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النشر الإلكتروني

With her abundance; she, good cateress,
Means her provision only to the good,
That live according to her sober laws,
And holy dictate of spare temperance:
If every just man, that now pines with want,
Had but a moderate and beseeming share
Of that which lewdly-pamper'd luxury

Now heaps upon some few with vast excess,
"Nature's full blessings would be well dispensed
In unsuperfluous even proportion,

And she no whit encumber'd with her store:
And then the Giver would be better thank'd,
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 on?
Or have I said enough? To him that dares
Arm his profane tongue with contemptuous words
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 utter'd to unfold the

And serious doctrine of virginity;

sage

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; Thou art not fit to hear thyself convinced:

Yet, should I try, the uncontrolled worth

Of this pure cause would kindle my rapt spirits

Fo such a flame of sacred vehemence,

That dumb things would be moved to sympathize, And the brute earth would lend her nerves, and shake,

fill all thy magic structures, rear'd so high, Were shatter'd into heaps o'er thy false head.

Comus. She fables not; I feel that I do fear
Her words set off by some superior power;
And though not mortal, yet a cold shuddering 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 dissemble,
And try her yet more strongly. Come, no more;
This is mere moral babble, and direct

Against the cañon-laws of our foundation;
I must not suffer this; yet 'tis but the lees
And settlings of a melancholy blood:

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 resistance, but are all driven in. The attendant Spirit comes in.

Spir. What, have you let the false enchanter 'scape?

O ye mistook, ye should have snatch'd his wand,
And bound him fast; without his rod reversed,
And backward mutters of dissevering power,

We cannot free the lady that sits here
In stony fetters fix'd, and motionless;

Yet stay, be not disturb'd; now I bethink me,
Some other means I have, which may be used,
Which once of Melibœus old I learnt,

The soothest shepherd that e'er 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 pursuit
Of her enraged stepdame, Guendolen,

Commended her fair innocence to the flood,
That stay'd her flight with his cross-flowing course.
The water-nymphs, that in the bottom play'd,
Held up their pearled wrists, and took her in,
Bearing her straight to aged Nereus' hall,
Who, piteous of her woes, rear'd her lank head,
And gave her to his daughters to imbathe.
In nectar'd lavers, strew'd with asphodel;
And through the porch and inlet of each sense
Dropt in ambrosial oils, till she revived,
And underwent a quick immortal change,
Made goddess of the river: still she retains
Her maiden gentleness, and oft at eve
Visits the herds along the twilight meadows,
Helping all urchin blasts, and ill-luck signs
That the shrewd meddling elf delights to make,
Which she with precious vial'd liquors heals:
For which the shepherds, at their festivals,
Carol her goodness loud in rustic lays,

And throw sweet garland wreaths into her stream,
Of pansies, pinks, and gaudy daffodils.

And, as the old swain said, she can unlock
The clasping charm, and thaw the numbing spell,
If she be right invoked in warbled song;
For maidenhood she loves, and will be swift
To aid a virgin, such as was herself,

In hard-besetting need; this will I try,
And add the power of some adjuring verse.

Sabrina fair,

SONG.

Listen where thou art sitting

Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave,
In twisted braids of lilies knitting
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair;
Listen, for dear honour's sake,
Goddess of the silver lake,

Listen and save.

Listen, and appear to us,

In name of great Oceanus;

By the earth-shaking Neptune's mace,
And Tethys' grave majestic pace;
By hoary Nereus' wrinkled look,
And the Carpathian wizard's hook;
By scaly Triton's winding shell,
And old soothsaying Glaucus' spell;
By Leucothea's lovely hands,
And her son that rules the strands;
By Thetis' tinsel-slipper'd feet
And the songs of Syrens sweet;

-By dead Parthenope's dear tomb,
And fair Ligea's golden comb,
Wherewith she sits on diamond rocks,
Sleeking her soft alluring locks;
By all the nymphs that nightly dance
Upon thy streams with wily glance;
Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head
From thy coral-paven bed,

And bridle in thy headlong wave,

Till thou our summons answer'd have.

Listen and save.

Sabrina rises, attended by water-nymphs, and sings.

By the rushy-fringed bank,

Where grow the willow and the osier dank,

My sliding chariot stays,

Thick set with agate, and the azure sheen
Of turkish blue, and emerald green,

That in the channel strays;
Whilst from off the waters fleet

Thus I set my printless feet
O'er the cowslip's velvet head,

That bends not as I tread;

Gentle swain, at thy request,
I am here.

Spir. Goddess dear,

We implore thy powerful hand

To undo the charmed band

Of true virgin here distress'd,

Through the force and through the wile

Of unbless'd enchanter vile.

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