"1 Br. Vpon these chalkie cliffs of Albion, We are arriued now with tedious toile, &c. To seeke our sister, &c.".

A soothsayer enters, with whom they converse "Sooths. Was she fayre? about the lost lady.

2 Br. The fayrest for white and the purest
for redde, as the blood of the deare or the dri-
ven snowe, &c." In their search, Echo replies
to their call. They find too late that their sis-
ter is under the captivity of a wicked magician,
and that she had tasted his cup of oblivion. In
the close, after the wreath is torn from the ma-
gician's head, and he is disarmed and killed, by
a Spirit in the shape and character of a beautiful
page of fifteen years old, she still remains sub-
But in a
ject to the magician's enchantment.
subsequent scene the Spirit enters, and declares,
that the sister cannot be delivered but by a lady,
who is neither maid, wife, nor widow. The Spi-
rit blows a magical horn, and the lady appears;

mus had been instructed by his mother Circe. The Brothers call out on the Lady's name, and Echo replies. The enchanter had given her a potion which suspends the powers of reason, and superinduces oblivion of herself. The Brothers afterwards meet with an old man who is also skilled in magic; and, by listening to his Soothsaying, they recover their lost sister. But not till the enchanter's wreath had been torn from his head, his sword wrested from his hand, a glass broken, and a light extinguished. The names of some of the characters, as Sacrapant, Chorebus, and others, are taken from the Orlando Furioso. The history of Meroe a witch, may be seen in The xi Bookes of the Golden Asse, containing the Metamorphosie of Lucius Apuleius, interlaced with sundrie pleasant and delectable Tales, &c. Translated out of the Latin into English by William Adlington, Lond. 1566. See Chap. iii. "How Socrates in his returne from Macedony to Larissa was spoyled and robbed, and how he fell acquainted with one Meroeshe dissolves the charm, by breaking a glass, a witch." And Chap. iv. "How Meroe the witch turned divers persons into miserable beasts." Of this book there were other editions, in 1571, 1596, 1600, and 1639. All in quarto and the black letter. The translator was of University College. See also Apuleius in the original. A Meroe is mentioned by Ausonius, Epigr. xix.

Peele's play opens thus.

Anticke, Frolicke, and Fantasticke, three adventurers, are lost in a wood, in the night. They agree to sing the old song,

"Three merrie men, and three merrie men,
And three merrie men be wee;

I in the wood, and thou on the ground,
And Jacke sleeps in the tree."

They hear a dog, and fancy themselves to be
near some village. A cottager appears, with a
lantern: on which Frolicke says, "I perceiue
the glimryng of a gloworme, a candle, or a cats-
eye, &c." They entreat him to show the way:
otherwise they say, "wee are like to wander
among the owlets and hobgoblins of the forest."
He invites them to his cottage; and orders his
wife to lay a crab in the fire, to "rost for lambes-
wool, &c." They sing

cr
"When as the rie reach to the chin,
And chopcherrie, chopcherrie ripe within;
Strawberries swimming in the creame,
And schoole-boyes playing in the streame, &c."

At length to pass the time trimly, it is proposed that the wife shall tell "a merry winters tale," or, "an old wiues winters tale," of which sort of stories she is not without a score. She begins, There was a king, or duke, who had a most beautiful daughter, and she was stolen away by a necromancer, who turning himself into a dragon, carried her in his mouth to his castle. The king sent out all his men to find his daughter; "at last, all the king's men went out so long, that hir two brothers went to secke hir." Immediately the two brothers enter, and speak.

and extinguishing a light, as I have before recited. A curtain is withdrawn, and the sister is seen seated and asleep. She is disenchanted and restored to her senses, having been spoken to thrice. She then rejoins her two brothers, with whom she returns home; and the Boy-spirit vanishes under the earth. The magician is here called inchauter vile," as in Comus, ▼. 907.

There is another circumstance in this play, taken from the old English Apuleius. It is where the Old Man every night is transformed by our magician into a bear, recovering in the day-time his natural shape.

Among the many feats of magic in this play, a bride newly married gains a marriage-portion by dipping a pitcher into a well. As she dips, there is a voice:

"Faire maiden, white and red,
Combe me smoothe, and stroke my head,
And thou shall haue some cockell bread!
Gently dippe, but not too deepe,

For feare thou make the golden beard to weepe!"
"Faire maiden, white and redde,
Combe me smooth, and stroke my head:
And enery haire a sheaue shall be,
And euery sheaue a golden tree!"

With this stage-direction, "A head comes up full
of gold; she combes it into her lap."

I must not omit, that Shakespeare seems also to have had an eye on this play. It is in the scene where "The Haruest-men enter with a Song." Again, "Enter the Haruest-men singing with woFrolicke says, ** Who men in their handes." have we here, our amourous haruest starres?" -They sing,

"Loe, here we come a reaping a reaping,
To reape our haruest-fruite;

And thus we passe the yeare so long,
And neuer be we mute."

Compare the Mask in the Tempest, A. iv. S. Î where Iris says,

"You sun-burnt sicklemen, of August weary,
Come hither from the furrow, and be merry;
Make holy-day: your rye-straw hats put on,
And these fresh nymphs encounter every one
In country footing."

Where is this stage-direction, "Enter certain
Reapers, properly habited: they join with the
nymphs in a graceful dance." The Tempest pro-
bably did not appear before the year 1612.

BEFORE the starry threshold of Jove's court
My mansion is, where those immortal shapes
Of bright aëreal spirits live inspher'd
In regions mild of calm and serene air,
Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot,
Which men call Earth; and, with low-thoughted

care

Confin'd and pester'd in this pin-fold here,
Strive to keep up a frail and feverish being,
Unmindful of the crown that Virtue gives,
After this mortal change,to her true servants, 10
Amongst the enthron'd gods on sainted seats.
Yet some there be, that by due steps aspire

That Milton had his eye on this ancient dra-
ma, which might have been the favourite of his
early youth, perhaps it may be at least affirm-
ed with as much credibility, as that he conceiv-To lay their just hands on that golden key,
ed the Paradise Lost, from seeing a Mystery at
Florence, written by Andreini a Florentine in
1617, entitled Adamo.

In the mean time it must be confessed, that Milton's magician Comus, with his cup and wand, is ultimately founded on the fable of Circe. The effects of both characters are much the same. They are both to be opposed at first | with force and violence. Circe is subdued by the virtues of the herb moly which Mercury gives to Ulysses, and Comus by the plant haemony which the Spirit gives to the two Brothers. About the year 1615, a mask called the Inner Temple Masque, written by William Browne, author of Britannia's Pastorals, which I have frequently cited, was presented by the students of the Inner Temple. See Notes on Com. v. 252, 636, 659. It has been lately printed from a manuscript in the library of Emanuel College: but I have been informed, that a few copies were printed soon after the presentation. It was formed on the story of Ciree, and perhaps might have suggested some few hints to Milton. I will give some proofs of parallelism as we go along,

The genius of the best poets is often determined, if not directed, by circumstance and accident. It is natural, that even so original a writer as Milton should have been biassed by the reigning poetry of the day, by the composition most in fashion, and by subjects recently brought forward, but soon giving way to others, and almost as soon totally neglected and forgotten.

THE PERSONS.

To such my errand is; and, but for such,
That opes the palace of Eternity:
I would not soil these pure ambrosial weeds
With the rank vapours of this sin-worn mould.

20

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
Imperial rule of all the sea-girt isles,
That, like to rich and various gems, inlay
The unadorned bosom of the deep :
Which he, to grace his tributary gods,
By course 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,
He quarters to his blue-hair'd deities;
And all this tract that fronts the falling Sun 30
A noble peer of mickle trust and power
Has in his charge, with temper'd awe to guide
An old and haughty nation, proud in arms:
Where his fair offspring, nurs'd in princely lore,
Are coming to attend their father's state,
And new-entrusted sceptre: but their way
Lies through the perplex'd paths of this drear
wood,

The nodding horrour of whose shady brows
Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger;
And here their tender age might suffer peril, 40
But that by quick command from sovran 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,

THE ATTENDANT SPIRIT, afterwards in the habit Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listed,

of THYRSIS.

COMUS, with his crew,

THE LADY.

FIRST BROTHER.

SECOND BROTHER.

SABRINA, the Nymph.

The chief persons, who presented, were
The lord Brackley.

Mr. Thomas Egerton his brother.
The lady Alice Egerton.

COMUS.

The first Scene discovers a wild wood. The Attendant Spirit descends or enters.

On Circe's island fell: (Who knows not Circe,50
The daughter of the Sun, whose charmed cup
Whoever tasted, lost his upright shape,
And downward fell into a groveling swine?)
This nymph, that gaz'd upon his clustering locks
With ivy berries wreath'd, 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
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',
Excels his mother at her mighty art,
Offering to every weary traveller
His orient liquor in a crystal glass,

taste

[thirst:) (For inost do taste through fond intemperate Soon as the potion works, their human counte

nance,

128

To quench the drought of Phoebus; which asthey | Venus now wakes, and wakens love.
Come, let us our rites begin;
'Tis only day-light that makes sin,
Which these dun shades will ne'er report.-
Hail, goddess of nocturnal sport,
Dark-veil'd Cotytto! to whom the secret flame
Of midnight torches burns; mysterious dame,
That ne'er art call'd, but when the dragon woom
Of Stygian darkness spets her thickest gloom,
And makes one blot of all the air;

The express resemblance of the gods, is chang'd
Into some brutish form of wolf, or bear,

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

70

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;
And all their friends and native home forget,
To roll with pleasure in a sensual stye.
Therefore when any, favour'd of high Jove,
Chances to pass through this adventurous glade,
Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star

Stay the cloudy ebon chair,

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

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

Ere the babbling eastern scout,

The nice Morn, on the Indian steep

80

From her cabin'd loop-hole peep,

I shoot from Heaven, to give him safe convoy,

And to the tell-tale Sun descry

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,

90

Our conceal'd solemnity.

Come, knit hands, and beat the ground
In a light fantastic round.

THE MEASURE.

140

Break off, break off, I feel the different pace
Of some chaste footing near about this ground.
Run to your shrouds, within these brakes and
trees;

Our number may affright: some virgin sure
(For so I can distinguish by mine art) 149
Benighted in these woods. Now to my charms,
And to my wily trains: I shall ere long

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 other-Be well-stock'd with as fair a herd as graz'd
wise like men and women, their apparel glistering;
they come in making a riotous and unruly noise,
with torches in their hands.

About my mother Circe. Thus I hurl
My dazzling spells into the spungy air,
Of power to cheat the eye with blear illusion,
And give it false presentments, lest the place
And my quaint 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-plac'd words of glozing courtesy
Baited with reasons not unplausible,
Wind me into the easy-hearted man,
And hug him into snares. When once her eye

100 Hath met the virtue of this magic dust,
I shall appear some harmless villager,
Whom thrift keeps up about his country gear,
But here she comes; I fairly step aside,
And hearken, if I may, her business here.

The Lady enters.

160

This way the noise was, if mine ear be true, 170
My best guide now: methought it was the sound
Of riot and ill-manag'd merriment,

110 Such as the jocund flute, or gamesome pipe,
Stirs up among the loose unletter'd hinds;
When for their teeming flocks, and granges full,
In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan,
And thank the gods amiss. I should be loth
To meet the rudeness, and swill'd insolence,
Of such late wassailers; yet O! where else
Shall I inform my unacquainted feet
In the blind mazes of this tangled wood?
My brothers, when they saw me wearied out
With this long way, resolving here to lodge
Under the spreading favour of these pines,
Stept, as they said, to the next thicket side,
To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit

119

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 faeries 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,

180

In courts of princes, where it first was nam'd 325 Far from the cheerful haunt of men and herds,

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. [Exeunt.]

Enter The TWO BROTHERS.

And sits as safe as in a senate-house;
For who would rob a hermit of his weeds,
His few books, or his beads, or maple dish,
Or do his gray hairs any violence?
But Beauty, like the fair Hesperian tree
Laden with blooming gold, had need the guard
Of dragon-watch, with unenchanted eye,
To save her blossoms, and defend her fruit,

El. Br. Unmuffle, ye faint stars; and thou, fair From the rash hand of bold Incontinence.

Moon,

335

That wont'st to love the traveller's benison,
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-l vell'd rule of streaming light;
And thou shalt be our star of Arcady,
Or Tyrian Cynosure.

Sec. Br.

Or, if our eyes

345

Be barr'd that happiness, might we but hear
The folded flocks penn'd in their wattled cotes,
Or sound of pastoral 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, among 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 ?
El. Br. Peace, brother: be not over-exquisite
To cast the fashion of uncertain evils :

355

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!

395

You may as well spread out the unsunn'd heaps
Of misers' treasure by an outlaw's den,
And tell me it is safe, as bid me hope
Danger will wink on Opportunity,
And let a single helpless maiden pass
Uninjur'd in this wild surrounding waste.
Of night, or loneliness, it recks me not;

I fear the dread events that dog them both, 405
Lest some ill-greeting touch attempt the person
Of our unowned sister,
El. Br.

I do not, brother,
Infer, as if I thought my sister's state
Secure, without all doubt or controversy;
Yet, where an equal poise of hope and fear
Does arbitrate the event, my nature is
That I incline to hope, rather than fear,
And gladly banish squint suspicion.
My sister is not so defenceless left

As you imagine; she has a hidden strength, 413
Which you remember not.
Sec. Br.
What hidden strength,
Unless the strength of Heaven, if you mean
that?

El. Br. I mean that too, but yet a hidden
strength,
[own:
Which, if Heaven gave it, may be term'd her
'Tis Chastity, my brother, Chastity:
She, that has that, is clad in complete steel;
And, like a quiver'd nymph with arrows keen,
May trace huge forests, and unharbour'd heaths,
Infamous hills, and sandy perilous wilds;
Where, through the sacred rays of Chastity,425
No savage fierce, bandite, or mountaineer,
Will dare to soil her virgin purity:

Yea there, where very Desolation dwells,
By grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid shades,
365 She may pass on with unblench'd majesty,
Be it not done in pride, or in presumption.
Some say, no evil thing that walks by night
In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen,
Blue meager hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost
That breaks his magic chains at Curfeu time,
No goblin, or swart faery of the mine,
Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.
Do ye believe me yet, or shall I call
Antiquity from the old schools of Greece
To testify the arms of Chastity?
Hence had the huntress Dian her dread bow,
Fair silver-shafted queen, for ever chaste,

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,

376

436