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Jan. 21st, 2008 09:07 amComus props:
1. Amongst the rest a small unsightly root,
But of divine effect, he culled me out;
The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it,
But in another country, as he said,
Bore a bright golden flower, but not in this soil:
Unknown, and like esteemed, and the dull swain
Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon,
And yet more med'cinal is it than that Moly
That Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave;
He called it haemony, and gave it me,
And bade me keep it as of sov'reign use
'Gainst all enchantments, mildew blast, or damp
Or ghostly Furies' apparition.
2. And first behold this cordial julep here
That flames, and dances in his crystal bounds
With spirits of balm, and fragrant syrups mixed.
Not that Nepenthes which the wife of Thone
In Egypt gave to Jove-born Helena
Is of such power to stir up joy as this,
To life so friendly, or so cool to thirst.
Why should you be so cruel to yourself,
And to those dainty limbs which Nature lent
For gentle usage, and soft delicacy?
But you invert the cov'nants of her trust,
And harshly deal like an ill borrower
With that which you received on other terms,
Scorning the unexempt condition
By which all mortal frailty must subsist,
Refreshment after toil, ease after pain,
That have been tired all day without repast,
And timely rest have wanted; but fair virgin
This will restore all soon.
Marlowe in 1, Spenser in 2. Tom's song here (?):
But now my task is smoothly done,
I can fly, or I can run
Quickly to the green earth's end,
Where the bowed welkin slow doth bend,
And from thence can soar as soon
To the corners of the moon.
Interesting Nature/Mangod/Nature procession in the Lady's response to Comus' temptings. "In unsuperfluous even proportion"--a line that slows itself amusingly to demonstrate its message.
Comus is so strange. At first it seems unreadably slight, then ridiculously well-written, then rather moving as a case for justice (Milton's denunciation of the draft of pleasure is as much on communist as self-control grounds). Every time it's like that. I wonder what its players made of it. They must have felt something important was going on.
And the writing. Thoroughly Spenser, thoroughly Shakespeare, thoroughly Milton. One brief burst of all three at once. Just one.
1. Amongst the rest a small unsightly root,
But of divine effect, he culled me out;
The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it,
But in another country, as he said,
Bore a bright golden flower, but not in this soil:
Unknown, and like esteemed, and the dull swain
Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon,
And yet more med'cinal is it than that Moly
That Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave;
He called it haemony, and gave it me,
And bade me keep it as of sov'reign use
'Gainst all enchantments, mildew blast, or damp
Or ghostly Furies' apparition.
2. And first behold this cordial julep here
That flames, and dances in his crystal bounds
With spirits of balm, and fragrant syrups mixed.
Not that Nepenthes which the wife of Thone
In Egypt gave to Jove-born Helena
Is of such power to stir up joy as this,
To life so friendly, or so cool to thirst.
Why should you be so cruel to yourself,
And to those dainty limbs which Nature lent
For gentle usage, and soft delicacy?
But you invert the cov'nants of her trust,
And harshly deal like an ill borrower
With that which you received on other terms,
Scorning the unexempt condition
By which all mortal frailty must subsist,
Refreshment after toil, ease after pain,
That have been tired all day without repast,
And timely rest have wanted; but fair virgin
This will restore all soon.
Marlowe in 1, Spenser in 2. Tom's song here (?):
But now my task is smoothly done,
I can fly, or I can run
Quickly to the green earth's end,
Where the bowed welkin slow doth bend,
And from thence can soar as soon
To the corners of the moon.
Interesting Nature/Mangod/Nature procession in the Lady's response to Comus' temptings. "In unsuperfluous even proportion"--a line that slows itself amusingly to demonstrate its message.
Comus is so strange. At first it seems unreadably slight, then ridiculously well-written, then rather moving as a case for justice (Milton's denunciation of the draft of pleasure is as much on communist as self-control grounds). Every time it's like that. I wonder what its players made of it. They must have felt something important was going on.
And the writing. Thoroughly Spenser, thoroughly Shakespeare, thoroughly Milton. One brief burst of all three at once. Just one.
