Then come, lads, come,
Love beats the drum,
And a fig for Æneas the rover O."
King. So Orpheus sang of old, or poets lie,
And as the brutes were charmed, e'en so am I.
Rosy-cheek'd maid, henceforth my only queen,
Full soon shalt thou in royal robes be seen;
And through my realm I'll issue this decree,
None shall appear of taller growth than thee: