And with his bodie bard the way atwixt them twaine.
XIV
Then tooke the angrie witch her golden cup,[°]
Which still she bore, replete with magick artes;
Death and despeyre did many thereof sup,
And secret poyson through their inner parts,
Th' eternall bale of heavie wounded harts;
Which after charmes and some enchauntments said
She lightly sprinkled on his weaker parts;