Against his foes. And now must I awake him;
But first will doff my helmet, and appear
In mortal semblance, as a delicate youth,
Some prince of the isle: so shall my javelin,
Long robe and shining sandals not betray
My godhead. He to me, disguised and strange,
Will answer nothing truly, nor believe
What truth I tell: ’tis thus I love to prove him,
And catch his ready mind at unawares.
Wake, merchant, wake, awake; whoe’er thou beest,