d,
Off from any thorny spear.

_2d Dryad_: So conclude. Whatever seems,
We have her in a chain of dreams.

_3d Dryad_: As fair as foreign! Who is here
In disarray of princely gear?
Here were a lass whose royal port
Might make an awe in Heaven's court;
But sorrowing beauty testifies
In tears that journey from her eyes,
To touches of interior pain;
And on her hand a sanguine stain.
Hair unlooped and sandals torn,
Zone unloosened from its bourne;
Surely some wandering bride of Sorrow.

_4th Dryad_: So let her sleep, and bid good morrow.

_1st Dryad_: But, sisters, me it doth astound,
What maid it is that we have bound,
And Bacchus not, nor Ceres found.

_2d Dryad_: Bacchus has gone to Arcady;
Where certain swains, that merry be,
Have found a happy thunder stone,
That Jove has cast the vale upon;
So take occasion to be blest,
And Bacchus was invited guest.
His shaggy crew have helped the plan.
Silenus made the pipes of Pan,
The Satyrs teased the vines about,
And Bacchus sent a lubber lout,
Who lurked, and stole, ere wink of moon,
The heedless Amalthea's horn.
Now all are gone to Arcady,
Head bent on rousing jollity.
Now riot rout will be, anon,
That shall the very sun aston,
By waters whilst, and on the leas,
Under the old fantastic trees.
The oldest swain with longest cane,
And sad experience in his brain,
On such mad mirth shall fail to wink,
And grimly go aside to think.

_3d Dryad_: But, cedar-cinctured sister, say,
What news has winged our Queen away?

_2d Dryad_: Ceres has gone to see the feast
Made by the King of all East;
Who breasts a beard so black and fair;
And breathes a wealth of gorgeous air,
Now all divided with Gulnare--
Whose odorous train came up from far,
Last night, at shut of evening star,
And filled, with pomp majestical,
The gardens and the palace hall.
So Ceres runs to give them aid,
In likeness of an Indian maid--
Presents them each a dove apiece,
And wishes blessing and increase.

_3d Dryad_: Hark! hark! I hear her rolling car.
Our Queen is not so very far.

_4th Dryad_: Now make your faces long, I ween
Here comes our sweet majestic Queen.

[Enter Ceres, in likeness of a stately woman, bearing poppies
and ears of wheat in h