From Comus by Milton

the sage poets, taught by the heavenly Muse,
Storied of old in high immortal verse
Of dire chimeras and enchanted isles,
And rifted rocks whose entrance leads to hell;
For such there be, but unbelief is blind.
Within the navel of this hideous wood,
Immured in cypress shades, a sorcerer dwells,
Of Bacchus and of Circe born, great Comus,
Deep-skilled in all his mother;s witcheries,
And here to every thirsty wanderer
By shy enticement gives his baneful cup,
With many murmurs mixed, whose pleasing poison
The visage quite transforms of him that drinks,
And the inglorious likeness of a beast
Fixes instead, unmooulding reason’s mintage
Charactered in the face.  This have I learnt
Tending my flocks hard by i’ the hilly crofts
That brow this bottom glade; whence by night
He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl
Like stabled wolves, or tigers at their prey,
Doing abhorred rites to Hecate.

~ extract from Comus as published in Milton’s Poetical Works, 1887