Dead from his birth to love, to beauty blind,
Who, by quaint rules of cold philosophy,
Contemn'd the sex, and hated womankind,—
That he,—e'en he,—with all his stoic craft,
Cave to imperial Love unwilling way,
And, sore empierced with Cupid's tyrant shaft,
Could neither sleep by night, nor rest by day;
What time, in Archelaus' regal hall,
Ægino, graceful handmaid, viands brought
Of choicest savour, to her master's call