Or, like the sons of Vulcan, vomit smoke, 655
Yet will they soon retire, if he but shrink.
Eld. Bro. Thyrsis, lead on [apace]; I’ll follow thee;
And some good angel bear a shield before us!
The Scene changes to a stately palace, set out with all manner of deliciousness: soft music, tables spread with all dainties. Comus appears with his rabble, and the Lady set in an enchanted chair: to whom he offers his glass; which she puts by, and [goes about] to rise.
Comus. Nay, Lady, sit. If I but wave this wand,
Your nerves are all chained up in alabaster, 660
And you a statue, or [as Daphne was,]
[Root-bound, that fled Apollo].
Lady. Fool, do not boast.