(18)
How couldſt thou find this darke ſequeſter'd nook?
Spir. O my lov'd maſters heire, and his next joy
I came not here on ſuch a triviall toy
As a ſtrayd Ewe, or to purſue the ſtealth
Of pilfering wolfe, not all the fleecie wealth
That doth enrich theſe downs is worth a thought
To this my errand, and the care it brought.
But ô my virgin Ladie where is ſhe,
How chance ſhe is not in your companie?
Eld bro. To tell thee ſadly ſhepheard, without blame
Or our neglect, wee loſt her as wee came.
Spir. Aye me unhappie then my fears are true.
Eld bro. What fears, good Thyrſis? prethee briefly ſhew.
Spir. Ile tell you, 'tis not vaine, or fabulous
(Though ſo eſteemd by ſhallow ignorance)
What the ſage Poëts taught by th'heavenly Muſe
Storied of old in high immortall verſe
Of dire Chimera's and inchanted Iles
And rifted rocks whoſe entrance leads to hell,
For ſuch there be, but unbeliefe is blind.
Within the navill of this hideous wood
Immur'd in cypreſſe ſhades a Sorcerer dwells
Of Bacchus, and of Circe borne, great Comus,
Deepe skill'd in all his mothers witcheries,
And here to every thirſtie wanderer
By ſlie enticement gives his banefull cup
With many murmurs mixt, whoſe pleaſing poiſon
The viſage quite tranſforms of him that drinks,
And the inglorious likeneſſe of a beaſt
Fixes inſtead, unmoulding reaſons mintage
Character'd in the face; this have I learn't
Tending my flocks hard by i'th hilly crofts
