My merriment is but my fear’s recoil.
But if my son was unkind, thou shalt see
How kind a goddess can his mother be
To bring thy tainted honour clear of soil.’
23
And so, to match her promise with her mirth,
Two of her ministers she call’d in ken,
That work the melancholy of the earth;
Merimna that with care perplexes, when
The hearts of mortals have the gods forgot,