The folded flocks pen'd in their watled cotes, Or sound of pastoral reed with oaten stops, Or whistle from the Lodge, or village cock Count the night watches to his feathery Dames, 'Twould be som solace yet, som little chearing In this close dungeon of innumerous bowes. But O that haples virgin our lost sister Where may she wander now, whether betake her From the chill dew, amongst rude burrs and thistles? Perhaps som cold bank is her boulster now
Or 'gainst the rugged bark of som broad Elm
Leans her unpillow'd head fraught with sad fears. What if in wild amazement, and affright,
Or while we speak within the direfull grasp
Of Savage hunger, or of Savage heat?
Eld. Bro. Peace brother, be not over-exquisite
To cast the fashion of uncertain evils;
For grant they be so, while they rest unknown, What need a man forestall his date of grief, And run to meet what he would most avoid? Or if they be but false alarms of Fear, How bitter is such self-delusion?
I do not think my sister so to seek,
Or so unprincipl'd in vertues book,
And the sweet peace that goodnes boosoms ever, As that the single want of light and noise (Not being in danger, as I trust she is not) Could stir the constant mood of her calm thoughts, And put them into mis-becoming plight. Vertue could see to do what vertue would
By her own radiant light, though Sun and Moon Were in the flat Sea sunk. And Wisdoms self
Oft seeks to sweet retired Solitude,
Where with her best nurse Contemplation
She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings That in the various bussle of resort
Were all to ruffl'd, and somtimes impair'd. He that has light within his own cleer brest
May sit i'th center, and enjoy bright day,
But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts
Benighted walks under the mid-day Sun;
Himself is his own dungeon.
2. Bro. Tis most true
That musing meditation most affects The pensive secrecy of desert cell,
Far from the cheerfull haunt of men, and herds, And sits as safe as in a Senat house,
For who would rob a Hermit of his Weeds, His few Books, or his Beads, or Maple Dish, Or do his gray hairs any violence? But beauty like the fair Hesperian Tree Laden with blooming gold, had need the guard Of dragon watch with uninchanted eye, To save her blossoms, and defend her fruit From the rash hand of bold Incontinence. You may as well spred out the unsun'd heaps Of Misers treasure by an out-laws den, And tell me it is safe, as bid me hope Danger will wink on Opportunity, And let a single helpless maiden pass Uninjur'd in this wilde surrounding wast. Of night, or lonelines it recks me not, I fear the dred events that dog them both, Lest som ill greeting touch attempt the person Of our unowned sister.
Eld. Bro. I do not, brother,
Inferr, as if I thought my sisters state
Secure without all doubt, or controversie :
Yet where an equall poise of hope and fear
Does arbitrate th'event, my nature is
That I encline to hope, rather then fear, And gladly banish squint suspicion. My sister is not so defenceless left
As you imagine, she has a hidden strength Which you remember not.
2. Bro. What hidden strength,
Unless the strength of Heav'n, if you mean that ?
Eld. Bro. I mean that too, but yet a hidden strength Which if Heav'n gave it, may be term'd her own: 'Tis chastity, my brother, chastity :
She that has that, is clad in compleat steel, And like a quiver'd Nymph with Arrows keen May trace huge Forests, and unharbour'd Heaths, Infamous Hills, and sandy perilous wildes,
Where through the sacred rayes of Chastity, No savage fierce, Bandite, or mountaneer Will dare to soyl her Virgin purity, Yea there, where very desolation dwels By grots, and caverns shag'd with horrid shades, She may pass on with unblench't majesty, Be it not don in pride, or in presumption. Som say no evil thing that walks by night In fog, or fire, by lake, or moorish fen, Blew meager Hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost, That breaks his magick chains at curfeu time, No goblin, or swart faëry of the mine, Hath hurtfull power o're true virginity. Do ye beleeve me yet, or shall I call Antiquity from the old Schools of Greece To testifie the arms of Chastity?
Hence had the huntress Dian her dred bow
Fair silver-shafted Queen for ever chaste, Wherwith she tam'd the brinded lioness
And spotted mountain pard, but set at nought The frivolous bolt of Cupid, gods and men
Fear'd her stern frown, and she was queen oth' Woods. What was that snaky-headed Gorgon sheild
That wise Minerva wore, unconquer'd Virgin,
Wherwith she freez'd her foes to congeal'd stone?
But rigid looks of Chast austerity,
And noble grace that dash't brute violence With sudden adoration, and blank aw. So dear to Heav'n is Saintly chastity, That when a soul is found sincerely so, A thousand liveried Angels lacky her, Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, And in cleer dream, and solemn vision Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear, Till oft convers with heav'nly habitants
Begin to cast a beam on th'outward shape,
The unpolluted temple of the mind,
And turns it by degrees to the souls essence,
Till all be made immortal: but when lust
By unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk, But most by leud and lavish act of sin, Lets in defilement to the inward parts,
The soul grows clotted by contagion, Imbodies, and imbrutes, till she quite loose The divine property of her first being.
Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp Oft seen in Charnell vaults, and Sepulchers Lingering, and sitting by a new made grave, As loath to leave the body that it lov'd, And link't it self by carnal sensualty
To a degenerate and degraded state.
2. Bro. How charming is divine Philosophy! Not harsh, and crabbed as dull fools suppose, But musical as is Apollo's lute,
And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets,
Where no crude surfet raigns. Eld. Bro. List, list, I hear Som far off hallow break the silent Air.
2. Bro. Me thought so too; what should it be?
Either som one like us night-founder'd here,
Or els som neighbour Wood-man, or at worst, Som roaving Robber calling to his fellows.
2. Bro. Heav'n keep my sister, agen agen and neer, Best draw, and stand upon our guard.
Eld. Bro. Ile hallow,
If he be friendly he comes well, if not,
Defence is a good cause, and Heav'n be for us.
The attendant Spirit habited like a Shepherd.
That hallow I should know, what are you? speak; Com not too neer, you fall on iron stakes else.
Spir. What voice is that, my young Lord? speak agen. 2. Bro. O brother, 'tis my father Shepherd sure. Eld. Bro. Thyrsis? Whose artful strains have oft delaid The huddling brook to hear his madrigal,
And sweeten'd every muskrose of the dale,
How cam'st thou here good Swain? hath any ram Slip't from the fold, or young Kid lost his dam, Or straggling weather the pen't flock forsook? How couldst thou find this dark sequester'd nook? Spir. O my lov'd masters heir, and his next joy,
I came not here on such a trivial toy
As a stray'd Ewe, or to pursue the stealth
474 sensualty] sensuality 1673
493 father] So also 1673 for father's.
Of pilfering Woolf, not all the fleecy wealth That doth enrich these Downs, is worth a thought To this my errand, and the care it brought. But O my Virgin Lady, where is she?
How chance she is not in your company?
Eld. Bro. To tell thee sadly Shepherd, without blame,
Or our neglect, we lost her as we came.
Spir. Ay me unhappy then my fears are true.
Eld. Bro. What fears good Thyrsis? Prethee briefly shew. Spir. Ile tell ye, 'tis not vain or fabulous, (Though so esteem'd by shallow ignorance)
What the sage Poëts taught by th' heav'nly Muse, Storied of old in high immortal vers
Of dire Chimera's and inchanted Iles,
And rifted Rocks whose entrance leads to hell, For such there be, but unbelief is blind.
Within the navil of this hideous Wood, Immur'd in cypress shades a Sorcerer dwels Of Bacchus, and of Circe born, great Comus, Deep skill'd in all his mothers witcheries, And here to every thirsty wanderer,
By sly enticement gives his banefull cup, With many murmurs mixt, whose pleasing poison The visage quite transforms of him that drinks, And the inglorious likenes 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,
That brow this bottom glade, whence night by night He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl Like stabl'd wolves, or tigers at their prey, Doing abhorred rites to Hecate
In their obscured haunts of inmost bowres. Yet have they many baits, and guilefull spells To inveigle and invite th' unwary sense Of them that pass unweeting by the way. This evening late by then the chewing flocks Had ta'n their supper on the savoury Herb Of Knot-grass dew-besprent, and were in fold, I sate me down to watch upon a bank With Ivy canopied, and interwove With flaunting Hony-suckle, and began
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