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Break off; break off, I feel the different pace,
Of som chast footing neer about this ground.
Run to your shrouds, within these Brakes and Trees,
Our number may affright: Som Virgin sure
(For so I can distinguish by mine Art)
Benighted in these Woods. Now to my charms, 150
And to my wily trains, I shall e’re long
Be well stock’t with as fair a herd as graz’d
About my Mother Circe. Thus I hurl
My dazling Spells into the spungy ayr,
Of power to cheat the eye with blear illusion,
And give it false presentments, lest the place
And my quaint habits breed astonishment,
And put the Damsel to suspicious flight,
Which must not be, for that’s against my course;
I under fair pretence of friendly ends, 160
And well plac’t words of glozing courtesie
Baited with reasons not unplausible
Wind me into the easie-hearted man,
And hugg him into snares. When once her eye
Hath met the vertue of this Magick dust,
I shall appear som harmles Villager
Whom thrift keeps up about his Country gear,
But here she comes, I fairly step aside,
And hearken, if I may, her busines here.

The Lady enters.

La: This way the noise was, if mine ear be true, 170
My best guide now, me thought it was the sound
Of Riot, and ill manag’d Merriment,
Such as the jocond Flute, or gamesom Pipe
Stirs up among the loose unleter’d Hinds,
When for their teeming Flocks, and granges full
In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan,
And thank the gods amiss. I should he loath
To meet the rudenesse, and swill’d insolence
of such late Wassailers; yet O where els
Shall I inform my unacquainted feet 180
In the blind mazes of this tangl’d Wood?
My Brothers when they saw me wearied out
With this long way, resolving here to lodge
Under the spreading favour of these Pines,
Stept as they se’d to the next Thicket side
To bring me Berries, or such cooling fruit
As the kind hospitable Woods provide.
They left me then. when the gray-hooded Eev’n
Like a sad Votarist in Palmers weed
Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus wain. 190
But where they are, and why they came not back,
Is now the labour of my thoughts, ’tis likeliest
They had ingag’d their wandring steps too far,
And envious darknes, e’re they could return,
Had stole them from me, els O theevish Night
Why shouldst thou, but for som fellonious end,
In thy dark lantern thus close up the Stars,
That nature hung in Heav’n, and fill’d their Lamps
With everlasting oil, to give due light
To the misled and lonely Travailer? 200
This is the place as well as I may guess,
Whence eev’n now the tumult of loud Mirth
Was rife and perfect in my list’ning ear,
Yet nought but single darknes do I find.
What might this be? A thousand fantasies
Begin to throng into my memory
Of calling shapes, and beckning shadows dire,
And airy tongues, that syllable mens names
On Sands and Shoars and desert Wildernesses.
These thoughts may startle well, but not astound 210
The vertuous mind that ever walks attended
By a strong siding champion Conscience.–
O welcom pure-ey’d Faith, white-handed Hope,
Thou hovering Angel girt with golden wings.
And thou unblemish’t form of Chastity,
I see ye visibly and now beleeve
That he, the Supreme good t’whom all things ill
Are but as slavish officers of vengeance,
Would send a glistring Guardian if need were
To keep my life and honour unassail’d. 220
Was I deceiv’d, or did a sable cloud
Turn forth her silver lining on the night?
I did not err, there does a sable cloud
Turn forth her silver lining on the night,
And casts a gleam over this tufted Grove.
I cannot hallow to my Brothers, but
Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest
Ile venter, for my new enliv’nd spirits
Prompt me; and they perhaps are not far off.