Phil. Oh, master! hasten
Thy dread commands; for Grimbald is at hand,
Osmond's fierce fiend; I snuff his earthy scent.
The conquering Britons he misleads to rivers,
Or dreadful downfals of unheeded rocks;
Where many fall, that ne'er shall rise again.
Mer. Be that thy care, to stand by falls of brooks,
And trembling bogs, that bear a green-sward show.
Warn off the bold pursuers from the chace.—
No more; they come, and we divide the task.