About my mother Circe. Thus I hurl
My dazzling spells into the [spongy air],
Of power to cheat the eye with [blear] illusion, 155
And give it false presentments, lest the place
And my quaint habits breed astonishment,
And put the damsel to suspicious flight;
Which must not be, for that’s against my course.
I, under fair pretence of friendly ends, 160
And well-placed words of glozing courtesy,
Baited with reasons not unplausible,