Creeps Thug-like up, to maul the passer-by.
What games men played erewhile—men shaped in crime,
Birds of a feather, rascals every one!
—We're done for, Gorgo darling—here they are,
The Royal horse! Sweet sir, don't trample me!
That bay—the savage!--reared up straight on end!
Fly, Eunoä, can't you? Doggedly she stands.
He'll be his rider's death!--How glad I am
My babe's at home.
GORGO.