the Masque. The masque originated in the reign of Henry VIII. Primarily, it consisted only of scenery and pantomime, but later, poetical dialogue, songs, and music were added.

In the reign of James and the first Charles the masque had reached its height, and it then employed the first talent of the country in its composition. Masques were generally prepared for some remarkable occasion, as a coronation, the birth of a young prince or noble, or the visit of some royal personage of foreign countries. They usually took place in the hall of the palace, and as Bacon remarks, "being designed for princes, they were by princes played."

The preparation of such pageants, on commission from those who required them, had at last become a regular part of the dramatic profession, and in the hands of such men as Chapman, Fletcher, and Jonson, the literary capabilities of the masque were extended and perfected. "The part of the poet was to seize the meaning of the occasion, to invent some allegory, or adapt some scrap of Grecian mythology or chivalrous legend, in the action of which the meaning could somehow be symbolized, while at the same time room was left for dances, comicalities, and the expected songs and duets. . . . The bit of landscape with which the story opened; the rocks, grottos, castles, etc., into which the scene changed; the white clouds descending from the sky, out of which came the resplendent maiden or goddess; the rain, the thunder, and the bursts of beautiful color; the appropriate dress for nymphs and nereids, satyrs and sea-gods, negroes or pygmies, or whatever fantastic beings glided or gambolled, spoke or sung," were elaborated by the machinist. Much depended upon the skill of the masquers and their willingness to spend money beforehand in rich costumes. In this

form of composition the dramatic poets exercised their passion for pure sensuous invention.

Though Shakespeare has given us no masques, his "Midsummer Night's Dream" and his "Tempest" may be classed with that order of dramatic fantasies.

The Arcades " being but a slight composition compared with the "Comus," I pass on to the last-named production. "Comus was founded on an actual occurrence. Lord Brackley and Mr. Egerton, sons of the Earl of Bridgewater, then President of Wales, with his daughter, Lady Alice, passing through the forest on their way to Ludlow, were benighted, and the lady was for a short time lost; this accident being related to Milton by his friend, Henry Lawes, the musician who taught music at the castle, Milton at his request composed the masque embodying the adventure, and it was acted at Ludlow Castle, before the Earl, on Michaelmas night, 1634. The young lady, the two brothers, and Lawes himself each bore a part in the representation.

It has been aptly said that "in "Comus' Milton has shown what the pure poetry and pure morality of the masque might be." Much as he wrote afterward, he never has given us anything more poetically perfect than "Comus." Let us glance at a few scenes in this bewitching drama. First, at that of the lady entering the wood, the dark wood enchanted by Comus, the god of riot and intemperance, the son of Bacchus and Circe, who waylays travellers, and induces them to drink his charmed liquor, which changes their countenances into the faces of beasts.

"This way the noise was, if mine ear be true,
My best guide now: methought it was the sound
Of riot and ill-managed merriment,

Such as the jocund flute or gamesome pipe

Stirs up among the loose unlettered hinds,
When from 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 rudeness and swill'd insolence
Of such late wassailers....

I cannot halloo to my brothers, but

Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest
I'll venture; for my new enlivened spirits
Prompt me; and they perhaps are not far off."

Now comes into the masque the song to Echo.

While the

lady sings it, Comus listens in admiration, and now, dis

guised as a shepherd, steps forth and thus hails her,

"Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould
Breathe such divine, enchanting ravishment?
Sure something holy lodges in that breast,
And with these raptures moves the vocal air
To testify his hidden residence:

How sweetly did they float upon the wings
Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night,
At every fall smoothing the raven down
Of darkness till it smiled! I have oft heard
My mother Circe, with the Syrens three,
Amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades

Culling their potent herbs, and baleful drugs,
Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul
And lap it in Elysium; Scylla wept,

And chid her barking waves into attention,
And fell Charybdis murmured soft applause:

Yet they in pleasing slumber lulled the sense,

And in sweet madness robb'd it of itself;
But such a sacred and home-felt delight,
Such sober certainty of waking bliss,

I never heard till now."

The brothers, bewildered in the darkness, return at length to find their sister gone; the younger expresses fear for her safety, and thus the elder reassures him, –

"Peace, Brother; be not over exquisite
To cast the fashion of uncertain ills:
So dear to Heaven is saintly Chastity,
That, when a soul is found sincerely so,
A thousand liveried Angels lackey her,
Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt."

The attendant spirit in disguise now comes into the masque, and relates to the brothers how, musing on a bank by himself, he hears the barbarous revels of Comus and his crew. Suddenly the roar ceased, and all was silence; as he listened, at last

"... A soft and solemn-breathing sound
Rose like a steam of rich distill'd perfumes,
And stole upon the air, that even Silence

Was took ere she was ware, and wished she might
Deny her nature, and be never more,

Still to be so displac'd."

It was the lady singing to Echo. He hastens to her relief. knowing by whom the wood is inhabited, but she has been lured away before he reaches the spot. The scene changes to a stately palace, set out with all manner of delicioussoft music, and tables spread with all dainties. Comus appears with his rabble, and the lady, chained as a statue of alabaster, sits in an enchanted chair. He offers the charmed cup; she cannot rise, but refuses it in disdain, and thus upbraids the sorcerer,

ness,

"Fool, do not boast;

Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind
With all thy charms - although this corporal rind
Thou hast immanacled- while Heaven sees good.
Hence with thy brewed enchantments, foul deceiver!
Were it a draught for Juno when she banquets,
I would not taste thy treasonous offer; none
But such as are good men can give good things;
And that, which is not good, is not delicious
To a well-governed and wise appetite."

Awed by the superior power of Chastity, but not baffled, Comus again lifts the enchanted cup to her lips; then rush in the brothers with swords drawn, accompanied by Thyrsis, the attendant spirit. They wrest the enchanted glass from Comus, break it, and rout him and his crew; but the lady is still marble-bound to the chair. The motion of the wizard's wand would have released her, but he has escaped with it. Thyrsis, however, has a device in reserve: Sabrina, daughter of Locrene, the son of Brutus, of whom the old British legends tell how, to preserve her honor, she threw herself into the neighboring river, - now the far-famed Severn, is the goddess of that river. Who so ready to succor maidenhood? Only let her presence be adjured by some suitable song. Thyrsis himself sings,

"Sabrina fair,

Listen where thou art sitting

Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave,
In twisted braids of lilies knitting
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair;
Listen for dear honour's sake,

Goddess of the silver lake,

Listen, and save.

"By all the nymphs that nightly dance

Upon thy streams with wily glance,
Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head,
From thy coral-paven bed,

And bridle in thy headlong wave,

Till thou our summons answered have.

Listen, and save."

Sabrina now rises from under the stage, attended by water-nymphs, and sings,

“By the rushy-fringed bank

Where grows the willow, and the osier dank,

My sliding chariot stays,

Thick set with agate, and the azure sheen