Rush’d like an ocean o’er the smoking plain.
* * * * *
From his high towers—the deluge, Pluto saw.
The dissolution of the host below
Chang’d not his countenance. A thousand times
This haughty monarch (and for lesser crimes
Than those of Bassareus’) scourged the land with fire,
Durst any magnate to provoke his ire.
Said he to Proserpine—“Lift I my hand,
Ten thousand demons are at my command: