Without, in the midst of the streets of their city, to do unblamed.
No modesty have they in love, but as rooting swine unshamed,
No whit abashed for the eyes of beholders that stand thereby,
On the earth for their bed of love with their women unwedded they lie.
In their loftiest block-house sitteth their king, and holdeth his court,
Decreeing his righteous judgments to them that thither resort.
Ah, luckless wight!—if perchance in his sentence he swerve from the right,
Unto prison they hale him, therein to fast till falleth the night. {1030}
These passed they by, and well-nigh overagainst the shores
Of the Isle of Ares they cleft them a path with unresting oars