With ivy berries wreathed, and his blithe youth, 55
Had by him, ere he parted thence, a son
Much like his father, but his mother more,
Whom therefore she brought up, and [Comus] named:
Who, ripe and [frolic] of his full-grown age,
Roving [the Celtic and Iberian fields], 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