I, BACCHANAL Eurynome, to roam
The mountain wont, and bulls to overcome,
Who rent the lion, and with wild delight
Tossed the fierce head that could no more affright,
Now to thee, Bacchus (pardon!), all on fire
With Venus, and forsaking thy desire,
Suspend my clubs, and ivy-wreaths that graced
My wrists resign, with gold to be replaced.
