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Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot
Comus. Line 5.
Line 13. The nodding horror of whose shady brows Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger. Line 38.
I will tell you now What never yet was heard in tale or song, From old or modern bard, in hall or bower. Line 43 Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape Crush'd the sweet poison of misused wine.
Line 46, These my sky-robes spun out of Iris' woof. Line 83. The star that bids the shepherd fold.
Line 93. Midnight shout and revelry, Tipsy dance and jollity.
Line 103. Ere the blabbing eastern scout, The nice morn, on th' Indian steep From her cabin'd loop-hole peep.
Line 138. When the gray-hooded Even, Like a sad votarist in palmer's weed, Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus' wain.
Line 188. A thousand fantasies Begin to throng into my memory, Of calling shapes, and beck’ning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names On sands and shores and desert wildernesses. Line 205. Oh welcome, pure-ey'd Faith, white-handed Hope, Thou hovering angel, girt with golden wings! Line 213. Was I deceiv'd, or did a sable cloud Turn forth her silver lining on the night? Line 221. Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment ? Line 244.
How sweetly did they float upon the wings
Comus. Line 249.
Line 256. Such sober certainty of waking bliss.
Line 263. I took it for a faery vision Of some gay creatures of the element, That in the colours of the rainbow live, And play i' th' plighted clouds.
Line 298. It were a journey like the path to heaven, To help you find them.
Line 303. With thy long levell’d rule of streaming light. Line 340, Virtue could see to do what virtue would By her own radiant light, though sun and moon Were in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdom's self Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude, Where with her best nurse Contemplation She plunes her feathers and lets grow her wings, That in the various bustle of resort Were all-to ruffled, and sometimes impair'd. He that has light within his own clear breast May sit i' th’ centre and enjoy bright day; But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the midday sun.
Line 373. The unsunn'd heaps Of miser's treasure.
Line 398. 'T is chastity, my brother, chastity : She that has that is clad in complete steel. Line 420. Some say no evil thing that walks by night, In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen, Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost
That breaks his magic chains at curfew time,
Line 476. And sweeten'd every musk-rose of the dale. Line 496. Fill'd the air with barbarous dissonance.
Line 550. I was all ear, And took in strains that might create a soul Under the ribs of death.
Which erring men call Chance.
If this fail,
1 See Shakespeare, page 56.
This cordial julep here, That flames and dances in his crystal bounds.
Comus. Line 672. Budge doctors of the Stoic fur.
Listen where thou art sitting
In twisted braids of lilies knitting
Line 1012. Or if Virtue feeble were, Heav'n itself would stoop to her.
Line 1022. I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forc'd fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
Lycidas. Line 3.
He knew Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. Line 10.
Without the meed of some melodious tear.
Lycidas. Line 14. Under the opening eyelids of the morn.
Line 26. But oh the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone and never must return ! Line 37. The gadding vine.
Line 40. And strictly meditate the thankless Muse.
Line 66. To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair.
Line 68. Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise I (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights, and live laborious days; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with th' abhorred shears And slits the thin-spun life.
Line 70. Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil. Line 78. It was that fatal and perfidious bark, Built in th’ eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark. Line 100. The pilot of the Galilean lake; Two massy keys he bore, of metals twain (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain).
Line 109. But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more. Line 130. Throw hither all your quaint enameli'd eyes That on the green turf suck the honied showers, And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine,
1 Erant quibus appetentior famæ videretur, quando etiam sapientibus cupido gloriæ novissima exuitur (Some might consider him as too fond of fame, for the desire of glory clings even to the best of men longer than any other passion) (said of Helvidius Priscus]. – TACITUS : Historia, io. 6.