And now, on real wings themselves they raise,
And steer their airy flight by different ways:
One to the woodland's shady covert hies,
Around the smoky roof the other flies;
Whose feathers yet the marks of murder stain,
Where, stampt upon her breast, the crimson spots remain.
Tereus, through grief, and haste to be revenged,
Shares the like fate, and to a bird is changed:
Fixed on his head, the crested plumes appear;
Long is his beak, and sharpened like a spear;