Becomes a mortal, and immortal man.
Long on his wiles a piqued and jealous spy, 840
I’ve seen, or dreamt I saw, the tyrant dress;
Lay by his horrors, and put on his smiles.
Say, Muse, for thou remember’st, call it back,
And show Lorenzo the surprising scene;
If ’twas a dream, his genius can explain.
’Twas in a circle of the gay I stood.
Death would have enter’d; Nature push’d him back;
Supported by a doctor of renown,