Comus (The Masque at Ludlow Castle) · chunk 4 of 15
Milton, John · published 1637 · first performed or written 1634 [Sep 29] (Annals) pastoral; masque unassigned nearest T56 Magic, spells and conjuring · 501 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T56: magic, faustus, charms, charm, conjure, spirits, skill, ho, power, spells.
Begin to throng into my memory Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire, And airy tongues, that syllable men's names On Sands, and Shores, and desert Wildernesses. These thoughts may startle well, but not astounded The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended By a strong siding champion Conscience.— O welcome pure-eyed Faith, white-handed Hope Thou flittering Angel girt with golden wins; And thou unblemished form of Chastity I see ye visibly, and now believe That he, the Supreme good, t'whom all things ill Are but as slavish officers of vengeance Would send a glistering Guardian if need were To keep my life, and honour unassailed. Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud Turn forth her silver lining on the night? I did not err, there does a sables cloud Turn forth her silver lining on the night And casts a gleam over this tufted Grove. I cannot hallow to my Brothers, but Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest I'll venture, for my new enlivened spirits Prompt me; and they perhaps are not far off. Sweet echo, sweetest Nymph that liv'st unseen Within thy airy shell By slow Meander's margin green, And in the violet-embroidered vale Where the love-lorn Nightingale Nightly to thee her sad Song mourneth well. Canst thou not tell me of a gentle Pair That likest thy Narcissus are? O if thou have Hid them in some flowery Cave, Tell me but where Sweet Queen of parley, Daughter of the sphere, So mayst thou be translated to the skies, And give resounding grace to all Heaven's Harmonies. Can any mortal mixture of Earth's mould Breath such Divine enchanting ravishment? Sure something holy lodges in that breast, And with these raptures moves the vocal air To testify his hidden residence; How sweetly did they float upon the wings Of Silence, through the empty-vaulted night At every fall smoothing the Raven down Of darkness till she smiled: I have oft heard My mother Circe with the Sirens three Amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades Culling their Potent herbs, and baleful drugs Who as they sung, would take the prisoned soul And lap it in Elysium, Scylla wept, And chid her barking waves into attention, And fell Charybdis murmured soft applause: Yet they in pleasing slumber lulled the sense And in sweet madness robbed it of itself, But such a sacred, and homefelt delight, Such sober certainty of waking bliss I never heard till now. I'll speak to her And she shall be my Queen. Haile foreign wonder Whom certain these rough shades did never breed Unless the Goddess that in rural shrine Dwellest here with Pan, or Sylvan, by blessed Song Forbidding every bleak unkindly Fog To touch the prosperous growth of this tall wood. Nay gentle Shepherd ill is lost that praise That is addressed to unattending Ears, Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift How to regain my severed company Compelled me to awake the courteous Echo To give me answer from her mossy Couch.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Begin to throng into my memorie Of calling shapes, and beckning shadows dire, And ayrie tongues, that syllable mens names On Sands, and Shoars, and desert Wildernesses. These thoughts may startle well, but not astound The vertuous mind, that ever walks attended By a strong siding champion Conscience.— O welcome pure-ey'd Faith, white-handed Hope Thou flittering Angel girt with golden wing; And thou unblemish't forme of Chastitie I see yee visibly, and now beleeve That he, the Supreme good, t'whom all things ill Are but as slavish officers of vengeance Would send a glistring Guardian if need were To keepe my life, and honour unassail'd. Was I deceiv'd, or did a sable cloud Turne forth her silver lining on the night? I did not erre, there does a sables cloud Turne forth her silver lining on the night And casts a gleame over this tufted Grove. I cannot hallow to my Brothers, but Such noise as I can make to be heard fardest Ile venter, for my new enliv'nd spirits Prompt me; and they perhaps are not farre off. Sweet echo, sweetest Nymph that liv'st unseen Within thy ayrie shell By slow Meander's margent greene, And in the violet-imbroider'd vale Where the love- Nightingale Nightly to thee her sad Song mourneth well. Canst thou not tell me of a gentle Paire That likest thy Narcissus are? O if thou have Hid them in some flowrie Cave, Tell me but where Sweet Queen of Parlie, Daughter of the Sphare, So maist thou be translated to the skies, And give resounding grace to all Heav'ns Harmonies. Can any mortall mixture of Earths mould Breath such Divine inchanting ravishment? Sure something holy lodges in that brest, And with these raptures moves the vocal aire To testifie his hidden residence; How sweetly did they float upon the wings Of Silence, through the emptie-vaulted night At every fall smoothing the Raven downe Of darknesse till she smil'd: I have oft heard My mother Circe with the Sirens three Amidst the slowrie-kirtl'd Naiades Culling their Potent hearbs, and balefull drugs Who as they sung, would take the prison'd soule And lap it in Elysinm, Scylla wept, And chid her barking waves into attention, And fell Charybdis murmur'd soft applause: Yet they in pleaing slumber lull'd the sense And in sweet madnesse rob'd it of it selfe, But such a sacred, and home-felt delight, Such sober certainty of waking blisse I never heard till now. Ile speake to her And she shall be my Queene. Haile forreine wonder Whom certaine these rough shades did never breed Vnlesse the Goddesse that in rurall shrine Dwell'st here with Pan, or Silvan, by blest Song Forbidding every bleake unkindly Fog To touch the prosperous growth of this tall wood. Nay gentle Shepherd ill is lost that praise That is addrest to unattending Eares, Not any boast of skill, but extreame shift How to regaine my sever'd companie Compell'd me to awake the courteous Echo To give me answer from her mossie Couch.