The pious father, by her wheedles won, Presents this deadly potion to his son, Who with the same assurance takes the cup, And to the monarch’s health had drunk it up: But in the very instant he applied The goblet to his lips, old Aegeus spied The iv’ry-hilted sword that graced his side. That certain signal of his son he knew, And snatch’d the bowl away; the sword he drew; Resolved, for such a son’s endanger’d life, To sacrifice the most perfidious wife. Revenge is swift; but her more active charms A whirlwind raised, that snatch’d her from his arms; While conjured clouds their baffled sense surprise, She vanishes from their deluded eyes, And through the hurricane triumphant flies.