Whom therefore she brought up, and Comus named:

Who, ripe and frolic of his full-grown age,

Roving the Celtic and Iberian fields, 60

 60

At last betakes him to this ominous wood,

And, in thick shelter of black shades imbowered,

Excels his mother at her mighty art;

Offering to every weary traveller

His orient liquor in a crystal glass,

To quench the drouth of Phœbus; which as they taste

(For most do taste through fond intemperate thirst),

Soon as the potion works, their human count’nance,

The express resemblance of the gods, is changed

Into some brutish form of wolf or bear, 70

 70

Or ounce or tiger, hog, or bearded goat,

All other parts remaining as they were.

And they, so perfect is their misery,

Not once perceive their foul disfigurement,

But boast themselves more comely than before,

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