herd as grazed

About my mother, Circe. Thus I hurl

My dazzling spells into the spongey724 air,

Of power to cheat the eye with blear 725 illusion

And give it false presentments,726 lest the place

And my quaint 727 habits breed astonishment

And put the damsel to suspicious flight,

Which must not be, for that’s against my course.

I under fair pretence of friendly ends

And well-placed words of glozing 728 courtesy,

Baited with reasons not implausible,

Wind me into the easy-hearted man,

And hug him into snares. When once her eye

Hath met the virtue of this magic dust,

I shall appear some harmless villager

Whom thrift 729 keeps up about 730 his country gear.

But here she comes.