« 上一页继续 »
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-intrusted sceptre. But their way / Lies through the perplexed paths of this drear wood,
The nodding horror of whose shady brows
Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape
Who, ripe and frolic of his full-grown age,
60 Roving the Celtic and Iberian fields,
65 His orient liquor in a crystal glass,
(For most do taste through fond intemperate thirst),
Soon as the potion works, their human count'nance,
70 Into some brutish form of wolf or bear,
75 But boast themselves more comely than before,
80 Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star
85 That to the service of this house belongs,
Comus enters, with a charming-rod in one hand, his glass in the other: with him a rout of monsters, headed like sundry sorts of wild beasts, but otherwise like men and women, their apparel 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;
And the gilded car of day
His glowing axle doth allay
In the steep Atlantic stream; , ,(
. And the slope 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,
Dropping odours, dropping wine.
Rigor now is gone to bed;
And Advice with scrupulous head,
Strict Age, and sour Severity, uo With their grave saws, in slumber lie.
We, that are of purer fire,
Imitate the starry quire,
Who, in their nightly watchful spheres, |
Lead in swift round the months and years, us 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, 120 The wood-nymphs, decked 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. 125 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-veiled Cotytto, to whom the secret flame 180 Of midnight torches burns! mysterious dame,
That ne'er art called but when the dragon womb
Of Stygian darkness spets her thickest gloom,
And makes one blot of all the air!
Stay thy cloudy ebon chair, 135 Wherein thou ridest with Hecat', and befriend
Us thy vowed priests, till utmost end
Of all thy dues be done, and none left out;
Ere the blabbing eastern scout,
The nice Morn on the Jndian_s.teep,
From her cabined loop-hole peep,
And to the tell-tale Sim descry
Our concealed solemnity.
Come, knit hands, and beat the ground
In a light fantastic round.)
Break off, break off! I feel the different pace
Our number may affright. Some virgin sure