A traitor!--What! the blood of Procida
Filling a traitor's veins !-Let the earth drink it;
Thou wouldst receive our foes!-but they shall meet
From thy perfidious lips a welcome, cold

As death can make it.

Rai. Yet hear me!

Pro.

No! thou'rt skilled to make

E'en shame look fair. Why should I linger thus?

[Going-he turns back for a moment.]

If there be aught!-if aught-for which thou needest
Forgiveness-not of me, but that dread Power
From whom no heart is vailed-delay thou not
Thy prayer:-Time hurries on.

Rai.

Pro. 'Tis well.

Rai.

1

I am prepared.

[Exit Procida.]

Men talk of torture!-Can they wreak
Upon the sensitive and shrinking frame,

Half the mind bears, and lives?-My spirit feels
Bewildered; on its powers this twilight gloom
Hangs like a weight of earth. It should be morn;
Why, then, perchance, a beam of Heaven's bright sun
Hath pierced, ere now, the grating of my dungeon,
Telling of hope and mercy!

Ex. CCLIII.-SCENE FROM COMUS.

[Place A Wood. Time-Night.]

MILTON.

ELDER and YOUNGER BROTHERS-the attendant Spirit, as THYRSIS.

Elder Brother. Unmuffle, ye faint stars; and thou, fair moon,

That wont'st to love the traveler'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 dammed 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-leveled rule of streaming light;
And thou shalt be our Star of Arcady,
Or Tyrian cynosure.

Younger Brother. Or if our eyes

Be barred that happiness, might we but hear
The folded flocks penned 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,
'T would be some solace yet, some little cheering,
In this close dungeon of innumerous boughs.
But oh! 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 unpillowed head, fraught with sad fears.-
El. Br. Peace, brother; be not over-exquisite

To cast the fashion of uncertain evils:

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.

He that has light within his own clear breast,
May sit in the center, and enjoy bright day:
But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts,
Benighted walks under the mid-day sun;
Himself is his own dungeon. I do not
Infer, as if I thought my sister's state
Secure, without all doubt and controversy;
Yet, where an equal poise of hope and fear
Doth arbitrate th' event, my nature is
That I incline to hope, rather than fear,
And gladly banish squint suspicion.
My sister is not so defenseless left

As you imagine; she has a hidden strength
Which you remember not.

Yr. Br.

What hidden strength,

Unless the strength of Heaven, if you mean that?

El. Br. I mean that too, but yet a hidden strength,
Which, if Heaven gave it, may be termed her own:
'Tis chastity, my brother, chastity:

So dear to Heaven is saintly chastity,
That, when a soul is found sincerely so,
A thousand liveried angels lackey her,
Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt;
And in clear dream and solemn vision

Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear;
Till oft converse with heavenly habitants
Begin to cast a beam on the outward shape,
The unpolluted temple of the mind,

And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence,
Till all be made immortal.

List, list! I hear
Some far off halloo break the silent air.

Yr. Br. Methought I heard so too: what should it be?
El. Br.
For certain

Either some one, like us, night-foundered here,

Or else some neighbor woodman, or at worst,
Some roving robber calling to his fellows.

Yr. Br. Heaven keep my sister! Again, again, and near! Best draw, and stand upon our guard.

El. Br.

I'll halloo;
If he be friendly, he comes well; if not,
Defence is a good cause, and Heaven be for us!
Thyrsis. [Without.] Halloo!

El. Br. That halloo I should know. Who are you? speak! Come not too near; you fall on iron stakes else.

Thyrs. [Still without.] What voice is that? My young lord? Speak again!

Yr. Br. Oh, brother, 'tis my father's shepherd, sure. [Enter THYRSIS.]

El. Br.

Thyrsis!

How cam'st thou here, good swain? hath any ram
Slipped from the fold, or young kid lost its dam,
Or struggling wether the pent flocks forsook?
How could'st thou find this dark, sequestered nook?
Thyrs. O, my loved master's heir, and his next joy,

I came not here on such a trivial toy

As a strayed ewe, or to pursue the stealth
Of pilfering wolf; not all the fleecy wealth

That doth enrich these downs, is worth a thought
To this my errand, and the care it brought.

But, O, my virgin lady, where is she?
How chance she is not in your company?

El. Br. To tell thee sadly, shepherd, without blame,
Or our neglect, we lost her as we came.

Thyrs. Ah, me, unhappy! then my fears are true. El. Br. What fears, good Thyrsis? prithee briefly show. Thyrs. Within the navel of this hideous wood, Immured in cypress shades, a sorcerer dwells, Of Bacchus and of Circe born, great Comus, Deep skilled in all his mother's witcheries; And here to every thirsty wanderer,

By sly enticement, gives his baleful cup,

With many murmurs mixed, whose pleasing poison
The visage quite transforms of him that drinks,
And the inglorious likeness of a beast

Fixes instead, unmolding reason's mintage
Charactered in the face: this have I learned,
Tending my flocks hard by in the hilly coofts

That brow this bottom-glade; whence night by night
He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl,
Like stabled wolves, or tigers at their prey,
Doing abhorréd rites to Hecaté

In their obscuréd haunts of inmost bowers.
Yet have they many baits and guileful spells
To inveigle and invite the unwary sense
Of them that pass unwitting by the way.
This evening, late, by then the chewing flocks
Had ta'en their supper on the savory herb
Of knot-grass dew-besprent, and were in fold,
I sat me down to watch upon a bank
With ivy canopied, and interwove
With flaunting honey-suckle; and began
To meditate my rural minstrelsy,
Till fancy had her fill; but, ere a close,
The wonted roar was up amidst the woods,
And filled the air with barbarous dissonance;
At which I ceased, and listened there awhile,
Till an unusual stop of sudden silence
Gave respite to the drowsy, frighted steeds,
That draw the litter of close-curtained sleep:
At last a soft and solemn-breathing sound
Rose like a steam of rich distilled perfumes,
And stole upon the air, that even Silence

Was took ere she was 'ware, and wished she might Deny her nature, and be never more

Still to be so displaced. I was all ear,

And took in strains that might create a soul
Under the ribs of death: but, O! ere long,
Too well I did perceive it was the voice
Of my most honored lady, your dear sister.
Amazed I stood, harrowed with grief and fear,
And, O, poor hapless nightingale, thought I,
How sweet thou sing'st, how near the deadly swine!
Then down the lawns I ran with headlong haste,
Through paths and turnings often trod by day;
Till, guided by mine ear, I found the place,
Where that cursed wizard hid in sly disguise,
(For so by certain signs I knew,) had met
Already, ere my best speed could prevent,
The aidless, innocent lady, his wished prey;
Who gently asked if he had seen such two,—
Supposing him some neighbor villager.
Longer I durst not stay; but soon I guessed
Ye were the two she meant; with that I sprung
Into swift flight, till I had found you here:
But further know I not.

Yr. Br.

O night and shades!
How are ye joined with hell in triple knot
Against the unarmed weakness of one virgin,
Alone and helpless!-Is this the confidence
You gave me, brother?

El. Br.

Yes, and keep it still;
Lean on it safely; not a period

Shall be unsaid for me. Against the threats
Of malice, or of sorcery, or that power

Which erring men call chance, this I hold firm;
Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt;
Surprised by unjust force, but not enthralled;
Yea, even that which mischief meant most harm,
Shall, in the happy trial, prove most glory.

But come,-let 's on.
Against the opposing will and arm of Heaven
May never this just sword be lifted up!
But for that cursed magician,-let him be girt
With all the grisly legions that troop
Under the sooty flag of Acheron,