“Meantime strong Dryas urged his chance so well, That Lycidas, Areos, Imbreus, fell, All one by one, and fighting face to face: Crenaeus fled, to fall with more disgrace; For, fearful, while he look’d behind, he bore, Between his nose and front, the blow before. Amid the noise and tumult of the fray, Snoring, and drunk with wine, Aphidas lay; Ev’n then the bowl within his hand he kept, And on a bear’s rough hide securely slept: Him Phorbas with his flying dart transfix’d: ‘Take thy next draught with Stygian waters mix’d, And sleep thy fill,’ the insulting victor cried: Surprised with death unfelt, the centaur died: The ruddy vomit, as he breathed his soul, Repass’d his throat, and fill’d his empty bowl.