But, O sad Virgin, that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower, Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what Love did seek!

"Come to me my dear Lycias," (saith Musaeus in Aristaenetus) "come quickly sweetheart, all other men are satyrs, mere clowns, blockheads to thee, nobody to thee."