To breathe free air, and struggles with his pain.
Knock’d down, he dies: his bowels bruis’d within,
Betray no wound on his unbroken skin.
Extended thus, in his obscene abode,
They leave the beast; but first sweet flowers are strow’d
Beneath his body, broken boughs and thyme,
And pleasing Cassia, just renew’d in prime.
This must be done, ere spring makes equal day,
When western winds on curling waters play;
Ere painted meads produce their flowery crops,