As soon as Arianna had come to the end of her interesting story, she propounded her enigma forthwith, in order that the rule which governed the entertainment might be strictly kept:
Small what though my compass be,
A mighty furnace gendered me.
The covering which round me clings,
Is what from marshy plain upsprings.
My soul, which should be free as air,
Is doomed a prisoner close to fare.
It is a liquor bland and sweet.
No jest is this which I repeat:
All silken are my festal clothes,