COMUS
55
That hath so well been taught her dazling fence;
Thou art not fit to hear thy self convinc’t:
Yet should I try, the uncontrouled worth
Of this pure cause would kindle my rap’t spirits
To such a flame of sacred vehemence,
That dumb things would be mov’d to sympathize,
And the brute Earth would lend her nerves, and shake,
Till all thy magick structures, rear’d so high,
Were shatter’d into heaps o’re thy false head.
Thou art not fit to hear thy self convinc’t:
Yet should I try, the uncontrouled worth
Of this pure cause would kindle my rap’t spirits
To such a flame of sacred vehemence,
That dumb things would be mov’d to sympathize,
And the brute Earth would lend her nerves, and shake,
Till all thy magick structures, rear’d so high,
Were shatter’d into heaps o’re thy false head.
Comus
She fables not; I feel that I do fear
Her words, set off by som superior power;
And though not mortal, yet a cold shuddring dew
Dips me all o’re; as when the wrath of Jove
Speaks thunder and the chains of Erebus
To som of Saturns crew. I must dissemble,
And try her yet more strongly.—Com, no more;
This is meer moral babble, and direct
Against the canon laws of our foundation.
I must not suffer this; yet ’tis but the lees
And setlings of a melancholy blood;
But this will cure all streight; one sip of this
Will bathe the drooping spirits in delight
Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste.
Her words, set off by som superior power;
And though not mortal, yet a cold shuddring dew
Dips me all o’re; as when the wrath of Jove
Speaks thunder and the chains of Erebus
To som of Saturns crew. I must dissemble,
And try her yet more strongly.—Com, no more;
This is meer moral babble, and direct
Against the canon laws of our foundation.
I must not suffer this; yet ’tis but the lees
And setlings of a melancholy blood;
But this will cure all streight; one sip of this
Will bathe the drooping spirits in delight
Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste.
