“King of the gods, defend my blood and thine, And use it not the worse for being mine. If I no more am gracious in thy sight, Be just, O Jove, and do thy daughter right. In vain I sought her the wide world around, And when I most despair’d to find her, found. But how can I the fatal finding boast, By which I know she is for ever lost? Without her father’s aid, what other power Can to my arms the lovely maid restore? Let him restore her, I’ll the crime forgive; My child, dishonour’d, I’d with joy receive. Pity your daughter with a thief should wed, Though mine, you think, deserves no better bed.”