110 We that are of purer fire Imitate the Starry Quire, Who in their nightly watchfull Sphears, Lead in swift round the Months and Years.
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 Fairies and the dapper Elves; By dimpled Brook, and Fountain brim, The Wood-Nymphs deckt with Daisies trim, 120 Their merry wakes and pastimes keep: What hath night to do with sleep?
Night hath better sweets to prove, Venus now wakes, and wak'ns Love.
Com let us our rights begin, 'Tis onely day-light that makes Sin Which these dun shades will ne're report.
Hail Goddesse of Nocturnal sport Dark vaild Cotytto, t' whom the secret flame Of mid-night Torches burns; mysterious Dame 130 That ne're art call'd, but when the Dragon woom Of Stygian darknes spets her thickest gloom, And makes one blot of all the ayr, Stay thy cloudy Ebon chair, Wherin thou rid'st with Hecat', and befriend Us thy vow'd Priests, til utmost end Of all thy dues be done, and none left out, Ere the blabbing Eastern scout, The nice Morn on th' Indian steep From her cabin'd loop hole peep, 140 And to the tel-tale Sun discry Our conceal'd Solemnity.
Com, knit hands, and beat the ground, In a light fantastick round.
The Measure.
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 be 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.