Health to Bellama, and a health again,
580Till, where his feet his wingèd beaver treads,
So well he took his sack without a toast.
That, 'stead of kissing her, he kiss'd the post.
Dispassioned quite, as in a breathless calm,
Don Rivelezzo bids Don Fuco 'dieu;
But hooted loudly, like a shrill-toned shawm,
When his swift steed took farewell of his view.
Accursing Fate, and railing on his daughter,
Which might beget in Heraclitus laughter.