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I' se preek expected

"no jewetter archet flamingen heaver above the height of the unmerited throne. Rusker

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Com of Wild Olive

COMUS.

Amongst the enthron'd 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 vapours of this sin-worn mould.

But to my task. Neptune, besides the sway
Of every salt flood, and each ebbing stream,
Word cal's Pluto Took in by lot 'twixt high and nether Jove
Jupiterapins Imperial rule of all the sea-girt isles,
Head 190-2 That like to rich and various gems inlay
The unadorned bosom of the deep;
Which he, to grace his tributary Gods,

Nebe)

By course commits to several government,

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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,
He quarters to his blue-hair'd deities;

ts, the part of Brittine

Italy is

And all this tract that fronts the falling sun
A noble Peer of mickle trust and power

Has in his charge, with temper'd awe to guide

3 Ana antiqua An old and haughty nation proud in arms:

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Where his fair offspring, nurs'd in princely lore, Are coming to attend their father's state, in And new-intrusted sceptre; but their way I warning ordre Lies through the perplex'd paths of this drear the new Lord President. wood,

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I wi have bee well of

Lands & hat with The nodding horror of whose shady brows
Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger;

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The pretions eteri set in the silver sea

32 of when merly temper, justice "Merch of Venic

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And here their tender age might suffer peril,
But that by quick command from sovereign Jove
I was dispatch'd 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 bower.
Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape
Crush'd the sweet poison of misused wine,
After the Tuscan mariners transform'd, Ho

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Hymn & Dunyany Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listedd rata. II660

On Circe's island fell: who knows not Circe, 50

of

The daughter of the sun, whose charmed cup
Whoever tasted, lost his upright shape,
And downward fell into a grovelling swine?
This Nymph that gaz'd upon his clust'ring locks,
With ivy berries wreath'd, and his blithe youth, 55
Had by him, ere he parted thence, a son
Much like his father, but his mother more,
Whom therefore she brought up, and Comus nam'd:
Who ripe, and frolic of his full grown age,
Roving the Celtic and Iberian fields,

At last betakes him to this ominous wood,
And in thick shelter of black shades imbower'd
Excels his mother at her mighty art,

10 who knows] Spenser's Britain's Ida, c. i. st. 1.
In Ida's vale (who knows not Ida's vale). Todd.

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58 Comus] Consult Warton's and Todd's note on the subject of Comus: from which we find, that though he had appeared as a dramatic personage before, Milton first raised him into poetical celebrity.

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olin & Perse

("This unattempted yet in press or rive" Pardul I 16 50 gth Porr Thin Clont (woke knows not Colin Clont :)

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My Lawes

Offering to every weary traveller
His orient liquor in a crystal glass,

To quench the drouth of Phoebus, which as they
taste,

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(For most do taste through fond intemp❜rate thirst)
Soon as the potion works, their human count'nance,
Th' express resemblance of the Gods, is chang'd
Into some brutish form of wolf, or bear,
Or ounce, 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 comely than before, 75
And all their friends and native home forget,
To roll with pleasure in a sensual sty.
Therefore, when any favour'd of high Jove
Chances to pass through this adventurous glade,
Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star

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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 Iris' woof,
And take the weeds and likeness of a swain,
That to the service of this house belongs,
Who with his soft pipe, 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.
72 In the Odessey Corice changes the whole bodies. The the
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of face

16 In Honer (Od £236), the drup came the men completch & forget native land, but their mind remains often when they were To we just a bebov

A close imitation of the ditt rambic monody of traget.

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COMUS enters with a charming rod in one hand,
his glass in the other; with him a rout of mon-
sters, headed like sundry sorts of wild beasts,
but otherwise like men and women, their ap-
parel glistering; they come in making a riotous
and unruly noise, with torches in their hands.
COMUS. The star that bids the shepherd fold,
Now the top of heaven doth hold;

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We that are of purer fire

93 star] Chapman's Homer's Hymn to Pan. When Hes

perus calls to fold the flocks of men. Morningstar is called unfolding Har

97 Atlantic] Beaumont's Psyche, c. iii. s. xi. p. 27.

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108 Advice] The Cambridge MS. And quick Law,' which

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Goddess of the

Edeni in Thrace.
Licentions worship

Imitate the starry quire,

Who in their nightly watchful spheres

Lead in swift round the months and

years.

The sounds and seas, with all their finny drove,
Now to the moon in wavering morrice move;
And on the tawny sands and shelves

Trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.
By dimpled brook, and fountain brim,
The wood-nymphs deck'd with daisies trim,
Their merry wakes and pastimes keep;
What hath night to do with sleep?
Night hath better sweets to prove,
Venus now wakes, and wakens Love.
Come let us our rights begin,
'Tis only day-light that makes sin,

Which these dun shades will ne'er report.
Hail Goddess of nocturnal sport,

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Dark-veil'd Cotytto, t' whom the secret flame Of midnight torches burns; mysterious dame, 130 "That ne'er art call'd, but when the dragon womb like Kot of bele Of Stygian darkness spets her thickest gloom,

And makes one blot of all the air;

Stay thy cloudy ebon chair,

Wherein thou rid'st with Hecat, and befriend 135
Us thy vow'd priests, till utmost end

123- Night]

They soone bring night,
Other sweets to waite thee then.'

Donne's Poems, p. 121.

And see Seven Champions of Christendom, p. 55. 4to. 1638
125 rights] Rites. Fenton, Newton, Warton, (ed. 1), peser
132 spets] Spits.' Fenton, Tickell, Newton, wrongly."

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