Upon the cold earth pensive let them lay,
That mean to travel some long irksome way.
Or else will maidens young men's mates to go,
If they determine to persèver so.
Then on the rough Alps should I tread aloft,
My hard way with my mistress would seem soft.20
With her I durst the Libyan Syrts break through,
And raging seas in boisterous south-winds plough.
No barking dogs, that Scylla's entrails bear,
Nor thy gulfs, crook'd Malea, would I fear.