and the crew vanishes among the trees as the Lady enters alone and narrates how she lost her brothers at nightfall in the wood, and attracted by the sounds of mirth has bent hither her steps in the hope of finding some one to direct her.  She then sings a song by way of attracting her brothers’ attention, should they chance to be near.  As she ends Comus re-enters in guise of a shepherd, and offers to escort her to his hut where she may rest until her companions are found.  She has no sooner left the stage than these enter in search of her, and while away the time with a long discussion on the dangers of the wood and the protective power of virtue.  To them at length enters the attendant Spirit, who has certainly been so far very remiss in his duties, in the habit of their father’s shepherd Thirsis; and on hearing how they have parted company with their sister, tells of Comus and his enchantments, and arming his hearers with hemony, powerful against all spells, guides them to the hall of the sorcerer.  The scene now changes to the interior of the palace of Comus, ‘set out with all manner of deliciousness,’ where the god and his rabble are feasting.  On one side we may imagine an open arcade giving on to the banks of the Severn, silvery in the moonlight, the cool purity of its waters contrasting with the rich jewelled light and perfumed air within.  We see the Lady seated in an enchanted chair, while before her stands the magician, wand in hand, offering her wine in a crystal goblet.  Then follows the dialogue in which the Lady defends her virtue against the blandishments of Comus, till at last her brothers, followed by the spirit-shepherd, rush in and disperse the revellers.  The Lady is now found to be fixed like marble in the chair of enchantment, but the attendant Spirit shows his resource by calling to their help the virgin goddess of the stream: 

    Sabrina fair
      Listen where thou art sitting
    Under the glassie, cool, translucent wave,
      In twisted braids of Lillies knitting
    The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair,
      Listen for dear honour’s sake,
      Goddess of the silver lake,
                    Listen and save.

Thus conjured in some of the most perfectly musical lines in the language the daughter of Locrine rises from her waves, and enters the hall with a song, attended by her obedient nymphs.  Having broken the spell and freed the captive Lady, she at once departs with her train, and after another speech by the Spirit, the scene changes to the town and castle of Ludlow, a bevy of shepherds dancing in the foreground.  After these have concluded their measure, the wanderers enter, still guided by the spirit-shepherd, who presents them safe and sound to their parents.  Then follows another dance, and the Spirit, throwing off, we may presume, his pastoral disguise, launches into his final speech: 

    To the Ocean now I fly,
    And those happy climes that ly
    Where day never shuts his eye;