Comus (The Masque at Ludlow Castle) · chunk 2 of 15
Milton, John · published 1637 · first performed or written 1634 [Sep 29] (Annals) pastoral; masque T56 Magic, spells and conjuring typicality 0.73 · 506 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T56: magic, faustus, charms, charm, conjure, spirits, skill, ho, power, spells.
(For most do taste through fond intemperate thirst) Soon as the Potion works, their humane countenance Th'express resemblance of the gods is changed 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 in 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 sty. Therefore when any favoured of high Iove Chances to pass through this adventurous glade, Swift as the Sparkle of a glancing Star I shoot from heaven 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. 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. Rigour now is gone to bed, And Advice with scrupulous head, Strict Age, and sour Severity With their grave Saws in slumber lie. We that are of purer fire, Imitate the starry choir, 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 morris 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 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. Come let us our rights begin 'Tis only daylight that makes Sin Which these dun shades will ne'er report. Haile Goddess of Nocturnal sport Dark-veiled Cocytto, t'whom the secret flame Of midnight Torches burns; mysterious Dame That ne'er at 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, Wherein thou rid'st 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 th' Indian steep From her cabined loop hole peep,
nodes 66–139 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 2 of 15 in this edition
Length
506 words · 690 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T56 — Magic, spells and conjuringcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.731 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T45 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
(For most doe tast through fond intemperate thirst) Soone as the Potion works, their humane count'hance Th'expresse resemblance of the gods is chang'd Into some brutish forme of Wolfe, or Beare Or Ounce, or Tiger, Hog, or bearded Goat, All other parts remaining as they were, And they, so perfect in their miserie, Not once perceive their foule disfigurement, But boast themselves more comely then before And all their friends; and native home forget To roule with pleasure in a sensuall stie. Therefore when any favour'd of high Iove Chances to passe through this adventrous glade, Swift as the Sparkle of a glancing Starre I oote from heav'n to giue him safe convoy, As now I doe: but first I must put off These my skie robes spun out os Iris wooffe, And take the weeds and likenesse of a Swaine, 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 roare, And hush the waving woods, nor of lesse faith, And in this office of his Mountaine watch, Likeliest, and neerest to the present aide Of this occasion. But I heare the tread Of hatefull steps, I must be viewlesse now. The starre that bids the Shepheard fold, Now the top of heav'n doth hold, And the gilded Carre of Day His glowing Axle doth allay, In the steepe Atlantik streame, And the slope Sun his upward beame Shoots against the duskie Pole, Pacing toward the other gole Of his Chamber in the East. Meane while welcome Joy, and Feast, Midnight shout, and revelrie, Tipsie dane, and Jollitie. Braid your Locks with rosie Twine, Dopping odours, dropping Wine. Rigor now is gone to bed, And Avice with scrupulous head, Strict Age, and sowre Severiie With their graue Sawes in slumber lie. We that are of puer fire, Immitate the starrie quire, Who in their nightly watchfull Spheares, Lead in swift round the Months and Yeares. The Sounds, and Seas with all their finnie drove, Now to the Moone in wavering Morrice move, And on the tawny sands and shelves, Trip the pert Fairies and the dapper Elves; By dimpled Brooke, and Fountaine brim. The Wood-nymphs deckt with daisiestrim, Their merry wakes, and pastimes keepe, What hath night to doe with sleepe? Night hath better sweets to prove, Venus now wakes, and wakens Love. Come let us our rights begin 'Tis onely day-light that makes Sin Which these dun shades will ne're report. Haile Goddesse of Nocturnall sport Dark-vaild cotytto, t'whom the secret flame Of mid-night Toches burnes; mysterious Dame That ne're at call'd, but when the Dragon woome Of Stygian darknesse spets her thickest gloome And makes one blot of all the aire, Stay thy clowdie Ebon chaire, Wherein thou rid'st with Hecat', and befriend Vs thy vow'd Priests, till utmost end Of all thy dues be done, and none left out Ee the blabbing Easterne scout The nice Morne on th' Indian steepe From her cabin'd loop hole peepe,