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But yet not his; to Morrow is behind,
Right I have none, nor hast thou much to plead ;
Said Cymon overjoy'd, Do thou propose
For from the first, when Love had fir'd my Mind, Resolv'd I left the Care of Life behind.
To this the bold Lysimachus reply'd,
Now hear the reft; when Day resigns the Light,
If they, or if their Friends, the Prize conteft, Death shall attend the Man who dares resist.
It pleas’d! the Pris’ner to his Hold retird, His Troop with equal Emulation fir'd,
[quir'd. All fix'd to Fight, and all their wonted Work re
The Sun arose; the Streets were throngd around, The Palace open'd, and the Posts were crown'd: The double Bridegroom at the Door attends Th’expected Spouse, and entertains the Friends: They meet, they lead to Church; the Priests invoke The Pow'rs, and feed the Flames with fragrant
Smoke: This done they Feast, and at the close of Night By kindled Torches vary their Delight, These lead the lively Dance, and those the brim
ming Bowls invite. Now at th’appointed Place and Hour assign’d, With Souls resolv'd the Ravishers were join'd: Three Bands are form’d: The first is sent before To favour the Retreat, and guard the Shore: The fecond at the Palace-gate is plac'd, And
up the lofty Stairs ascend the last:
A peaceful Troop they seem with shining Vests, But Coats of Male beneath secure their Breasts.
Dauntlefs they enter, Cymon at their Head, And find the Feast renew'd, the Table spread: Sweet Voices, mix'd with instrumental Sounds, Ascend che yaulted Roof,the vaulted Roof rebounds. When like the Harpies rushing through the Hall The sudden Troop appears, the Tables fall, Their smoaking Loadis on the Pavement thrown; Each Ravisher prepares to seize his own: The Brides, invaded with a rude Embrace, Shreek out for Aid, Confusion fills the Place: Quick to redeem the Prey their plighted Lords Advance, the Palace gleams with shining Swords,
But late is all Defence, and Succour vain; The Rape is made, the Ravishers remain: Two sturdy Slaves were only sent before. Tobear the purchas'd Prize in Safety to the Shore. The Troop retires, the Lovers close the Rear, With forward Faces not confessing Fear; Backward they move, but scorn theirPace to mend; Then seek the Stairs, and with flow hafte descend.
Fierce Pafimond, their Passage to prevent,
With vow'd Revenge the gathering Crowd