Do thou, but for a single night’s brief space,

Dissemble; be that boy in form and face!

And when enraptured Dido shall receive

Thee to her arms, and kisses interweave

With many a fond embrace, while joy runs high, 40

And goblets crown the proud festivity,

Instil thy subtle poison, and inspire,

At every touch, an unsuspected fire.”

Love, at the word, before his mother’s sight

Puts off his wings, and walks, with proud delight, 45