When he beheld the fiends fly ’cross the course,
He stamp’d the ground, and grumbled with remorse;
When at a furnace-heat the winds did blow,
More sad, dejected, did poor Bassareus grow;—
His anguish now became so great, he foamed,
Inclined his head towards the ground, and moaned:
Now raved aloud for that he loved on Earth,
To cool his tongue and wash his frothy mouth:
Then shook his head, and swung it like a plumb,
Reviling bitterly his mother’s womb: