Still, still—albeit he thinks scorn of me—
And spit, and say, ''Tis Delphis' bones I smear.'
Turn, magic wheel, draw homeward him I love.
[Exit Thestylis.
Now, all alone, I'll weep a love whence sprung
When born? Who wrought my sorrow? Anaxo came,
Her basket in her hand, to Artemis' grove.
Bound for the festival, troops of forest beasts
Stood round, and in the midst a lioness.
Bethink thee, mistress Moon, whence came my love.