Comus.

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 quire,

Who in their nightly watchful spheres

Lead in swift round the months and years.

ΚΩΜΟΣ.

ΑΣΤΗΡ, ποίμεσι καιρὸς ἐναύλου, κατέχει μέσσον φαιδρὸς Ὄλυμπον τέγγει δ' ἄξονα τὴν πυριθαλπῆ ῥείθροις πρήνεσιν Ατλαντείοις δίφρος ὁ Φοίβου χρυσεόκυκλος πόλον ἠέλιος πρὸς ἀμαυρὸν

λεχρίαν ἀκτῖν ̓ ἐπάνω βάλλων εἰς ἀντίπορον τέρμονα κοίτας τὰς ἡμας μεταβαίνει.

Εν

χαῖρ ̓ οὖν θαλία, χαῖρ ̓ Εὐφροσύνα, κωμόι τε, βόα θ ̓ ἁ μεσονύκτιος, οἰνοπλάνητόν τ ̓ ὄρχημ ̓ ἄπονον· πλέκετ ̓ ἐν ῥοδίῳ πλέγματι χαίταν χρίσμασιν ὑγρὰν, ὑγρὰν Βρομίῳ· νῦν γε τὸ Σεμνὸν κατακοιμᾶται, τό τε Νουθεσίας ὄμμα περίσσοφρον ἀπαράμυθον δ' εὕδει Γήρας, χὰ Σωφροσύνα, δριμεία θεά,

σοφίαν θρυλλοῦσα ματαίαν. ἡμεῖς δὲ φλογὸς τῆς ἀγνοτέρας ἀστεροειδῆ

ζηλοῦμεν χορὸν, οἱ παννυχίοις ἄγρυπνα κύκλοις περιειλομένων ἐτέων φύγαδας μῆνας ἄγουσιν·

1 Vide Blomf. ad Esch. Prom. 193.

The sounds and seas with all their finny drove.

Now to the moon in wavering morrice move:

And on the tawny sands and shelves

Trip the pert faeries 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 rites begin;

'Tis only daylight that makes sin,

Which these dun shades will ne'er report.

Hail, goddess of nocturnal sport,

Dark-veiled Cotytto! to whom the secret flame

Of midnight torches burns; mysterious dame, That ne'er art called, but when the dragon womb Of Stygian darkness spits her thickest gloom,

λιμένες πορθμοί τ αἰολόφυλοί τ' ἴχθυες ηδη μαρμαρυγαῖσιν

δίαν τιμῶσι Σελάναν

κατὰ δὲ ξούθους αλὸς ἀιγιάλους

σκιρτᾷ λάλιον μορμολύκειον

ῥαδίνα τ ̓ ἔμπουσα χορεύει.
παρὰ μειδώντων

νάματα κρουνῶν ἄκρα τε χείλη, Δρυάδες, κόμψαν κόσμον ἔχουσαι

βαλλίδα, τέρπνοις παίγνι ̓ ἄγουσιν κώμοις ἱλαραί·

νύξ δέ μοι ὕπνῳ τὶ σὺ κοινωνεῖς ; νὺξ μεγ ̓ ἀμείνω τέρψιν παρέχει Κύπρις ἐγερθεῖσ' υἷον ἐγείρει σπεύδετε δ· ἡμὶν ἐς ὄργια καιρὸς.

μόνον ἐκφαίνει φῶς ἀλιτήμονα ταῦτα δὲ κευθμών

σκοτόεις οὔ πως ἀποδείξει.

χαῖρε μελάμπελος ἐν νυκτερίνοις

εν

παίγμασι δαῖμον, χαῖρε, Κοτύττω σοὶ πῦρ δᾴδων πάννυχον αἴθει κρυφίων, δέσποιν ̓ ἄφατος, κληθεῖσ ὅποτε Στυγίας ὁ δρακοντώδης

νεφέλας γαστὴρ καταπυκνοτάταν

ἔπτυσεν ὄρφναν,

And makes one blot of all the air:

Stay thy cloudy ebon chair,

Wherein thou ridest 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 the Indian steep

From her cabin'd loop-hole peep,

And to the tell-tale sun descry

Our conceal'd solemnity.

Come, knit hands and beat the ground

In a light fantastic round.

Tarquin.

BUT when the face of Sextus
Was seen among the foes,
A yell that rent the firmament
From all the town arose.

On the house-tops was no woman

But spat towards him and hissed,
No child but screamed out curses,
And shook its little fist.

Milton.

Macaulay.