ll display,
And he like traitor and assassin die,
Upon her tale, in ignominious way:
And minds him fame is not to be despised,
Albeit so little life by him be prized.

LII
"Philander stood oppressed with grief and fear,
When his mistake to him the woman showed,
And to have slain her in his wrath went near,
And long be doubted, so his choler glowed;
And, but that Reason whispered in his ear
That he was in an enemy's abode,
For lack of faulchion in his empty sheath,
He would have torn her piece-meal with his teeth.

LIII
"As sometimes vessel by two winds which blow
From different points is vext upon the main,
And now one speeds the bark an-end, and now
Another squall impels her back again;
Still on her poop assailed, or on her prow,
Till she before the strongest flies amain:
Philander, so distraught by two designs,
Takes what he pregnant with least ill opines.

LIV
"Reason demonstrates with what peril fraught
His case, not more with death than lasting stain,
If in the castle were that murder taught;
Nor any time has he to sift his brain.
Will he or nill he, in conclusion nought
Is left him but the bitter cup to drain.
Thus in his troubled heart prevailing more,
His fear his resolution overbore.

LV
"The fear of shameful punishment's pursuit
Made him with many protestations swear
To grant in every thing Gabrina's suit,
If from the fortilage they safely fare.
So plucks that impious dame, parforce, the fruit
Of her desires, and thence retreat the pair.
Thus home again the young Philander came,
Leaving behind him a polluted name;

LVI
"And deeply graven in his bosom bore
The image of his friend so rashly slain;
By this to purchase, to his torment sore,
A Progne, a Medea; impious gain!
-- And but his knightly faith, and oaths he swore,
Were to his fury as a curbing rein,
From him when safe she would have met her fate;
But lived subjected to his bitterest hate.

LVII
"Thenceforth he nevermore was seen to smile:
All his discourse was sad, and still ensued
Sobs from his breast; afflicted in the style
Of vext Orestes, when he in his mood
Had slain his mother and Aegysthus vile;
By vengeful furies for the deed pursued.
Till broken by the ceaseless grief he fed,
He sickened and betook himself to bed.

LVIII
"Now in the harlot, when she had discerned
This other set by her so little s