As thus the boy in wild distress
Bewail’d, of bulla stripp’d and dress,
So fair, that ruthless breasts of Thrace
Had melted to behold his face,
Canidia, with dishevell’d hair
And short crisp vipers coiling there,
Beside a fire of Colchos stands,
And her attendant hag commands
To feed the flames with fig-trees torn
From dead men’s sepulchres forlorn,