Which, like a Phœnix, in that nest would lie,
And with a surfeit of these odours die,
Thus jealous grown, does with full cheeks oppose
These flames, which ships dissembled to our foes.
Retreating thence as lions, which some wile,
Or stratagem, did of their prey beguile,
We cleave the briny element, to meet
Dodona, sacred to our Jove, the fleet.