Now Phoebus, hast’ning to ambrosial rest, His fiery steeds drove sloping down the west; The sculptured gold with sparkling wines was fill’d, And, with rich meats, each cheerful table smiled. Plenty and mirth the royal banquet close, Then all retire to sleep and sweet repose. But the amorous monarch, though withdrawn apart, Still feels love’s poison rankling in his heart: Her face divine is stamp’d within his breast, Fancy imagines, and improves the rest: And thus, kept waking by intense desire, He nourishes his own prevailing fire.

Next day the good old king for Tereus sends, And to his charge the virgin recommends: His hand with tears the indulgent father press’d, Then spoke, and thus with tenderness address’d: