With her abundance; she, good cateress, Means her provision only to the good, That live according to her sober laws, And she no whit encumbered with her store; And then the Giver would be better thanked, His praise due paid; for swinish Gluttony But with besotted base Ingratitude Crams, and blasphemes his Feeder. Shall I go on? Or have I said enough? To him that dares Arm his profane tongue with contemptuous words Against the sun-clad power of chastity, Fain would I something say, yet to what end? Thou hast nor ear, nor soul, to apprehend The sublime notion, and high mystery, And serious doctrine of virginity; And thou art worthy that thou shouldst not know Enjoy your dear wit, and gay rhetoric, That hath so well been taught her dazzling fence, Yet, should I try, the uncontrolled worth Of this pure cause would kindle my rapt spirits To such a flame of sacred vehemence, That dumb things would be moved to sympathise, And the brute Earth would lend her nerves, and shake, Till all thy magic structures, reared so high, Were shattered into heaps o'er thy false head. COMUS. She fables not: I feel that I do fear 41 Her words set off by some superior power; And though not mortal, yet a cold shuddering dew Speaks thunder, and the chains of Erebus, To some of Saturn's crew. I must dissemble, This is mere moral babble, and direct Against the canon laws of our foundation. And settlings of a melancholy blood: But this will cure all straight: one sip of this Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste. [The BROTHERS rush in with swords drawn, wrest his glass out of his hand, and break it against the ground: his rout make sign of resistance, but are all driven in. The ATTENDANT SPIRIT comes in.] SPIRIT. What, have you Oh! ye mistook, ye let the false enchanter 'scape? should have snatched his wand, And bound him fast; without his rod reversed, And backward mutters of dissevering power, We cannot free the lady that sits here In stony fetters fixed, and motionless : Yet stay, be not disturbed; now I bethink me, The soothest shepherd that e'er piped on plains. Whilome she was the daughter of Locrine,4 42 |