My favour with thy plea, my help must still
Be hidden, else I work for thee in vain
To thwart my mighty sister in her will.
Thou must fly hence: Yet though I not oppose,
Less will I aid her; and if now I close
My temple doors to thee, take it not ill.’
16
Then Psyche’s hope founder’d; as when a ship,
The morrow of the gale can hardly ride
The swollen seas, fetching a deeper dip