That to the service of this house belongs, 85
Who, with his soft pipe and smooth-dittied song,
[Well knows to still the wild winds] when they roar,
And hush the waving woods; [nor of less faith],
And in this office of his mountain watch
[Likeliest], and nearest to the present aid 90
Of this occasion. But I hear the tread
Of hateful steps; I must be viewless now.
Comus enters, with a charming-rod in one hand, his glass in the other; with him a rout of monsters, headed like sundry sorts of wild beasts, but otherwise like men and women, their apparel glistering. They come in making a riotous and unruly noise, with torches in their hands.