His parching flames my wither'd heart devour;
Wild Phrensy comes my senses o'er,
Sweet Peace is fled, and Reason rules no more. —Bland.
Chæremon. (Book xiii. § 87, p. 970.)
One to the silver lustre of the moon,
In graceful, careless, attitude reclined,
Display'd her snowy bosom, full unzoned
In all its naked loveliness: another
Led up the sprightly dance; and as she moved,