Aurcia.
‘Wait, and you shall surely sce
Part of the secret that ensorccls me.
‘See all these bosses! Is it not
As if a Titan smote himself into the earth,
And was caught into her, made one with her?
Crassus.
‘The scent is fierce and hot
Like a rutting panther's slot.
Yet you are matched with mirth,
Shaking each other like two wrestlers.
Acta.
‘What should stir
Your melancholy but laughter?
Crassus.
Look, before us
Light streams, a tremulous chorus.
Oh, it is vague and vacillatin;
Aucta.
Love,
‘Young love of maidens, is the soul thereof.
And in the midst, behold, O man!
The image of great Pan.
at